Forbid Me(7)

By: M. Robinson



The soft strumming of a guitar immediately assaulted my senses, but that wasn’t what made the hair on the end of my arms stand at attention. I closed my eyes needing to check my emotions and the thoughts that attacked my mind at rapid speed.

One right after the other.

They were disastrous and unforgiving.

The strumming of the guitar was effortless and defined. I would recognize it anywhere. No one could play like she could.

No one.

That voice…

It was smooth like silk but raw enough to give you chills.

That song…

Would be a permanent reminder of what I lost.

That night…

Would forever haunt me. My days and nights.

God… I couldn’t think of that night without my cock getting hard and the shame engulfing me almost simultaneously. Metallica’s lyrics of Nothing Else Matters took me back to another time, another place, where I pretended that she was mine…

I was always hers.

Always.

Her face…

Her eyes…

Her body…

I remembered it all, and I hadn’t even looked up to see her. I didn’t have to. She was engrained in my mind. In my heart. In my soul.

She sang the chorus over again. The emotions bleeding off the strings of her guitar and her voice. The guitar solo followed making the crowd scream and cheer for her talent. Her energy was fucking contagious, it always had been. I felt it all around me even though I still hadn’t opened my eyes to take her in. I knew she was biting her fucking lip, it didn’t matter how many damn times I told her she was going to bite it off. I’d memorized the feel of her lips against my mouth, the way I’d take that same goddamn lip and bite on it myself.

Wanting a piece of her.

Needing a piece of her.

Her voice dropped to a soft tone, as did her guitar. The song ended and the crowd went even wilder and ravenous for her.

“Well, hello there fucking Nashville!”

They hollered higher and louder. She always knew how to work a crowd.

“Welcome to Bootleggers! Who’s gettin’ fucked up tonight?”

“Yeah!” they shouted.

“Who’s gettin’ fucking laid tonight?”

They shouted again, whistling and clapping that time. I shook my head with a smile I didn’t bother trying to hide.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Down and dirty in the fuckin’ South!” she yelled in the same southern drawl she hated as a child.

“I’m going to take a little break—”

“Booooooo!”

She giggled and my cock twitched.

“I know, darlins’, I’m too fucking pretty to look at. I’ll be back, I promise! In the meantime buy me a fuckin’ shot! My name’s Kid.”

I immediately looked up, right at her. I swear to God my chest seized and she took my goddamn breath away. Wearing short daisy dukes and a minuscule shirt that had “Whiskey Makes Me Frisky” written across her breasts. The damn thing looked like it was as old as me. Her entire stomach bare, her belly button now pierced and her long dark hair cascading down her back, almost touching her ass. The tiny frame that I fucking loved was still the same, but she looked grown up. Older. Her legs, her fucking legs. I remembered them wrapped around me and I had to shake my head to erase the images that had my cock hard and my heart heavy.

I grinned, I fucking grinned, when I saw the cowboy boots she wore. I gave them to her. I thought she threw them away.

I guess she didn’t.

Which gave me hope she hadn’t thrown me away either.

Fuck me. I’m going to hell.

Now that I saw her…

There was no going back.

She was mine.

Consequences. Be. Damned.



“Kid,” some random guy murmured from behind me.

I turned on the bar stool, cocking my head to the side with a smile.

“How about I buy you that shot?” He pointed at my shirt. “Whiskey right?”

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