One Kiss: An Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy (Transmissions from The International Council for the Exploration of the Universe., #1) by Emily Kimelman, E.J Kimelman

so that I was exposed to him. Fingers dipped into the cup of my bra and pulled. He stilled, staring down at my exposed breast. I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling; it was painted white, yellow from smoke, cracked down the center of my vision.
    Another knock, this one louder. I heard the door handle jiggle and then Emmanuel's mouth covered my nipple. I cried out, a small, strangled sound that changed into a low moan as he swirled his tongue. "Jesus! Unlock this!" Michael called. "We don't have time for this."
    "I told you I wouldn't be able to stop," Emmanuel said against my breast, the tickle of his lips sending shooting rays of pleasure and energy to my throbbing center. He returned his hand to my ass, clenching even harder, pushing my thighs further apart as he began to kiss back up to my neck.
    "I've got the key," Michael yelled through the door. "I'm coming in, in 3, 2..." I heard the key in the lock. Emmanuel brought his palm up to cover my breast, turning to look toward the entrance behind him.
    "Get out of here, Michael," he said as I heard the door open. Emmanuel’s body blocked my view; his hands were still on my ass and breast, his neck, twisted toward Michael, mere inches from my lips. 
    "We go on in ten, you asshole."
    "I don't give a shit," Emmanuel said.
    "The fuck you don't give a shit." I heard Michael take several steps into the room.
    Emmanuel's hand tensed on my breast, tightening. It felt so good. I wanted him so badly. But there was that voice in my head, the one questioning what the fuck I was doing, spread out on a concession table of a club I was about to perform in. That wasn't professional. That was insane.
    I shifted, trying to pull my shirt back up. Emmanuel turned to me, ignoring Michael. "What are you doing?" he asked.
    "We're going on," I said.
    "I told you I couldn't stop."
    Both hands tightened at once, making me ache, desperately hungry for him. I felt his hard length against me and I wanted it in me so badly that it clouded my thoughts, but I wasn't this person. This wanton girl. I pushed him back, yanking my shirt up and closing my legs. He stumbled away, his gaze hot on me.
    "Alright," Michael said. "You ready to play? Come on!"
    ****
    T he show was incredible. My eyes were closed for most of it but I could hear the crowd reacting to us. Michael's sultry voice, Dre's precision drumming, I could hear them. But all I could feel was Emmanuel's bass. It was almost like I could feel his fingers running up and down my spine as he played.
    After it was over, we stumbled off the stage, all of us drunk on the music, smiling, knowing we'd done something special. Michael threw an arm around me. "You were incredible," he said.
    Our manager, Veronica Haus, a tall woman wearing cowboy boots, tight jeans, a black tight T-shirt, and a grin, walked into the green room moments after us. She was older than me, in her late thirties, with bleached blond hair she'd pulled back into a loose ponytail. "You guys were amazing!" she said.
    "Thanks," Michael answered.
    Veronica turned toward me. "You were on fire," she said. "I haven't seen you play like that in a year."
    I nodded, unable to respond, feeling that she was sucking the joy out of it. Megan flashed across my vision. Her hair disappearing through the door at the hospital, her secret smile just for me, the scent of Gilt rushed up at me. "Thanks," I managed to say.
    She turned back to Michael and grinned at him. I put my violin in its case and then backed toward the door and opened it slowly. Emmanuel looked over at me and caught my eye. "Bathroom," I mouthed before slipping out.
    ****
    " You were great," Marty, the owner of the club, said once I'd pushed through the crowd and pressed up against the bar.
    I smiled and felt my cheeks get warm. "Thanks," I muttered.
    "No, seriously, Darling. That's one of the best sets I've heard you do. You guys are really starting to sound like a band," Marty continued, resting a meaty forearm on the bar and leaning