Somehow it was harder to pick up her story, and maybe Bach should worry about her being a witch or another siren or who-the-fuck-knows, something completely else that would explode if he'd twirl her music around his.

But he could touch her now, and kept it pretty innocent, just turning up the dials on sensitivity and heat and need. He whispered a song about melting together in her ear before kissing it.

"Not planning on hurting you. At all."