Chapter 33 Melody
Melody
Ocean waves crash and roll in the distance.
Children's joyous laughter mingles with the calls of seagulls.
The gentle warmth of the sun heats my skin, and I adjust my massive, floppy hat.
As I settle into the cushion of my beach chair, Dante sighs beside me.
He keeps a watchful eye on our children as they dig in the sand, piling it into haphazard castles with their Auntie Helena.
Uncle Artem—Melnyk—instructs them on where to pour the next bucket.
Their sand castle is going to be the most fortified structure on the Melaque beach. It's not Tulum, but it's gorgeous nonetheless.
Dante sucks in a worried breath when Dahlia, our daughter, takes a tumble as she runs to collect more seawater. She's back on her quick little feet within moments, dusting herself off.
"She's fine, babe." I lay a comforting hand on his. "She's tough."
"I know," he grumbles.
Tilting my sunglasses down, I finally notice how nervous he is.
His hands tremble as he watches our children playing happily.
He blinks rapidly, just like he does when he's deep in thought.
His vibrant green eyes don't leave Dahlia until she returns to the little construction site, nearly splashing all the water out of her bucket on the way.
"Tell me what you're feeling, babe."
He heaves out a sigh. "I can't stop thinking about—about that dream."
The memory rushes to the surface, bringing back a fear I haven't felt in years.
The dream. The dream where Roman slaughtered us—me, our children, Helena, Dante—flashes through my mind.
I didn't experience it, only Dante did, but he recounted it so vividly.
As I take a wavering breath, I look to the horizon.
"You're safe, Dante. Look at the ocean. Count five things you're grateful for."
My husband—grump that he is—grunts unhappily but follows my directions. "I'm grateful for Dahlia. And Darien. That's two. Helena, three. Artem—four."
I know what he's doing. A contented smile creeps across my face. "And the fifth?"
"You, darling. It's always you. You're the light of my life. You know that, right?"
"I could stand to hear it more often." I lean over and kiss his tattooed knuckles. "I could stand to be shown it more often, too."
"Is that so?" He grips my hand tight, pulling me closer. I'm almost falling out of my beach chair, but his emerald gaze holds me steady. "I'll show you much more than that later tonight."
"Do you think Auntie Helena would mind a sleepover with the twins?" I whisper, lowering my chin to look up at him through hooded eyes. The hushed groan he lets out sets my heart ablaze.
"I thought that's why we brought them on this trip, love. It's been too long."
"It's been three days!" I laugh, pulling my hand back. "Have mercy on your poor wife!"
"Never." He grins at me with that cocky smirk I love so much. "I don't even know the meaning of the word."
"That's funny. You seem to know exactly what it means when I'm correcting my good boy."
The effect is nearly instantaneous. His eyes flash with lust, and he rakes his gaze over my bikini-clad body. His eyes linger on every stretch mark, every roll, everything I'd hated about myself for so long. He doesn't love me in spite of my body, he loves me—all of me—and he makes sure I know it.
"I'm not your good boy, darling. Not tonight. But will you be my good girl?"
It's my turn to smirk. "We'll just have to see, won't we?"
Dante shoves the door of our hotel room—more like a condo, really—open with a crash. I wince at the loud bang. I'm sure there's a hole in the wall, but we can pay for repairs.
Fuck, repairs should be the last thing on my mind. My husband marches me directly to the king-size bed and whirls me around. When I gasp, he lets out a dark chuckle.
"Scared, love?" He doesn't give me the chance to answer before he smacks his hand across my ass with a sharp crack. "You should be."
"And if I'm not?"
"Inadvisable." He slaps my ass again, then gently rubs the stinging flesh. "Unless you want more?"
More. I always want more. I want more of him, of us—of this. Letting out a tiny giggle, I lean over the bed and hop up on my tippy toes. The guttural groan he tries to stifle lights every nerve ending ablaze. But I'm a glutton for punishment, and I shake my ass back and forth.
"Give me everything you've got, Dante. Unless you can't dish it ou—"
He doesn't give me the chance to even finish my sentence. Dante kicks my feet apart, and I land face down on the bed. The crisp cotton sheets have a distinctly luxe feel to them, and I hold back another laugh. Before him, before our children, before… everything… I was barely scraping by.
And now I'm about to get railed by the love of my life. But I don't have to make it easy for him.
"Is that it?" I pant out, shimmying my hips.
"Watch yourself, love." He lands another smack on my ass cheek—the left one, this time. "You're being a very bad girl. Do you know what bad girls get?"
"Punished?"
"Punished," he confirms. I hear the faint rustle of fabric as he drops his swimwear to the floor. Just as I shudder in a breath, anticipating what's to come, he drops his thick cock between my ass cheeks. "Feel that, love? Do you feel me? I'm going to fucking wreck you."
An inhuman moan rumbles from my chest as he slides his thick head down between my lips.
He teases my entrance with a whispered "fuck," before pushing in slowly.
I feel myself stretch around his head, his length, until he settles with his hips pressed firmly against my ass. Fuck, he makes me feel so full.
"Tell me how you want it, love," Dante grits out.
"Hard. Fast. Slow. Deep. Fucking—give me anything, everything, please!" I mewl, writhing under his firm grip.
He chuckles. "Well, that's quite the conundrum, isn't it?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I snarl, craning my neck to look at him behind me.
"You've been bad, so you have to be punished. We established this." He smirks as he pulls out a fraction of a centimeter, barely moving at all. "So, I can't give you exactly what you want."
"Fuck you." I ball up my fist and pound the mattress. "Fuckin—fuck you!"
"Such a dirty fucking mouth." He pulls his glorious cock all the way out—I whimper at the loss—and he expertly flips me onto my back. "Come over here."
"Or what?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
All the mirth drains from his face. His green eyes flash with lust—and a cold, controlled anger. A shiver rolls through my body. Fuck, I love when he acts like this. He doesn't say a word; he just stares at me.
Ah. I've poked the bear a little too much. Biting the inside of my lip to keep from smiling, I crawl to the edge of the bed. His thick cock glistens with my arousal—and a little bit of precum—right at my eye level.
"You know what to do, love." He cocks his head to the side, furrowing his brow.
He's right. I do. Another shiver zips down my spine as I lower my lips to the head of his cock.
Taking a gentle swipe with my tongue, I savor the flavor of his precum mixed with my slick.
I run my tongue around the ridge of his crown, paying special attention to the underside.
He jolts when I flick my tongue over the most sensitive spot.
"Fuck, love," he says through gritted teeth. "Relax. Open your mouth."
As if bewitched, I do. No stupid comment. No bratty joke. I just open my mouth and lay his cock head on my flattened tongue.
"Good fucking girl." He gently cups my cheek for a moment, allowing me the tiniest smile, but quickly slides his hand to the back of my head. I suck in a deep breath and relax my throat as best I can.
Dante lets out a deep, rumbling groan as he slides his cock over my tongue. The first thrust is the most gentle, the only semblance of mercy I receive. I try my best to stay relaxed, but I can't help the saliva that runs down my chin, down my neck.
When I look up at him while tears gather in my eyes, he bites his lower lip and throws his head back. "Fucking hell, Melody!"
He rips his cock away and hisses out a breath. I cough for a second, gasping for air.
"Are you ready to be my good girl again?" He traces the path of a tear that spilled down my cheek. All I can do is nod. "Good. Lay back for me, darling."
I feel like I'm strung tighter than a violin.
Every nerve in my body fires at the same time as I roll over, waiting for his touch.
He rakes his gaze up and down my figure, fisting his cock.
My mouth waters again, the thirsty bitch.
He just had his whole cock down my throat; I shouldn't have any saliva left.
But I do. Fuck.
Dante watches me lick my lips, and he fuckin' smirks. Again. Fuck my life. My whole body tenses as he practically pounces on me, his hands roaming everywhere, all at once—he anchors himself with a bite to my neck, slipping a finger into my absolutely drenched cunt.
"Oh, love, did that turn you on? You're such a good fucking girl. Such a dirty fucking slut." His whispered words make goosebumps erupt down my arm.
"Shut the fuck up and fuck me," I demand, then think better of my decision. "Please. Please fuck me, Dante."
"That's my girl," he grunts, sliding his cock between my lips again.
With a feral thrust, he penetrates me deep.
I feel him bottom out, and I have to slap my hand over my mouth to keep the pathetic moan from spilling out.
God, I can't believe I'm already this close to orgasm.
He fucked me for, like, half a second before taking my throat.
But that's just what he does to me. That's my man. And I'll kill any bitch that looks at him sideways.
"What are you thinking about, love?" He releases his teeth from my neck. "You're deep in thought."
"Nothing! Well—maybe a little something. Maybe I was thinking about how I'd rip the skin off any woman who dares to touch my man." I can feel the blush rising from my chest to my cheeks.