6. Melody #4
His mouth traces paths across my skin, learning me, memorizing me.
He starts at my collarbone and works his way down, pausing to pay attention to my breasts until I’m squirming beneath him, desperate for more.
He finds the spot beneath my ribs that makes me giggle, the spot on my inner arm that makes me shiver, the sensitive curve where my thigh meets my hip that makes me moan out loud.
“There,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to that spot. “That’s a good one.”
“Noah-”
“I’m not done yet.”
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and looks up at me, waiting for permission. I nod, and he slides them down my legs with agonizing slowness, his eyes never leaving mine.
And then I’m completely bare beneath him, and he’s looking at me like I’m a miracle.
“Perfect,” he breathes. “Absolutely perfect.”
“I’m not-”
“Don’t argue with me. Not about this.” He presses a kiss to my inner thigh. “You’re perfect, Melody. Every freckle. Every curve. Every single inch of you.”
His mouth moves higher, and I stop being able to form coherent thoughts.
He is unhurried, taking time, learning what I like, what makes me gasp, what makes me moan his name. When I finally shatter apart, it’s with his name on my lips and his hands anchoring my hips to the bed.
“Please,” I manage when I can speak again. “Please, Noah, I need-”
“Tell me what you need.”
“You. Inside me. Now.”
He rises over me, finally, and I reach for his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He helps me get it off, then his pants, and then there’s nothing between us but heat and want and the desperate need to be closer.
“Look at me,” he says.
I open my eyes. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them.
He’s hovering above me, weight braced on his forearms, close enough that I can see the individual flecks of gold in his blue eyes. His expression is intense, focused, like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
“I want you to remember this,” he says. “Tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that. When you’re back in the States dealing with lawyers and paperwork and all the shit he put you through.
I want you to remember that someone saw you.
Really saw you - not the version you show other people, not the version you think you’re supposed to be. You. Just you.”
My eyes sting with sudden tears. “Noah-”
“And I want you to remember that he thought you were the most incredible thing in the world.” He lowers his head, kisses me softly. “Because you are, Melody. You are.”
Then he’s inside me, and I stop thinking altogether.
He moves slowly at first, giving me time to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he begins to build a rhythm - deep and steady, with a roll of his hips that hits something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, like that, don’t stop-”
“Never.” He buries his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “God, you feel incredible. You feel like-”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to. I can feel what he’s not saying in every thrust, every brush of his lips against my shoulder, every soft sound he makes against my ear.
We move together like we’ve been doing this for years. Like our bodies already know each other, already speak the same language. When I wrap my legs around his waist, he groans and picks up the pace. When I dig my nails into his back, he kisses me hard enough to bruise.
“More,” I gasp. “Harder.”
He gives me harder. Gives me more. Gives me everything I’m asking for and things I didn’t know I needed.
My second orgasm builds slowly, a pressure low in my belly that grows and grows until I’m shaking with it, until I’m crying out his name, until the whole world narrows down to the place where our bodies meet.
“That’s it,” he breathes in my ear. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
I let go.
The pleasure crashes through me like a wave, and somewhere in the middle of it I hear him groan my name, feel him shudder against me, and we fall apart together.
***
Afterward, we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my spine.
Neither of us speaks for a long moment. There’s no need. The silence between us is comfortable, warm, full of all the things we’re both too overwhelmed to say.
“That was...” I search for the word and come up empty.
“Yeah.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “It was.”
His heartbeat is steady under my ear, slowly returning to normal. I match my breathing to it without meaning to, letting the rhythm of him soothe something deep inside me that’s been wound tight for years.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For seeing me. For saying those things.” I turn my face into his chest, embarrassed by the tears pricking at my eyes. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me before.”
“Then everyone before me was blind.”
“Charmer.”
“Just honest.” He shifts beneath me, pulling me closer. “I meant every word, Melody. You’re not just beautiful. You’re good. And strong. And so goddamn brave it takes my breath away.”
“Brave? I’ve been crying and falling apart.”
“You found out your husband was cheating on you on day one of your honeymoon. You confronted him. You stayed when you could have run. You let yourself feel everything instead of shutting down.” He tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him.
“That’s not falling apart. That’s being human. And it’s braver than you know.”
I don’t know what to say to that. So I just kiss him, soft and slow, trying to pour everything I can’t articulate into the press of my lips against his.
When I pull back, he’s smiling.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I just like kissing you.”
Neither of us moves. Neither of us wants to break the spell.
“When I leave here,” I say eventually, my voice muffled against his chest, “what happens to us?”
His hand stills on my spine.
“I keep thinking about it,” I continue, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
“About getting on that plane and going back to my real life. The divorce. The lawyers. The apartment full of his stuff that I’ll have to sort through.
” I swallow hard. “And you’ll be here. Or wherever you go next.
And this will just be... a story I tell people.
The rebound I had on my failed honeymoon. ”
“Is that what you think this is? A rebound?”
“I don’t know what this is.” I prop myself up on my elbow so I can see his face, and the uncertainty I’ve been pushing down all week comes flooding to the surface.
“I don’t know if what I’m feeling is real or if it’s just...
trauma bonding, or adrenaline, or my brain trying to protect itself from the pain.
I don’t know if you’ll still want me when I’m not the broken girl crying in a bar.
When I’m just regular me, with my boring job and my messy apartment and all the baggage I’m going to be carrying for years. ”
“Melody-”
“And even if this is real, even if we both want it to be something more - how would that even work? I live in Chicago. We’ve known each other for two weeks.
Two weeks, Noah.” My voice cracks. “That’s not enough time to build anything on.
That’s barely enough time to know if you actually like someone or if you just like the idea of them. ”
I drop my gaze, unable to look at him while I say the rest.
“I want this to be real. I want it so badly it scares me. But I’ve wanted things before.
I wanted my marriage to be real, and look how that turned out.
” A tear escapes, tracking down my cheek before I can stop it.
“What if I’m just broken? What if I don’t know how to tell the difference between something good and something that’s going to destroy me? ”
Something shifts in his expression. Hope, maybe.
Or fear. Or both tangled together so tightly they’re impossible to separate.
He’s quiet for a long moment, and the silence stretches between us like a held breath.
I watch his face, trying to read what he’s thinking, but he’s gone somewhere I can’t follow.
Then he reaches up and wipes the tear from my cheek with his thumb.
“You’re not broken,” he says quietly. “You’re just bruised. A bruise only means you’re healing.” His hand cups my face, tilting it so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “And you are healing, Melody. I’ve watched it happen this week. Every day you’re a little stronger. A little more yourself.”
“But how do you know? How do you know I’m not just fooling myself again? Seeing what I want to see instead of what’s really there?”
“You don’t. That’s the terrifying part.” He sits up slowly, pulling me with him so we’re facing each other on the tangled sheets. “You can’t know for certain. Not about me, not about us, not about anything. You just have to decide if the risk is worth it.”
“And if it’s not? If I take the risk and it destroys me?”