Chapter 7 Melody #2
"Fuck, love," he pants. "Do that again."
"You want it?" I demand. "Fucking make me. Make me forget. Make me forget everything but you."
Every rock of his hips sends my head rolling back, my eyes watering with a hint of pain—but the pleasure far overpowers it. I need him. I've needed him for months. I'll never let go of him ever again.
"You're mine, Melody," he huffs. "You're fucking mine. You hear me? You're mine. You feel this cock? You feel the way it aches for you? The way I'm so fucking hard for you?"
I don't even have the words to affirm him.
I don't have any coherent thought. Just a deep, intense, all-consuming need.
The soul-burning desire to be with him, to have him in me, to have him spill his seed in me—multiple times a day, if I'm able.
The thought sends another shiver down my spine, and I clutch his shoulders while he pounds deeper and deeper.
"Fuck," I gasp. "Fuck. Just… fuck."
A tear leaks from my eye and trails down my cheek in a hot, jagged line. He leans down and licks it away. "No tears, love. Only joy."
"It is joy," I protest. "It is. I missed you so fucking much—fuck!"
"I missed you—shit—more." Dante drops to his elbows and boxes me in. His breath fans over my neck, forcing little goosebumps to erupt all over me. "I missed you more."
He sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of my shoulder—the hint of pain roars back to the surface. I can't help the primal groan that forces its way from my lungs. "More. More!"
"More?" he mumbles. Shifting himself again, he reaches a hand down to my clit and gently circles the sensitive bud while pistoning his hips—he hits every single nerve and more. I sound like an animal, I'm sure, but I can't stop.
I can't fucking stop. And I'm powerless to hold the building orgasm at bay. My muscles tense, and I feel the delicious heat flare to life at the base of my spine.
"Fuck—don't stop," I plead. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
His thrusts come more erratically, and his fingers press down on either side of my clit.
Every neuron in my body ignites. I'm tumbling over the edge into nothingness before I can take another breath.
The only thing that exists right now is him.
Me. Us. The liquid heat of his cum spilling into me, lubricating his thrusting cock, and the way I can't seem to keep my legs still.
Dante lets out a deep groan as he fucks the last drops of cum deep into my pussy, right before he shudders to a halt. "Oh, god, Melody. God, love. I missed you so fucking much."
I'm speechless. He fucked me speechless. All I can do is gasp in breath after breath. My mind slowly comes back online, and my eyes refocus on the bunker room around us. A droplet of sweat trickles from my forehead, down my temple, and gets lost in my hair.
"Holy shit," I breathe. "Do you smell that?"
"Hm?" He gently removes himself to lie down and runs a hand down my exposed arm. "Smells like Melnyk is making breakfast, and I know Roman has news on Ella. Or would you prefer to stay here?"
Ella's name throws a metaphorical bucket of ice water over me.
Fuck. I clutch the blankets back and roll over, shoving my face into the pillow.
We're not safe, not really. I doubt that Ella would storm a seemingly abandoned cabin in West Virginia, but we can't stay here forever.
And I don't want to. I have no doubts that Dante will let me lick my wounds and recuperate, but I don't fucking want to.
That asshole stole my future, and I'm gonna end hers.
"What's the news?" I ask as I throw the blankets off again. "Also, what the hell am I gonna wear?"
"I won't lie, love. I didn't have the time—or space—to pack all of your clothes, but I brought some I think you'll like," he says with a shit-eating grin.
He hops out of bed, pulls on his sweatpants, and disappears for a moment.
In less than a minute, he reenters with a duffel bag and tosses it onto the bed.
Warily, I unzip the bag and let out a squeal.
My years-old hoodie and pajama pants are neatly folded at the top, and I burst into tears again.
I don't think I've ever undressed and redressed faster in my life.
I will not miss the scratchy, jail-issued bra and granny panties.
My old clothes feel like the world's most comforting hug. "You remembered!"
"I pay attention to my wife," Dante says with that cocky grin I love so much. He gathers the discarded bra and panties from the floor. "What do you want to do with these?"
"Burn them. I don't care. I don't ever want to see them again.
" Digging further into the bag, I find enough underwear to last me a month.
My fuzzy socks are clean and paired perfectly, nestled between various comfy—but flattering—pants and shirts.
He even packed my favorite black floral dress. God, I really don't deserve him.
"Consider it done, love." He shoves the offending articles of clothing in his pocket. "Let's get some food in you, and we'll talk plans."
Scurrying up the stairs, I find the man from last night—Melnyk, I think?
—stationed at the stainless steel range, spatula in hand.
Bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs are piled high on a serving platter, while pancakes gently toast on a cast-iron griddle.
He looks up with a gentle smile and motions to the rustic wooden chairs lining the granite island. "Sit. Eat."
I don't have to be told twice. Dante fills a coffee cup for me while I serve myself a heaping spoonful of the eggs and drizzle real maple syrup on a pancake. With the first bite, my eyes roll back in my head and a very inappropriate moan falls from my lips.
"This is, without a doubt, the best food I've ever had in my life." I shove another forkful in my mouth and moan again.
"Keep those moans to yourself, love. Unless you want me to kill every man in this room," Dante whispers into my ear, and I blush.
"You wouldn't dare." I point my fork at him.
"Please do not," Melnyk pipes up. The flush spreads from my cheeks to the tips of my ears. I'm not used to being in such close quarters with (basically) strangers.
"Sorry, Melnyk." I smile sweetly before turning my attention back to Dante. "So, Ella?"
"Ella learned of your escape—rather, the van crash—early this morning," Roman announces from the leather sofa. "The news articles don't have anything confirmed, but early reports indicate that the van, along with all presumed passengers, burnt down to the steel frame."
I shiver at the thought. I know they were dead already—or just about—but the concept of burning in that white-hot fire makes my skin crawl.
"Per our surveillance, Ella left her home and followed the same highway to investigate the crash herself," Roman continues. "They will find the remains, of course. And most likely bullets. And casings. We did not, ah, have time to properly clean up after ourselves."
"Shit." I won't pretend to know much about forensics, but can't they trace guns to bullets and/or casings? Are the guns that Dante and Roman and company have, like, legally purchased? It would honestly surprise me if they were.
"This, of course, means that the Seraph are aware of Melody's escape." Roman averts his eyes from me, looking toward one of the windows, into the Appalachian forest.
The Seraph? Did he mean someone named Sarah? Or is that one of the people from GoCon I haven't met? I can't imagine why someone from GoCon would care. "Sorry, the who?"
Roman snaps his gaze to Dante. "You never told her?"
"Told me what?" I look over to Dante, who's currently inspecting a speck of dust on the countertop. "Dante, told me what?"
The longer it takes for him to reply, the more my lungs constrict with anger.
After all this, after all the bullshit and kidnapping and stalking and another kidnapping, after I went to fucking jail, he's hiding shit from me?
I don't even realize how hard I'm gripping the stupid fork until Melnyk gently extracts it from my hand.
Somehow, I've bent the metal without even noticing.
"Sorry, miss. I do not wish to see anyone here stabbed," Melnyk whispers. I can't even look at him. I can't look at anyone but my stupid, asshole, dickhead, fuckface husband.
"What the fuck haven't you told me, asshole?!" I shriek and lunge at the man. Dante—the dickhead—sidesteps but catches me before I hit the floor. "Why the fuck won't you say anything? Talk!"
"I'm… sorry." He gently guides me back to the dining chair. "I didn't want to worry you."
"Worry me? Worry me? I went to jail!" I screech. Melnyk and Roman make themselves scarce, which is probably a good idea. "You're gonna fucking talk, and you're gonna start now."
"You're right. You're right. I'm sorry. The Seraph…
okay, how do I explain this? The Seraph are, for lack of a better term, our enemies.
" Dante presses his hand to his forehead, still not looking at me.
"For decades, for centuries, they have tried to bring the entirety of the Goetic Consortium down. Through any means necessary."
"Oh, right, of course—how silly of me—you MASSIVE dickhead!
You didn't fucking tell me you have some all-powerful enemies?
" My fingernails cut into my palms with the force I've balled my fists.
I'm gonna punch him. I swear to god, I'm going to punch the shit out of my dickhead husband.
"Let me guess, Ella is some high-ranking, I don't know, mob boss? "
"I meant to tell you. I just… I never knew this would happen, love. I promise you, I never wanted you to be in danger. I never wanted you to be mixed up in all this mess. I never wanted you to worry—I wanted you to be happy!" Dante insists.
"Don't you 'love' me, shithead! You think I'm happier now?
You think I'm fucking happy that I went to jail, not because I killed Charlie or any of the other fuckers, but because you have some rivalry with the cops?
" My whole body is shaking, and I can't stop it.
I can't stop my teeth from grinding. I can't stop my muscles from tensing.
"I was wrong. Melody, I'm sorry. I was wrong. I should have told you everything. It was na?ve for me to think you'd be left out of this." My asshole husband finally turns to look at me with shame in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."
"You're gonna have to do a lot better than that, dickhead." God, I could kill him. I could actually kill him. I could reach out and strangle his stupid, idiotic, obscenely handsome face.