Chapter 11 Melody
Melody
Ella isn't here. She's probably not coming. The anxiety refuses to unclench my guts, though. Down the hall, I can hear muffled conversation between what sounds like Melnyk and Roman. Carefully sliding to the floor, I creep to the doorway and strain my ears to listen.
"I do not understand why you're so opposed. You saw what she can do." I think that's Melnyk, based on the accent.
"We risked our lives to get her out of the prison transport. I don't want that to be for nothing. Of course, I know she's capable; that's not in question. I just…." Roman trails off with a heavy sigh.
Well, that won't do. I'm not going to let these men just stand there and talk about me, postulate about my abilities. As quietly as possible, I slip into some sweatpants and gently pull the door open wider. It swings open silently, to my relief.
The hallway is empty, but I can hear them talking from one of the other bunk-rooms. Dorm rooms?
I really don't know what to call them. Doesn't matter.
What does matter, though, is the fact that I'm about to rock up and throw a grenade in their conversation.
My irritation grows as I creep down the hall, listening intently.
"You just what, huh?" I kick open the door, and both men flinch. "You're annoyed that I get to put the bitch down. You're mad that I'm capable. You're mad that I passed your stupid test."
"Wasn't my test, miss. That was your husband's.
" Roman sighs and rubs his temples. "My concerns aren't related to your abilities.
My concerns are related to what Ella has in store.
I worry that she's biding her time, and when we make a move?
She might have a goddamn Seraph army. You're a scary woman, I'll give you that, but you can't beat an army. "
"No. But I'm not alone, right? I would be the bait, yes, but all of you military men know your way around a gun.
And I don't believe for a second that the rest of GoCon doesn't have mercenaries at their beck and call.
" I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. "Or are you implying that the Consortium wouldn't be involved? "
"Of course, they would be involved. Of course.
But that's assuming we launch an all-out offensive instead of this little splinter cell, so to speak.
Organizing takes time—time we might not have.
" Roman clenches his fist and slams it to the cinderblock wall with a furious grunt.
"That's my goddamn problem, Melody. We don't know how much time we have.
We don't know anything but the fact that you're chomping at the bit to spray and pray. "
"Spray and pray?! Oh, come on—" I squawk.
"Bad choice of words, I'm sorry," he interjects. "But the rest of my point stands. If we're going to do this, if you're going to do this, we need an actual plan."
"Fine. Let's make one." I stomp over to the bed and plop down on the edge. "What do you suggest?"
Melnyk and Roman exchange looks. Melnyk has a satisfied grin as he shrugs. "We could disseminate a little news through the ranks. Let slip that you are in Virginia."
"But… I'm not?" I don't get it.
"Yet. But it is close to here. We could scout a location that would seem advantageous to Ella but position our men strategically."
Damn. Melnyk isn't just a sweetheart and great with a gun. I may not know much about all this, but it seems he's pretty tactically adept.
"We could have a few more snipers arrive within two days," Roman suggests with furrowed brow. "The Eligos has generously allowed us access to her weapons arsenal. That gives us more firepower—more options for you as well."
"Snipers, good. I think I saw some explosives, too." Melnyk paces around the room. "Establish perimeter. Position Mrs. Lyons. Ensure backup with snipers. Surround entry with remote-detonated explosive."
"Hide body armor under bulky clothes," Roman follows up. "Keep a rifle handy. Small handgun on her person. That would be the preferred method—rifle for backup, of course."
"Of course," Melnyk agrees.
I can't help but smile at the men in their element.
Planning an attack, planning the death of Ella at my hands.
It's poetic justice, really. That bitch is really going to die.
But why does the thought spark a tiny blaze in my core?
And why does it burn brighter and brighter the more I think about the light leaving Ella's eyes?
Well, I know why. Because I'm honestly a little bit fucked up, but Dante matches my freak, and I just know he'll ravage me like he used to once Ella is dead. Maybe we'll make another baby.
My eyes widen at the thought. Fuck. Another baby. Wouldn't that just be perfect? Ella exits this world, and our child enters it—nine months later, of course. And that slithering dread is nowhere to be found. Am I really ready to try this again?
Yeah. Yeah, I am.
With joy in my heart and something far less wholesome in my core, I slip back into bed next to my husband. He stirs as the mattress dips under my weight. I quickly slide my arms around him and snuggle up, the big spoon to his little spoon.
"Shush, babe. Go back to sleep," I murmur.
He grumbles something unintelligible and wriggles his body into mine.
He fits perfectly, just like he used to.
My hand finds its way around to his lower belly, gently grazing the soft skin with that adorable happy trail.
I like the feeling of the coarse hairs. There's something inherently attractive about them.
"How can I sleep when you're touching me like that?" Dante groans and presses his back into me.
"Fair." I smile and press a gentle kiss to the back of his neck, relishing in the goosebumps that erupt on his flesh.
Ever so slowly, I slip my hand lower, lower, pushing aside the elastic band of his underwear.
The heat from his quickly hardening length sparks a thrill between my legs.
I allow myself a gentle squeeze of his cock and grin as he hisses out a gasp.
"Please," he mumbles between gritted teeth.
"Please what, babe?" I whisper. "Use your words."
"Please touch me, love," he hisses frantically. "Please keep touching me. I need it. I need you."
It takes all of my willpower to keep from jumping him, right then and there.
Instead, I torture us both with my long, slow, steady strokes.
He shoves the blanket down and exposes his incredibly hard cock jutting out from my hand.
A delicious bead of precum glistens at the tip.
As I stroke outward, his foreskin captures the bead and smears the liquid over the throbbing head when I pull back.
"Please don't stop," he begs.
"Be a good boy, and I won't," I murmur back and press another kiss to his shoulder. I can feel his whole body tense as I quicken the pace just a hair. His hips buck, and he fucks into my hand, and I have to bite my lip to keep my own desire locked down.
"I need you, Melody. I need you more than I need air—please, please, I need to be in you.
Please? My love, I swear to you, I will deliver Ella to you gagged and bound and hand you the knife if you just please let me fuck you.
Please. God, I need you." Dante murmurs his pleas and promises into the crook of my shoulder.
His breath ghosts across my skin, and goosebumps erupt down my back.
"You've been so good for me, babe," I whisper. "Come home."
His eyes light up through the lusty haze, and he scrambles to his knees, pushing my legs apart. In a heartbeat, his cock is notched to my cunt, and he waits for my assurance before pressing in.
"Just a little bit." I place my hand in the middle of his chest, creating a barrier between us. "Not all the way, got it?"
"Of course, my love," he practically sobs. I can't help the gasp that escapes me when the crown of his cock stretches me open. God, I'm so wet and ready, but I still want to punish him—a little bit, anyway.
As he breathes heavily through his own desires, he presses into me, making me feel every single fucking inch. The fire in me blazes with the heat of a star going supernova. He feels so much bigger than I remember. Pressure floods my cunt as his thick cock invades me, filling me almost completely.
"God, you're amazing," I mumble as my arm holding him back trembles.
"You feel like heaven, love," Dante whispers through gritted teeth. "Can you take the rest? Just a little bit more?"
I pretend to think it over with a teasing hum. Keeping him just on the edge, I drop my arm and nod. "Yes. Come all the way home."
"Oh, thank fuck," he grumbles as he rocks his hips deeper into me.
God, I missed him. I know he kept a secret from me for so long—but I missed this. I can't punish him without punishing myself. I spread my legs a little wider and press up into his thrusts, meeting him halfway, forcing his cock deeper. Deeper. More. Everything is pure ecstasy.
He slides a hand between us to knead my breast, and a moan falls from his lips. Beads of sweat gather on his brow, and I want to lick them off. I want to taste him. I want to fuck him for the rest of my days.
Dante grinds his hips against mine, gently massaging my clit as he penetrates me deeper than ever before, filling every last inch of me.
It's almost too much—almost. My breath comes fast and shallow as the familiar heat builds within my core.
His thrusts come faster, harder, more frantic, like he needs this more than I do, like he can't get enough.
When he flexes his hips in just the right way, I explode around him.
His own grunting breaths follow quickly behind, his orgasm rushing to the surface, and I writhe under him as I feel the warmth flooding my pussy.
Oh, my god, I missed this so much. I missed his cock. I missed his cum. I missed him.
"I love you so much, Melody," Dante pants out as he carefully extracts himself.
I think I say something back, but I'm not really sure.
Little aftershocks quake through my body, and I lazily watch him retrieve a towel from the adjoining bathroom.
He shakes his head when I reach for the towel.
Carefully positioning himself between my legs, he cleans the mess with reverence.
"God, you're gorgeous," he whispers reverently.
"You are," I say with a smirk. "I really, really missed that."
All I want is to snuggle into him and sleep for the next, oh, forty-eight hours. Unfortunately, Roman raps on the door.
"Sir?" Roman's tense voice shatters any idea of relaxation. "We have a problem."
"God dammit," Dante grunts. "Give me a minute."
With a heavy sigh, my husband unzips both of our suitcases and grabs just enough clothing for us to be considered decent. I frown as I slip a casual floral dress over my head and pull up the clean pair of underwear.
"Alright, we're ready," Dante announces. Roman storms in with a tablet in hand and a murderous look on his face.
"This is from The Furcas," Roman says as he taps on the screen. "Their assistant—Jonas, remember him?—was snatched into a van last night."
Oh, fuck. My heart drops to the floor. I never met the man (or The Furcas, for that matter), but if this means what I think it does….
"Shit," Dante breathes. "Any sign of him?"
Roman clenches his jaw. "That's the next thing. A pair of hands was dropped at The Furcas's door this morning. All surveillance was cut for ten minutes. Here's the entryway, see?"
He presses "play" on the CCTV video. It looks like a classic Deep South wraparound porch with wooden columns.
Perfectly manicured grass and shrubbery flank the walkway.
In the distance, I can see the grainy outline of cattle panel fencing.
It seems The Furcas lives on some kind of ranch?
And then the video cuts out, everything going black.
"Did the tablet die?" I muse.
"No." Roman shakes his head and scrubs through the video. The timestamp increases, and ten minutes to the second after it cuts out, the visual returns. Everything is exactly the same, with the exception of a small, red-stained cardboard box carefully placed on the wooden planks of the porch deck.
Oh, fuck. This is all very real. Nausea roils in my gut, and a cold sweat breaks out on my brow.
"God, no," Dante whispers.
"This is war." Roman clicks the screen off. "This isn't just us anymore. This is a coordinated attack on the entirety of the Goetic Consortium."