15. Melody
Melody
T he sound of soothing ocean waves floats through the air as I recline in a massage chair. Calming lavender candles burn with tiny pops and crackles from their wooden wicks. A woman gently scrubs my scalp with some fancy shampoo while the massage chair squeezes my calves. This is bliss.
Pure bliss.
"Miss," the woman Dante assigned to me whispers. "Mr. Lyons has requested your presence for dinner tonight."
I smile under the clay face mask. "Sounds great."
Dickhead Dante replaced my discount outlet purse with some leather designer bag and filled my wallet with cash and a new credit card.
No idea what the limit is, but based on my spending spree today?
It's got to be in the multi-thousands. Even though he already replaced my wardrobe, and most of it is entirely my style, I want to have clothes and shoes that I pick for myself.
And the city's best sushi didn't come cheap, either.
Helena, the imposing woman who's accompanied me all day, rarely says a word. I've tried to entice her into conversations, you know, girl talk. But she doesn't seem interested. Maybe she's just super professional. Or maybe working with Roman, king of silence, rubs off on you after a while.
"You sure you don't want to join in on this?" I mumble, stifling a delighted groan as the spa worker massages my neck. "It's on me. You'll love it."
"No, thank you."
I crack an eye and look up at the spa worker. She shrugs, and so do I.
So, Helena stands there, keeping vigilant watch for the remainder of the two-hour session. She follows silently as they shuffle me to the salon chair, observing as my hair is blown dry and styled to the nines.
I look good. I look like a lethal bitch. Being a rich asshole's wife has perks, as I'm coming to realize. After thanking the spa staff profusely and paying, we leave, and Helena slides into the driver's seat of the big black SUV. The back seat is full of my shopping bags.
"Is there anywhere else you'd like to go?" Helena asks.
I hum thoughtfully. "No, not today. Can we go back home?"
Helena doesn't answer, just shifts the vehicle into drive and expertly weaves through the city's traffic.
She's impressively competent. From the corner of my eye, I watch her calmly maneuver the massive SUV.
Her strawberry blonde hair is slicked back into an immaculate bun, not a strand out of place.
I don't think she's even wearing makeup—her skin is just naturally flawless.
Damn. I suck my teeth in jealousy, and swivel my head to look out the window.
We're nearing Dante's home—my home, I'm still getting used to that fact—in Old City.
I'm still not accustomed to the casual display of wealth in this area.
The sidewalks are perfectly maintained and smooth, without a speck of trash blowing in the wind.
It's weird. I always kind of liked the moniker Filthadelphia . A gritty city for gritty people.
Though it seems that even the highest of the upper class has some grit, too. The tunnel under this house is tangible proof.
Helena helps me bring in the bags and sets them carefully on the kitchen counter. Marie left us sliced fruit on two plates, perfectly chilled. I don't know where she goes when she disappears. She's a lovely woman, if a little quiet. It seems Dante has preferences for his staff.
I aim to change that. I don't want to be surrounded by silent yes-men.
Patting the bar stool beside me, I invite Helena to sit and eat with me. She hesitates for a second but shrugs and slides into the stool.
"So, where are you from?" I casually ask, picking up an orange wedge.
"Connecticut."
"Did you like it there?" I look over and smile with what I hope is warmth.
"No." Helena pokes at a cantaloupe cube, averting her gaze from me. Great, one-word answers.
"How did you meet Roman?" I don't want to be annoying, but at the same time, I'd like to know the person I'm spending my days with while Dante is gone.
"We met in the military—the Navy. We were on the same ship for a time." She gets up and retrieves a glass of water for herself, then gestures to me. I politely decline. "After a few years, I decided to leave the service and use the GI Bill for college."
Oh fuck yes, this is what I want. Real conversation. "What was your major?"
"Biology." She smiles. "I wanted to be a scientist."
"What happened?"
"Have you seen many job listings for scientists?" She cocks an eyebrow at me. I shake my head. "Besides, private security pays well."
"I bet," I sigh. I only got a few semesters of community college under my belt before I had to join the workforce.
Mom's nursing job paid enough for us to scrape by, but my income gave us a tiny bit of breathing room.
Especially since that asshole, Charlie, got laid off during the financial crisis.
And he never went back to work, not really.
Mom really hit the jackpot when she cashed in on his life insurance policy.
Helena's phone pings in her pocket, and she furrows her brow as she reads. "Mr. Lyons will be home soon, with Roman. May I assist you with anything until then?"
Ah, there's the professionalism. Damn. I'll get her talking again tomorrow, I hope. "Could you help me bring the bags up to the bedroom?"
"Of course."
We load our emptied plates into the dishwasher and head up the stairs, both of our arms full with the bags of clothing and shoes.
She helps me hang them in the walk-in closet and tuck the shoes into the organizer.
I select a floor-length crimson maxi dress and quickly get changed, patting my hair back into place.
I don't want to be some eye candy housewife, and I don't think Dante wants that either, but spending his money put me in an exceptional mood.
I hear the door open downstairs, and Helena nods to me before exiting the room.
After waiting a few seconds, I follow and find the three quietly chatting in the living room.
All eyes snap to me as I descend the staircase.
Dante doesn't say a word, but the look on his face could be either murderous or lust. Maybe both.
Roman clears his throat. "Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Lyons."
"You, too," I say, still locked in a stare with my husband. Roman and Helena quietly leave, and Dante closes the distance between us.
Before I can say another word, his mouth is plastered over mine, invading my lips. I swear he has more than two hands—he feels like a dozen people as he grabs me, squeezes me, keeping me pressed against him in a vice grip.
He breaks the kiss long enough to graze the shell of my ear, making shivers and tingles race down my spine. "You look phenomenal, Melody."
I can feel his cock press against my stomach, still restrained by his pants. For some reason, that sends a thrill into the base of my skull.
"I got this dress in black, too." I smirk into his kisses. "Do you like it as much as the purple?"
"Hmm." He steps back and sweeps his gaze from head to toe. "Could be better."
"Tell me." I shrug. "I think it's pretty good."
"Well, for starters, the neckline is much too high." He snags my arm and pulls me close again. With his free hand, he grabs at the neckline of the dress and yanks. The fabric snaps and frays, sending a deep tear down the front. "Much better."
"You fucking animal," I growl. "I liked this dress. You want me to just have my tits on display at all times?"
"It certainly wouldn't hurt." Dante nuzzles his lips into the crook of my neck and inhales deeply. "Fuck, you smell divine."
"That's what happens when you have a happy wife." I lean into his touch. "You get a happy life."
"Is that so?" He guides me to the overstuffed sofa and sits down, taking me into his lap. "In such a case, I think I'd like to make my wife very happy."
His hand trails a ghost of a touch up my thigh, pushing the dress out of the way, and I swing out my leg with barely any thought.
I didn't even realize it until this very moment, but I'm fucking throbbing with need.
My breath catches in my throat as his fingertips inch closer and closer to the apex of my thighs.
"Would this make you happy, love?" Dante whispers, sending shivers down my spine.
I can't speak. I just nod, looking up at him with my deer-in-the-headlights eyes. Heat pools between my legs, and I fucking need it. I need his touch. I need everything.
Leaning back into the throw pillows, I let out a whimper and will him to read my mind. Touch me. Fuck me. Use me .
"What about this?" He smirks and repositions himself between my legs. The heat of his breath on my thighs has me clutching the cushion seams. Dante hooks my panties to the side with one finger and lets out a low groan. "Fuck, Melody. You're absolutely dripping."
He lowers his head and licks a devastatingly slow swipe with his flattened tongue.
My eyes roll back in my head, and I can't stop the purr that rumbles in my throat.
The man is disastrously good with his tongue.
My hands clench around the sofa cushion with such force, I'm half afraid I might tear the damn thing to pieces.
But not that afraid. My logical mind isn't home right now. No, all I can think—all I can feel—is how goddamn good Dante is at eating pussy. He's a fucking master. He should teach classes. Or maybe not, because then his attention would be pulled away from me.
He looks up at me over the swell of my belly, with his piercing green eyes laser-focused on me.
Wrapping his lips around my clit, he flicks the sensitive nub with his tongue and expertly slides a finger in my pussy.
The orgasm hits me like a freight train—my whole body tenses, and I can't control the noises coming out of my mouth.
Once the fluttering aftershocks abate, he gently removes the finger and smiles up at me, face glistening with my slick.
"Happy, love?"
I nod breathlessly and muster all of my strength to reply. "Extremely."