—TWENTY-SIX—
I really could get used to this.
We take the liberty of using our fifteen-minute meeting break to sneak out to the parking lot and fuck in the back of Melody’s Camry, like two horny teenagers.
It’s been a week since our intimacy-laced rendezvous on my living room couch, where she fell asleep on my chest like a satiated lover, and I stared up at my ceiling fan trying to count the amount of times it spun around in unsteady circles. Melody’s languid breaths were a muted soundtrack to my racing mind, mingling only with Walden’s wheezy snores from across the room and my kitchen faucet leak. The morning-after came quickly, with Melody stirring awake just before five A.M., and I drove her to her car still parked at Breaker’s.
We didn’t say much, but it was a comfortable sort of silence, brimming with quiet musings, heated glances, and the occasional smile from her. Melody even reached for my hand during the drive over to the bar, squeezing it in her warm palm, transmitting a flurry of feelings that shot straight to my heart. Before she hopped out of my truck, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips, something sweet and wistful, murmuring softly, “Thank you.”
I was too fucking tired to decipher the meaning.
Thanks for the good dicking?
Thanks for the really uncomfortable few hours of sleep on my small ass couch, my elbow jabbing into her ribs, when there was a bed right down the hallway?
Maybe she was thankful for my impeccable hosting abilities. I didn’t offer her anything to drink or eat—I basically just fucked her senseless, then sent her on her merry way.
I’m not exactly sure what she was thankful for, but I know what I’m thankful for right now—the feel of her crumbling in my lap, coming so hard, her nails almost pierce through my cotton t-shirt as her teeth bite into my shoulder to stifle a sharp moan.
A prideful smile lifts on my mouth when she pulls herself up in my lap, eyes drunk with post-orgasmic bliss, cheeks flushed bright pink. Her hair is chaos, matching the energy swimming in the air. “That was quick,” I tease, gliding my hands down her spine.
“I’ve been waiting all week for that.”
Fuck.
Me, too.
I’m pretty terrible at the whole communication thing, but I’m really fucking trying.
I texted her.
The night following our hook-up, I texted her because I was thinking about her. I was thinking about a particular sound she made, kind of a raspy mew, wondering the exact thing I’d done in that moment to procure such a sound, so I could do it again, a million times over.
So goddamn sexy.
I was also thinking about the texture of her hair, cashmere and cotton, clearly not from this world.
Witchcraft.
Then I was thinking about those glistening tears in her eyes when I’d confided in her about my shitty past, why they were there, what prompted such an emotional reaction from her because emotion means she cares—and I don’t fucking understand why she cares.
About me.
I’ve kind of been a dick to her, an asshole, really, and yet she continues to hurl her empathy at me. She continues to invade and intrude, reaching deeper every single time.
Why? Why me?
So, I decided to text her and get the plethora of burning questions off my chest, but all I ended up sending was: “Hi”
Melody responded with her own “Hi,” but hers was followed by one of those little happy face emojis because she has a vagina.
And that was it.
Luckily, Melody didn’t seem too pissed when I sauntered into the meeting today with a strange flickering of nerves erupting inside me. She sat in her usual seat, one leg crossed over the other, looking prim and innocent despite the blazing, come-hither “fuck me” eyes she kept spearing me with throughout the meeting. The moment we were released for break, she swept past me with a saucy smile, smelling like orange peels, a blatant invitation to follow.
One minute later, we were climbing into her backseat until I was balls-deep inside her, and now she’s sprawled against my chest, a mess of satisfied limbs and erratic heartbeats.
Weaving my fingers through her wild mane of hair, I pull her in closer until our lips touch. I’m still rock-hard inside of her, aching for release. “You were waiting to get fucked again?”
Melody clenches some kind of magical muscles that cause me to jerk with a groan. “Yes. I was also waiting for something else.”
Here we go…
“Better communication, I get it. I really fucking suck—”
“Not that.” Her smile alludes to the fact that she isn’t pissed or resentful. “I actually appreciate that you tried. I know this isn’t easy for you.”
My dick wants to know why she stopped moving, but I muster a nod.
“That’s not what I meant, though.” Melody climbs off my lap until I’m slipping out of her, her small fist replacing her pussy. She tucks her sundress down with her opposite hand and leans over me, green eyes lifting to sink me with implication. “You said you fantasized about my mouth on you…”
A response doesn’t even make its way to my lips before hers are wrapped around my hard cock.
Oh, Jesus, fuck.
I must’ve said that out loud because she smiles around me, using her palm to fist and stroke the base in time with her fevered sucks and eager tongue. My head drops against the headrest, a tapered grown expelling from my chest as my fingers sift through her hair, gathering those silky strands and guiding her head up and down. The image of her bobbing on my dick, taking me deep into her throat, is almost enough to send me spiraling. “Mother of fuck, Melody. I’m not going to last long.”
Embarrassing, but true.
She moans as she pumps me with a tight hand, slow at first, lapping at the pre-cum that coats her tongue. Her movements steadily grow quicker as she jerks me, and I watch in utter fucking bliss as she sucks me off and brings me to my goddamn knees.
My grip tightens on her hair, my hips instinctually arching up as my climax builds. “You’re going to make me come down your fucking throat,” I hiss, my body damn near trembling as she hollows out her cheeks and sucks hard.
Fucking hell.
I lose all control, my body surrendering when an orgasm seizes me, and I spill into her mouth with a groan, watching as she fucking takes it, swallowing me down while she makes that sexy little mewling sound.
“Jesus…” I grit out, both hands tangled in her hair as she finishes me off.
When I come down, I’m dazed and out of breath, a little slap-happy, but mostly thankful.
I’m thankful for Melody March and her perfect fucking mouth.
And I’m really thankful for tinted windows.
We’re only two minutes late when we wander back inside together with flushed skin and wrinkled clothes, our hair in utter disarray.
Amelia snorts, causing Ms. Katherine to pause mid-sentence, her own cheeks staining rosy red as she looks our way.
Because she knows we fucked. Everyone in this room knows we fucked.
A drowsy smile stretches across my face as we make our way over to our respective chairs, Melody trying desperately to hide behind her curtain of blonde locks. Amelia spares me a humored, knowing glance as I settle into my seat with a hard exhale. I meet her eyes. They almost look violet, just like the streaks in her hair. “What?”
I’m expecting teasing or ridicule, maybe even some sage wisdom that borders on creepy. But Amelia just smiles back at me, and there’s a softness there, something almost whimsical. “I’m really happy for you, Parker.”
A frown creases my brows, but not my usual menacing scowl. I guess I’m a little surprised by the sentiment. “Why?”
“Because you found a way out.”
“A way out?”
“Of the hole.”
I blink. Our voices are hushed, so only we can hear each other. Ms. Katherine presses on about one of her favorite quotes, something about having two lives, but it sounds dumb, so I drown her out and keep my attention on Amelia. A fresh cut peeks out through the hem of her dark sleeve, and for the very first time, I’m not filled with derisiveness. A pang of empathy shoots through me instead, and I wonder why that is.
Swallowing, I nod at the new carving. “Adding to your story collection?”
A smile beams to life. “You remembered.”
“About you calling yourself a storyteller because you like to give yourself morbid tattoos? Yeah. Kind of hard to forget.”
“It’s nice when your words stick with people. It feels good to be heard,” she says quietly. “To be seen.”
My frown deepens. “Is that why you do that shit? To be seen?”
Amelia tucks her limp black hair behind one ear, showcasing her stretched earlobe and multiple piercings. “I guess so. But once you’re really seen, you can never been un-seen… you know?”
“Not really.”
“Once you leave your mark on people, that’s it. You’re carved into them, permanently engraved. You become a part of their story. And that’s a little intimidating.”
Melody catches my eye beside Amelia, our gazes locking for a striking moment. Her warm, sunny smile entices my own, and I realize we’re just sitting there, smiling stupidly at each other from a few feet away.
When I bring my eyes back to Amelia, her own smile greets me, and she says, “I’m glad you got your happy ending.”
A deep-rooted part of me wants to say something scathing, to repel her kind words with barbs and steel. But I don’t because a bigger part of me doesn’t want to do that at all. A bigger part of me feels like a total jackass for adding to her heavy weights and despair with my snide remarks and apathy. My teeth gnash together as I duck my chin to my chest. “I, uh… I’m sorry for being a dick to you. I know that doesn’t mean much, and I’m not really good at this nice-guy shit, but for what it’s worth…” I lift my eyes, straining my jaw. “For what it’s worth, you’re actually kind of cool, and I know you’ll have a lot of stories to tell someday. Good stories—not the bloody kind.”
“I like the bloody kind.” Her grin broadens, a metal retainer and silver lip ring gleaming back at me. “But thank you for that. I won’t forget it.”
I send her a curt nod, feeling mildly uncomfortable with my foray into sensitivity. But it also feels sort of… good.
Ms. Katherine interrupts our weird bonding moment, turning her attention to Amelia while she clings to her leather-bound journal. A soft expression decorates her made-up face, and she bobs her head with encouragement. “Why don’t you finish off the starting points for today, Amelia.”
Amelia twists the hem of her dark lace dress, sending me a final smile of gratitude before facing Ms. Katherine. She breathes out a contented sigh. “My hamster, Nutmeg.”