Chapter 4 Melodie
MELODIE
The bathroom is small, smelling of pine cleaner and Rogue’s heavy, masculine scent.
He sits me down on the closed lid of the toilet, his movements careful, almost clinical, as he reaches for the first-aid kit under the sink.
I should feel exposed, but looking at the set of his jaw and the focused intensity in his eyes, all I feel is cared for.
“I’m going to lift the sweater, Mel,” he says, his voice dropping to that low rumble that makes my skin tingle. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
I nod, clutching the edge of the seat. He hooks his large fingers under the hem of the soft knit and slides it up.
I hiss as the fabric pulls at the dried blood on my side.
He stops instantly, his knuckles brushing against my ribs.
The contact is electric. I’ve been touched roughly for so long that his hesitation, his genuine concern for my pain, is more overwhelming than the injury itself.
“Easy, angel. I’ve got you.”
He uses a warm cloth to dab at the area, cleaning away the mess left by the corset’s cruel edges.
I watch him, fascinated by the contrast of his massive, tattooed hands performing such delicate work.
He looks like he could crush a man's skull without blinking, yet he’s treating me like I’m made of the same fragile paper I used for my flowers.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
He pauses, the damp cloth hovering over a particularly nasty bruise.
He looks up, his dark green eyes locking onto mine with a fierce sincerity.
“Because nobody should have ever laid a hand on you unless it was to worship you, Melodie. And because I’m never letting anyone hurt you again. Not while I’m drawing breath.”
The all-consuming, love at first sight that Mika and Athena talked about this afternoon, the stories of their hardened bikers claiming them instantly…
It all sounded like a fairy tale. A lie told to keep me from giving up hope.
But looking at Rogue, I realize it wasn't a lie. It’s a territorial, bone-deep possession.
And for the first time in my life, I want to be claimed.
“Rogue,” I whisper, tilting my head up to look at him.
“Was that too much? Fuck, I know I’m coming off as an obsessed–”
“Kiss me.”
His eyes widen as a kaleidoscope of emotions swirl within. Shock gives way to a tender realization, and Rogue cups my cheek, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone. “Are you sure, precious?”
I nod and lean forward, putting myself out there in a way I never have before. Rogue doesn’t let me doubt myself for a single second. His lips meet mine in an achingly tender touch, taking a moment to breathe me in before kissing me with more intention.
My lips part beneath his, and I welcome the heat of his tongue rubbing against mine. What starts out as soft exploration quickly turns into something more urgent. I slide my hands up his chest and tangle my fingers in his hair, needing more of his flavor and desperate touches.
Rogue combs his hand through my hair, pulling it to one side so he has better access to my neck. I let out a quiet moan when his lips glide along my sensitive flesh, followed by a slight sting when he nips a spot below my ear.
“So damn soft and sweet,” he murmurs, his breath tickling my skin. “Can’t wait for more of that, angel. But first, let me finish cleaning you up.”
I sigh and give him a little pout, which Rogue kisses away. How can he be devastatingly sexy, protective, and yet so gentle? He’s everything I could ever want, but I’m having a hard time believing this can really be my reality.
After changing the bandage, he carries me back to the kitchen, refusing to let my feet touch the cold floor. He sets me on the counter, standing between my knees as he begins to move around the kitchen with a sudden burst of restless energy.
"You need to eat," he says, though he's mostly talking to the fridge. "Mika left some soup, but I can make you something better. Steak? Eggs? I’m not much of a chef, but I can grill anything."
I watch him, a small smile tugging at my lips. He’s hovering, his protective instincts dialed up to an eleven. "The soup is fine, Rogue. Really."
He stops, turning back to me. He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
His thumb lingers on my cheekbone. "I feel like I'm losing my mind," he admits, his voice rough.
"I've spent my whole life looking for a fight, looking for a reason to burn things down.
And then I find you, and suddenly the only thing that matters is making sure you're fed and warm. "
"Is that a bad thing?" I ask softly.
"No," he growls, leaning in until our foreheads touch. "It's the only thing that's ever made sense."
The moment is broken by a low vibration from the counter. Rogue's phone. He glances at it, and I see his expression shift. The tenderness retreats behind a mask of cold, hard steel.
"Is it the club?" I ask, my stomach doing a nervous flip.
"It's Shadow," he says, picking up the phone but keeping his eyes on me. "They found a lead on the guy who was holding your contract. A man named Vance."
The name hits me like a physical blow. Vance. The man with the cold eyes and the silver cane.
Rogue sees the color drain from my face. He drops the phone and grabs my shoulders. "Melodie? What is it? You know him?"
"He's not just a buyer," I whisper, my voice trembling. "He... he's the boss. He’s the one the Madame answers to."
Rogue’s grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to let me know the beast is back. The man who cleaned my wounds is still there, but the Road Captain of the Wicked Riders is standing right in front of me, and he looks ready for war.
"Vance," Rogue repeats, the name sounding like a death sentence in his mouth. "Good. I like it when they have names. It makes the headstone easier to order."
“He’s dangerous,” I squeak out, not liking the idea of him taking on a man like that.
“So am I,” he doesn’t hesitate to answer. Rogue takes a deep breath and calms down slightly. “I need to tell the others about this,” he says.
I nod while he picks up his phone again and makes a few calls. My head is spinning, but Rogue assures me after a few minutes that one of his MC brothers has eyes on Vance, so they know he’s not on the run. Yet. It does little to quell my anxiety.
Hours later, we’re stretched out in bed together. We didn’t discuss me spending the night again or him sleeping next to me. It all happened so naturally.
But now I’m restless and thinking about Vance’s hands wrapped around my arm, his whiskey-soaked breath filling my nostrils, and the tap-tap-tapping of his cane against the linoleum floor.
“Are you okay, angel?” Rogue asks, turning so that he’s spooning around me. “You keep jolting awake.”
“Sorry,” I say automatically.
“None of that, remember?” he breathes against the back of my neck before kissing me there. “Can I help distract you?”
Just like that, every other thought falls right out of my head. “What did you have in mind?” I wiggle against his hard body, my cheeks flushed with heat when I feel a certain part of him harden.
Being with Rogue like this, close and intimate, is the opposite of everything I’ve ever felt.
I’m not being controlled, yelled at, or made fun of.
In fact, Rogue worships me with every word, every gentle touch, every swipe of his tongue.
We’ve only kissed once, but I could easily be persuaded to do more, as long as it’s with my sexy, safe biker.
“I could touch you. Make you feel good. Put you to sleep as you ride a wave of pleasure. But only if that’s what you want.”
“Please,” I whimper. God, is that my voice?
Rogue hums in approval and spreads his hand out over my stomach, tenderly caressing my skin. That simple touch makes my pussy throb and my skin break out into goosebumps.
“You’re so soft,” Rogue murmurs as he pulls me closer to him.
Every single inch of his body is rock hard, from the defined muscles on his chest and abs to his thick cock digging into my ass.
It feels so good being pressed against him while he continues to explore my body with gentle, yet scorching, touches.
I arch my back when he cups my breast and glides his thumb against my pebbled nipple.
Rogue growls softly and grinds his erection against me.
He kisses the back of my neck then nips at the sensitive spot just below my ear.
I can't help but whimper again when he scrapes his teeth along the same spot like he wants to devour me. I want him to.
Not too long ago, the idea of being intimate with someone would have caused a panic attack.
But right here with my gentle giant? I want to taste, touch, and explore everything he has to offer.
Lust isn’t the only thing pumping through my veins; an overwhelming sense of belonging and safety courses through me as Rogue strokes my curves almost reverently.
He tugs at my shirt, managing to lift it up and over my head with little to no help from me. Rogue squeezes my breasts and pinches one nipple, then the other. He grunts something about perfect tits, but I hardly hear him over the tide of sensations washing over me.
Rogue slides his hand down my torso, his fingers dancing along the edge of his boxers that I’m wearing.
The featherlight touch drives me crazy. He’s teasing me, making me squirm, making me want so much more.
I’ve never been this needy, this desperate, this…
wet. God, I’m so, so incredibly turned on right now. I ache for him.
He slips just the tips of his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, making me gasp at the sudden rush of arousal shooting through me. Every nerve ending spikes with pleasure, causing more wetness to coat the insides of my thighs.
“This okay, Melodie?” Rogue asks softly, his voice tinged with the same desperate need I feel.
“Yes,” I whimper. “Please.”
“Are you sure? I would never take advantage–”