Chapter 12
Melody
“What are you doing?” I mumble, not even close to being fully awake. I’m aware of Brody moving around the room, though. It’s dark. How long have we been asleep? Not long enough.
He sets his palms on either side of me and kisses my cheek. “I’m going for a run. Want to come?”
I wince. “Is someone chasing us?”
He chuckles. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then, no. Not today or ever.” I snuggle into the covers deeper, inhaling his scent that’s all over my bed and both pillows.
He laughs again. How is he so chipper at this hour? “I need to get my gym bag out of my car. Can you tell me your alarm code, baby? I’ll reset it while I’m gone.”
“Four, five, six, seven.”
I hear him wince. “Melody…”
“Shut up and go for your run. You can lecture me about my alarm code later.”
“Not a morning person, I guess?”
I growl. “Actually, I am. I get a lot of work done early in the morning, but I prefer for the sun to actually be up. Six is good. Whatever time it is now is not okay.”
He laughs yet again. “It’s five-thirty.”
“Mmm.” I stick one hand out from under the covers and swat at him.
“Go. I need my other half hour.” But it’s ruined now.
I’m not really upset. In fact, I’m smiling under the covers as I listen to Brody shuffle out of the room, disarm the alarm, and open the door.
Moments later, he’s back. Five minutes after that, he’s gone again.
Running. Gah. No, thank you. I know I should probably work out more than I do—or at all—but at least I was born with good genes.
I’m pint-sized. That’s not likely to change.
I roll onto my back, giving up on sleep, and stare at the ceiling as daylight slowly begins to infiltrate the room.
I’m grateful for this time. I don’t know how far Brody intends to run or how long he’ll be gone, but maybe I can center myself and find my footing on this planet again.
I seem to have floated off Earth yesterday.
I’m not sure I can even tether myself back down.
Do I want to?
I’m not the same person I was yesterday. That woman is gone. Not just because I know more about sex, but because I know more about love.
I never expected to meet a real-life Prince Charming, fall in love, get married, and have babies.
It didn’t seem in the cards for me. I fell in love with books—especially romance novels—in my late teens, and they ruined me for real-life relationships.
I vowed never to settle for less than what my mind dreams up, and I’ve stuck to that.
Then Brody showed up. Acting like he’s on fire. Chop chop. Let’s go. I wonder whether he has that kind of energy all the time or if it was a fluke yesterday. I assume he woke up pumped again today, considering he left in the dark to go for a run.
My mind wanders to the way he touched me.
My body tingles as I remember his mouth on my nipples.
I slide a hand under my shirt and flick my fingers over my turgid bud.
My legs fall open as I pinch the tip next.
My eyes flutter closed, and I pretend my fingers are Brody’s.
Then I pretend they’re his teeth. He’s humming against my chest.
My pussy is soaked, and I slide my other hand down to touch my folds.
Swollen. Not from last night but from now.
I moan as I drag my fingers through the wetness.
I’m so sensitive. Is that left over from him touching me?
Or am I permanently more sensitive now that I’ve had so many mind-blowing experiences in under twenty-four hours?
I never attempt to masturbate without a toy.
Why would I? When I want to come, I can do it quickly with anything rechargeable or battery-operated.
I don’t remember the last time I used my hand.
But right now, nothing else seems necessary.
Not to come anyway. I can’t get my fingers in deep enough to satisfy my need to be filled. That’s what dildos are for.
Suddenly, I can hear Brody’s voice in my ear as if he’s standing next to me. “Every single one of your orgasms is mine. You may not touch yourself or use any of those vibrators for the entire week.”
My eyes pop open as I jerk my hands out from under the covers and sit up. I’m panting as I glance around. I’ve been barely awake, lying here masturbating until my bossy boyfriend infiltrated my mind and ruined what could have been an amazing orgasm.
Scowling, I shove the covers away, slide out of bed, and stomp to the bathroom. It’s still barely six o’clock. I don’t know how long Brody will be gone, but while he is, I’m going to shower. I’d better make it a cold shower. My pussy aches from denial.
“He can’t order me not to masturbate,” I mumble, stepping under the tepid water. “I’m not his submissive. We don’t have a formal written agreement that gives him the right to order me around.”
I yank the shampoo off the ledge and pour some into my palm.
My frustration is palpable. It’s not based on any real anger toward the sex god with the amazing body who rocked my world and then went out running so he could maintain those fucking abs and pecs.
Nope. This aggravation is from orgasm denial. It doesn’t sit well with me.
When I’m finished in the shower, I step out, quickly dry off, and wrap the towel around me. My hair is dripping water down my back, but I can’t do anything else until I have coffee.
I’m still absurdly disgruntled as I tromp to the kitchen and grab a mug.
“Come on,” I tell the coffee maker until my mug is filled.
I add about an inch of my favorite creamer, and I lean against the counter to sip the elixir.
That’s where I’m still standing when the door is opened and the alarm disarmed.
Brody shows up in the doorway seconds later.
I almost drop my coffee. Must the man look so fucking hot right now? Damn him. He’s breathing heavily. His shirt is soaked with sweat. His sweatpants shouldn’t be legal. Did his abs and pecs get bigger?
His brows knit together, reminding me that I’m mad at him. “What’s wrong?” The corner of his mouth tips up. He thinks I’m cute?
“You can’t order me not to touch myself,” I bark before taking another sip of coffee.
He tips his head back and laughs. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” I wave my free hand through the air erratically. “We’re not in a Dom/sub relationship. We don’t have a contract or anything. I can fucking masturbate if I want to.”
He’s grinning as he approaches me. Silently, he takes my mug from my hand and sets it to the side before caging me in with both hands on the edge of the counter.
Brody has to step back a few paces so he can bend forward and put us eye-to-eye. He’s not touching me, but he might as well be. I can feel him all over my skin.
“Someone woke up needing an orgasm.”
I scowl at him.
“Are you always this grumpy in the morning or only when you don’t get to come?”
My scowl turns into a growl.
He chuckles. Damn him. “Baby, did you touch that pussy?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
He lifts a brow.
“But then I remembered your fucking edict and stopped. And now I’m sexually repressed. Are you going to fix this?” I switch from growling to pouting, even going so far as to push my bottom lip out in hopes it will get me what I need.
He leans around me to the side and nips at my earlobe. “Fuck, you smell good. Maybe if you ask me nicely, I’ll let you come.”
Grrrr.
He pulls back to meet my gaze again and waits.
Fuck. “You left me alone in the bed all hot and bothered,” I complain. Am I whining? Who even am I?
“Yeah? Do you have something to ask me, little pixie?”
I sigh dramatically. I could continue to argue my point, but I won’t win. And I’ll still be aching. “Please may I have an orgasm?”
“Yes, baby. I think that’s a great idea.” He shoves off the counter, takes my hand, and turns, pulling me toward the bedroom. When we reach the bed, he grabs the tucked section of my towel between my breasts and tugs it free, leaving me naked.
I shiver, partly from the chill hitting my skin but also from the sudden exposure.
Brody opens the drawer on my nightstand. Of course he does. I’m not even shocked. And I don’t bother to stop him or try to block his access or his view. I warned him I own a lot of vibrators.
He says nothing as he shuffles through them, eventually holding up a clitoral stimulator. The kind that slides over my middle finger like a ring. “How about this one?”
I stare at it. “It’s pretty. What about it?”
He grins. “Lie down, sassy girl. Use it while I watch.”
I gasp and jerk my gaze from the toy to his face. “You want me to masturbate while you watch?”
“The idea makes me so hard I’m about to come in my sweats.”
“How about instead, you take your sweats off, climb between my legs, and fill me with that cock of yours?” Can I tempt him?
I’m stunned speechless when he pulls his shirt over his head and then removes everything else—shoes, socks, sweats, and underwear.
He grips his erection and slides his hand up and down.
“You have about five seconds to climb onto the bed, spread your legs, and put the vibrator to use before I change my mind and leave you unfulfilled for the entire day.”
I shift my attention to the fantastic cock he’s gripping. I’d rather he fuck me clear into tomorrow, but I guess that’s not happening.
He strokes up the shaft. “If I come before you, I’m going to take that away and leave you even needier than you are right now, baby.”
After a sharp intake of breath, I scramble onto the bed, drop onto my back, and spread my legs. If someone would have told me I’d be in this position twenty-four hours ago, I would have laughed at them.
I’m naked. In front of a man. He’s watching me masturbate. Ordering me to do so.
I turn the toy onto high and drop it toward my clit, hovering an inch above the swollen greedy bundle of nerves. I’m so fucking aroused that I’m confident I can beat him, but I’d almost rather watch him than take care of myself.