Chapter 23 Melanie #2
“Truth,” I said quickly, my voice threading the tightrope between bravado and terror. I knew where this was going.
He took a deliberate sip of his water, those green eyes drilling into me, pulling secrets to the surface before he even asked.
“How many guys have you slept with?”
The question landed with a jolt, making my sandwich feel like a brick in my stomach.
“What a crappy question, that’s what you are going with?” I deflected, throwing up the only shield I had left: sarcasm.
“Fine, going back to my original question. Have you ever had a serious boyfriend?”
“No,” I answered flatly, swallowing the truth like glass.
He tipped his head to the side, studying me like I was some complex equation he wanted to solve.
“So you’ve only had hookups?”
Curiosity etched across his face, open and real, cutting sharper than any judgment would have.
“It’s my turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he said without hesitation.
I offered a silent prayer to whoever was listening, grateful he hadn’t dared me yet. I wasn’t ready for that battlefield.
“Why did you kiss me when no one was watching?”
I saw the muscles in his jaw twitch like he wanted to swallow the question whole. Like he hated himself for not seeing it coming.
“Because I can,” he said, voice scraping low and thick. “You’re my wife.”
“Fake wife,” I reminded him, needing to hear the boundary drawn, even as my body screamed to cross it.
“Still doesn’t mean I can’t pretend you’re mine in the moments that count.”
His words hit deeper than they should have, deeper than anything fake had any right to go.
Our half-eaten sandwiches sat abandoned between us, growing cold and forgotten as something hotter, more dangerous, crackled in the air.
“Truth or dare?” he asked, more animated this time, like he couldn’t wait to see how much further we could push.
Still too chickenshit for a dare, I clung to what little armor I had.
“Truth.”
“Have you ever been sober when you hooked up with a guy?”
The question sliced through the space between us, brutal and unflinching. Memories flashed behind my eyes—memories I buried under bottles and pills and blackout nights. I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t want him to see me like that. So I said, “No.”
He flinched—an almost imperceptible jerk of his shoulders—but I bulldozed past it before the pity could settle between us.
“Truth or dare?” I asked.
“Truth,” he said again.
Shit. I was hoping he’d dare me, force the tension into action, force this unbearable pull to break.
“What are you thinking right now?”
The words barely left my mouth before he answered, his voice dropping an octave.
“That I want to fuck you on this kitchen floor right now, right here, so I’m the first guy to fuck you sober and one that you will never forget.”
The air was ripped from my lungs.
Holy shit.
My stomach flipped and kept flipping, my skin breaking into a fine sheen of sweat, heat radiating between us in suffocating waves.
“Truth or dare,” he nearly growled, the words crackling with restraint he was moments from losing.
“Dare,” I whispered, voice thick with something too big to name.
“I dare you to suck my cock.”
His green eyes burned molten, feral, and consuming.
The challenge in them made my thighs clench together involuntarily.
Anxiety spiked, sharp and dizzying, but underneath it was something worse—need.
Pure, aching, desperate need. With wobbly legs, I pushed up from my chair, heart hammering against my ribs, every step toward him a free fall.
“I’m just kidding, sit back down,” he said with a light laugh, the edges of it fraying when he saw I wasn’t stopping.
“Mel, I’m serious. I was just fucking with you. You don’t have to do this.”
“You dared me,” I said, voice trembling but resolute.
He tilted his head, studying me with a caution I hadn’t seen before, like he was bracing for impact.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, my hand resting on his thick thigh, feeling the muscle twitch beneath my palm. My core throbbed, molten and insistent.
“Are you sure this is okay?”
His voice was hoarse, tight with something close to agony.
The only answer that made sense spilled from my lips.
“Fuck yes.”
I tugged down his sweatpants, breath hitching when his cock sprang free.
Oh. My. God.
He was massive—thick and heavy and flushed with blood. I doubted I could take all of him, but I would damn sure try. I caught the inked words right under his v-taper that read, it won’t suck itself.
How fitting. It certainly won’t.
Nick opened his mouth, maybe to tell me it was okay to stop, but before he could say another word, I wrapped my mouth around the tip of him.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned, the sound wrecking what little composure I had left.
I licked and stroked him, slickening him up with my tongue, determined and reckless all at once. I tried to take him deeper, gagging slightly when his tip nudged the back of my throat.
“That’s it, princess. Take this cock like a good girl,” he rasped, his voice vibrating through my whole body.
I fistted the base of him, using my hand and mouth together, working him faster. Harder.
“Yeah, like that,” he breathed, fingers threading through my hair and guiding me down with more force. Tears pricked my eyes, but I didn’t stop. I wanted to own this moment. To own him.
“Ah, fuck… yeah,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
I slowed down, teasing, feeling the power shift under my touch.
“My cock looks good in that pretty mouth of yours,” he said, voice ragged with need.
I looked up, locking eyes with him, and it nearly undid me—seeing him undone, seeing him need.
Briefly, I pulled him out of my mouth, letting my lips drag along his tip. “Cum in my mouth,” I whispered, voice wrecked and shaking with hunger.
The tension snapped like a live wire—and I knew neither of us would survive this night the same again.