Page 111 of The Wrong Heart

Little squeaks and gasps permeate the air as her orgasm builds, her fingers lifting to my hair and tugging at the strands. When I angle my pelvis to grind into her clit and push into her, slow and deep, Melody begins to buckle, her limbs wracked in tremors.

“Fuck…” I breathe against her lips, drunk on this feeling—this unfamiliar fucking feeling. “You’re so goddamn sexy when you’re about to come.”

“God, don’t stop…”

I don’t want to stop. I don’teverwant to stop, and the notion is equally thrilling and terrifying.

With my own release climbing, I lean down to kiss her hard, our tongues instantly battling, seeking and craving. I feel her clench around my cock, her whole body tautening, bracing for climax, and I lose myself in it all—in her pleasure, in mine, in the chemicals threatening to incinerate me, in her fucking kiss that I can’t seem to get enough of.

One more jerk of my hips, and she cries out into my mouth, gripping my hair so hard it would hurt if I weren’t completely consumed by the feel of her pussy contracting around my dick, causing me to fucking unravel.

“Fuck, Melody,” I groan, pulling back from her mouth to bury my face into the curve of her neck, holding her tight as I come inside her, pulsing and breaking.

The waves hit hard, taking me under. Melody squeezes me as I collapse on top of her, riding out the feeling until I’m nothing but shudders and shockwaves, crushing her with my weight. Her palms slide up and down my back, over the fabric of my shirt, the only barrier between us. It’s a comforting sweep of her fingers, and I lose myself in her touch for one blinding moment as I shift my weight beside her on the couch.

What was that?

What the fuck was that?

It was just supposed to be sex—simple biology. A physical reaction.

But it felt like a goddamn resurrection.

We lie there in silence for a few long heartbeats, my head tucked into her shoulder, and my arm draped around her middle. The smell of sex and sweat hovers in the air, mingling with traces of her lemony shampoo.

Melody’s chest heaves with a labored breath. Shaky fingers dance along the expanse of my forearm as she whispers, “Are you okay?”

She echoes my words from earlier, but they are not the same.

I don’t have an answer for her because I don’t fucking know. I’m not okay, not at all. I feel dismantled and picked apart. Lost. Drowning in confusion and uncertainties.

And yet, I feel the most okay I’ve ever felt.

The only words I can muster as I stew in my inner turmoil are, “Sorry I held back.”

She asked me not to hold back, and instead of going apeshit on her, I took it to a weird-ass vulnerable place. Fucking dumb.

But Melody only gives my arm a gentle squeeze, sighing as her breathing steadies. “You didn’t.”

Swallowing, I try not to dissect the meaning of her words. I just lie idle beside her, my frazzled thoughts dying out and pacifying when she twists in my embrace and nuzzles into me, a sweet kiss meeting the side of my neck.

Once upon a time, the dark was my enemy—the place where I had never felt more alone.

But not tonight.

Tonight it’s where I’ve never felt more alive.

—TWENTY-SIX—

Ireally 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.

---