Page 112 of The Wrong Heart

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 whatI’mthankful 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 understandwhyshe 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? Whyme?

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…”

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