Page 113 of The Wrong Heart

A response doesn’t even make its way to my lips before hers are wrapped around my hard cock.

Oh, Jesus,fuck.

I must’ve said that out loud because she smiles around me, using her palm to fist and stroke the base in time with her fevered sucks and eager tongue. My head drops against the headrest, a tapered grown expelling from my chest as my fingers sift through her hair, gathering those silky strands and guiding her head up and down. The image of her bobbing on my dick, taking me deep into her throat, is almost enough to send me spiraling. “Mother of fuck, Melody. I’m not going to last long.”

Embarrassing, but true.

She moans as she pumps me with a tight hand, slow at first, lapping at the pre-cum that coats her tongue. Her movements steadily grow quicker as she jerks me, and I watch in utter fucking bliss as she sucks me off and brings me to my goddamn knees.

My grip tightens on her hair, my hips instinctually arching up as my climax builds. “You’re going to make me come down your fucking throat,” I hiss, my body damn near trembling as she hollows out her cheeks and sucks hard.

Fucking hell.

I lose all control, my body surrendering when an orgasm seizes me, and I spill into her mouth with a groan, watching as she fucking takes it, swallowing me down while she makes that sexy little mewling sound.

“Jesus…” I grit out, both hands tangled in her hair as she finishes me off.

When I come down, I’m dazed and out of breath, a little slap-happy, but mostly thankful.

I’m thankful for Melody March and her perfect fucking mouth.

And I’m really thankful for tinted windows.

We’re only two minutes late when we wander back inside together with flushed skin and wrinkled clothes, our hair in utter disarray.

Amelia snorts, causing Ms. Katherine to pause mid-sentence, her own cheeks staining rosy red as she looks our way.

Because she knows we fucked. Everyone in this room knows we fucked.

A drowsy smile stretches across my face as we make our way over to our respective chairs, Melody trying desperately to hide behind her curtain of blonde locks. Amelia spares me a humored, knowing glance as I settle into my seat with a hard exhale. I meet her eyes. They almost look violet, just like the streaks in her hair. “What?”

I’m expecting teasing or ridicule, maybe even some sage wisdom that borders on creepy. But Amelia just smiles back at me, and there’s a softness there, something almost whimsical. “I’m really happy for you, Parker.”

A frown creases my brows, but not my usual menacing scowl. I guess I’m a little surprised by the sentiment. “Why?”

“Because you found a way out.”

“A way out?”

“Of the hole.”

I blink. Our voices are hushed, so only we can hear each other. Ms. Katherine presses on about one of her favorite quotes, something about having two lives, but it sounds dumb, so I drown her out and keep my attention on Amelia. A fresh cut peeks out through the hem of her dark sleeve, and for the very first time, I’m not filled with derisiveness. A pang of empathy shoots through me instead, and I wonder why that is.

Swallowing, I nod at the new carving. “Adding to your story collection?”

A smile beams to life. “You remembered.”

“About you calling yourself a storyteller because you like to give yourself morbid tattoos? Yeah. Kind of hard to forget.”

“It’s nice when your words stick with people. It feels good to be heard,” she says quietly. “To be seen.”

My frown deepens. “Is that why you do that shit? To be seen?”

Amelia tucks her limp black hair behind one ear, showcasing her stretched earlobe and multiple piercings. “I guess so. But once you’re really seen, you can never beenun-seen… you know?”

“Not really.”

“Once you leave your mark on people, that’s it. You’re carved into them, permanently engraved. You become a part oftheirstory. And that’s a little intimidating.”

---