Page 38 of Melt With You

She wasn’t just talking for his pleasure. She was telling the truth. And she also loved simply saying the word cock. The hard sound of the word.

‘Yeah, baby?’ he asked, rubbing against her, fucking her even better now. Hitting a steady beat inside of her. ‘You like my cock?’

A shudder ran through her body. She wanted to close her eyes, to let him do all the work. He was making her feel so good. But she took a deep breath again and tried harder.

‘Yes,’ Dori whispered. ‘You reach so deep inside of me. I can’t believe it. I feel as if you’re fucking me all the way to the back of my throat.’ That was the truth. When he slammed into her like that, she thought he might split her in two.

Van continued to strum his fingertips over her clit, making sexy spirals now as his cock pounded inside of her. Then he let his hand meet her ass with a loud slapping sound, and Dori trembled. Van could tell that she liked the sudden spark of pain, and when he let his hand land on her ass again, she gripped onto the counter and sucked in her breath. Not only from the immediate pleasure that swept through her, but from the fact that someone was outside of the kitchen window.

Looking in.

Chapter Fifteen

Rowan ducked as soon as she saw him.

Christ. He’d thought he would find Dori drinking coffee, or reading the paper. Something innocent. The last thing he’d imagined that he’d see was the two of them screwing on the countertop. What was wrong with him?

When he reached the back alley, he saw that the damn delivery boy’s van was parked there again. What the fuck? Why was she hanging out with this youngster? Rowan had planned so carefully for every contingency. Every one except, he supposed, Dori’s apparently untamable libido.

Heat flushed his cheeks, but as he shook his head, Rowan finally came to a decision. No, not really a decision.

A prediction.

He was going to fuck Mrs Hughes. That’s all there was to it. Dori had hooked up with some head-banging musician, someone not quite half her age, but in that range. What was stopping him from having a little fun, as well?

He’d always known Mrs Hughes liked him. The way she made sure to be standing outside her door early in the morning when he tossed the paper onto her front step. The way she showed off everything in her short nightgowns, or sheer robes worn over nothing at all.

Now he was a man – he couldn’t think that without hearing the Bo Diddley hit in his head: ‘I’m a man, I spell M-A-N man.’ He was an adult; he could fuck her if he wanted. Or if she wanted. And if her husband wanted.

That was the part that had held him back. There’d been those rumors for years that the Hugheses were swingers. All the parents talked about the fact that Mr Hughes liked to watch his wife get it on with the high school boys. That’s why they were always doing additions to their house, work in their backyard, inviting the most eligible of the young neighborhood studs to hang out. No girls were ever asked.

Rowan had always been curious, but scared. Now, he could find out what he’d been missing.

That is, if he wasn’t too old for her.

Rowan sprinted down the alley and away from Dori’s house, back to where he’d left his car. With the adrenaline still pumping through him, he drove to the Hugheses. His decision had already been made. Dori had made it for him, even if she didn’t realize that.

He showed up with a purpose, explaining that he’d noticed one of their tree limbs was dangling dangerously, pointing out the limb he’d broken earlier himself and offering to cut it down before it fell onto one of their cars.

They never got that far.

Mrs Hughes – her name had been Yum-Yum, he now remembered, all the boys calling her that behind her back – Mrs Hughes told him to call her Yolanda, and it took all of his strength not to run away right then.

Yolanda.

She was a ‘Yolanda.’ She was different from all the other women on the block. The average cookie-baking moms, and the old maids, and the feminists. Yolanda was unusual. Even in their small unfashionable town, she wore high-heeled shoes to go grocery shopping. She chose thin sundresses as soon as the weather heated up. She sunbathed in their front yard rather than the backyard. She had a killer body, and she made sure that everyone knew it.

But when she invited him into her house, when that familiar smell assailed him, he was seventeen once more. He was a boy, waiting for her to write out the check to pay him for the newspapers. He was a kid, watching as she hiked her dress up just a little bit more to show him acres of thigh.

He was a man.

And he just couldn’t do it.

Chapter Sixteen

‘You’ve got to come see us,’ Van insisted. ‘We’re playing The Majestic. Opening for a really good band. Bette hooked it up for me. Gael knows the owner pretty well, of course. The owner’s Gael’s landlord, as well.’

Dori lifted the tiny round bottle at her side and shook the thing in her hand. She could hear the two silver balls rattling around inside. Although she knew how to give a pedicure, she had never painted a man’s toes before. In order to receive her cosmetology license, she had learned how to do most of the jobs in an average salon. But although she’d painted her own toes, and her friends’ every so often, she’d never painted a man’s. Not even as a joke.

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