Chapter 6

6

MELODY

T oday is the day.

In just a few hours, Malcolm and I will be going public with our relationship, and my life will be permanently changed…forever. There's no going back.

The week leading up to the charity dinner feels like a whirlwind of anticipation, excitement, and nervousness. I've been invited into a world of glamor and extravagance I could have never imagined.

As the mansion buzzes with activity, I can't help but be taken aback by the sheer number of rich and famous individuals who will grace the halls tonight.

And then there's me—a girl who used to work at a diner, who was getting fitted for the perfect dress only a few days ago. Silver and flowing, it hugs my curves before gently billowing out, making me feel like a modern-day princess. The seamstress adjusted the fabric, ensuring it fell just right.

Slipping it on tonight, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It's as if I'm seeing a different person—someone confident and radiant, someone who's caught up in the whirlwind romance that is Malcolm Mayfield, someone who actually looks…happy.

These three weeks have been a blur of desire and intimacy. Malcolm and I are constantly wrapped up in each other's arms, exploring every inch of each other.

The air is always thick and charged between us, and we spend hours upon hours tangled up under the sheets. Or in the hallway…the bathtub…heck, he's fucked me in almost every room of this mansion.

It's not just sex, though. The snow melted just enough for him to whisk me away on romantic dates, including a helicopter ride to a nearby ski lodge that turned into one of the most enchanting nights of my life.

But as much as I'm falling for Malcolm, I'm also grappling with the unspoken words that linger on the tip of my tongue. "Love" is a powerful word, and I'm afraid of saying it out loud, afraid of how it might change everything.

Does Malcolm love me? We haven't really talked about the future. Everything has just played out day by day, and now, week by week.

If he's falling for me, then maybe I don't feel so silly already thinking about loving him. But if he isn't…well, then I'm a fool.

Tonight isn't the time to be thinking or agonizing about love, though. The staff has been getting the place ready since morning, and the mansion is transformed into a dazzling spectacle.

Right now, I know everyone is gathering in the ballroom, cocktails in hand, as dinner preparations are underway. The air is filled with excitement, but there's a thread of nervousness that winds its way through me.

I find myself retreating to our suite, nerves getting the best of me. I've never been in the presence of so many important people before, and the pressure feels suffocating. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing down my dress with trembling hands.

Suddenly, the door opens, and there's Malcolm—my anchor in this sea of uncertainty. His eyes meet mine, and I see the understanding there.

"Melody," he murmurs softly, crossing the room to stand in front of me. His presence alone is soothing, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "You look breathtaking."

My heart skips a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through me. "Thank you."

He offers me a gentle smile, his fingers tracing the curve of my cheek. "Nervous?"

I nod, my eyes dropping to the floor. "More than I thought I'd be."

His thumb lifts my chin, his gaze intense yet reassuring. "You have nothing to worry about. You belong here just as much as anyone else."

His words fill me with a sense of confidence, a reminder that despite my humble beginnings, I've found a place beside him. His touch is a steady presence, and I decide that tonight, his cockiness and self-assuredness can be mine, too.

"You know," he continues, his tone turning thoughtful, "if we leave now, we can head to the dining room before everyone else. We'll be able to greet them individually, instead of being surrounded by a crowd in the ballroom."

The idea appeals to me, a way to ease into the evening without feeling overwhelmed. I meet his gaze, affection welling up within me. "You always know what to say."

He chuckles softly, his fingers intertwining with mine. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret. You're the only person in this building tonight that I like. Come on, let's face the night together."

With his hand in mine, the nervousness that had gripped me starts to ease. Malcolm leads me out of the suite, his presence a shield against the world outside.

As we make our way down, his fingers brushing against my knuckles, I feel a surge of excitement. Whether it outperforms my nerves, I'm still not sure.

We've been over the way the night will play out a few times. Just like Malcolm said, the dining room is set for dinner, but the food will be brought out in courses.

So right now, it's totally empty. We take our place at the front of the table. Malcolm knocks on the dining room door a few times when he sees that I'm still shaken and comes back with a glass of champagne for me.

"Something to take the edge off," he says, handing it to me. I take a grateful sip, the bubbles exploding on my tongue, and try to relax.

"When we open the doors, people will start to trickle in. I'll introduce you but don't worry about getting into any deeper sorts of conversation, especially about their businesses and industries. These sorts of events are all about appearances."

I nod, continuing to nurse my drink. Malcolm slips into the seat beside me, his hand rubbing up and down my leg comfortingly. Except…it's moving higher, and the sensation becomes less about comfort and more about something a little…naughtier.

I can literally hear people outside the door. What is he thinking?! "Malcolm…" I hiss, my breath catching in my throat when an especially adventurous finger grazes higher than the rest.

"Are you embarrassed?" he growls into my ear, his hand sneaking from my upper thigh higher and higher.

"Not embarrassed," I say through gritted teeth, biting back a moan at the end of it. "But they will all be here any second, Malcolm."

"As if I care," he laughs, his hand never stopping. "All of these assholes spend most of their time wishing they could be like me, and that means they're going to try and get something that belongs to me any chance they get. So even if we do get caught, it will let them all know that you're mine and that they better not even think of even speaking to you."

His possessiveness should turn me off, but of course, it does the exact opposite. It awakens something in me, and I revel in the feeling of being… his .

Everything that would have made me cringe coming from any other man just makes me melt with Malcolm. It strikes me that the reason is because when other men try to act like they own the world, it comes off fake, like a pretender.

But Malcolm…he oozes control. He wears that identity so perfectly, so naturally, because it is him. Malcolm Mayfield might as well own the world, and I think that if he really wanted to, he could.

It's why when he pulls the skirt of my dress up just enough that he can get his hand underneath, right where the slit in the leg is, I don't push him away.

Instead, I look at him, knowing that my lids are low and my breath is coming in short pants. Because I want him to touch me. I want him.

The butler will be escorting all the dinner guests, who are finishing up the cocktail hour right now, into the dining room any minute. It makes the way he pulls my panties aside and slips his fingers along the seam of my already-wet pussy all that more scandalous.

Seated at the dining room table, knowing that we're just a room away from dozens of millionaires, billionaires, and celebrities, has me gasping for air. It's so dirty. So risky. And I don't want him to stop.

He parts my pussy lips and finds my clit expertly. I hear the rattling of dishes, the murmur of voices, but they're all slowly being drowned out by my blood thrumming in my ears.

Pleasure shoots through me, and my hands grasp the arms of the chair so hard I'm sure I hear the wood creak.

Oh my god. He's going to make me come right here in this chair, and there won't even be time for me to collect myself. Every sound from somewhere in the mansion makes me jump, but so does every other stroke of Malcolm's calloused fingers.

I look down at his bronze arm against the paleness of my leg, his hand under my skirt, and almost cry out.

Then, Malcolm reaches up to cover my mouth, "Shh, sweet thing. Just let me make you come."

"You're going to," I tell him in a pant. "Oh god, you're so going to."

I feel little flutters in my belly, and I'm so far gone I don't hear the commotion from outside the formal dining room. Malcolm does, though, and pauses, making me whimper in disappointment.

He barely manages to get his hand out from between my legs before the double doors slam open and a tall man with his cell phone held up, recording, busts in.

The household staff is trying to restrain him with hands on his shoulders, but the man is manic with the opportunity in front of him.

"Mr. Mayfield!" he yells, never losing his grip on the camera. "Mr. Mayfield! Is this woman your girlfriend? Is it true that she was previously your son's girlfriend?!"

My stomach falls to the floor, all the pleasure inside of me immediately vanishing and being replaced by twisting anxiety.

Malcolm surges out of his seat, his hands in fists. "What the fuck is going on?! GET HIM OUT!"

More of his staff arrive and try to grab the man, but his grip on his phone is like iron. "Ma'am! Is your name Melody? Is Adam Mayfield your ex? Are you now sleeping with his father?!"

He's a reporter, I realize, Or something similar. And he knows my name.

"Malcolm," I squeak, mortified. "What do I do?"

He gently taps my arm, and when it becomes clear that his staff is going to be ineffective, Malcolm surges forward. He dwarfs the reporter, and his staff immediately scatter away to give him some space.

"Shut the damn door!" he shouts, and his staff does just yet, closing out the curious faces of Malcolm's peers who are so desperate to see what's going on.

Now it's just Malcolm, two staff members, the reporter, and myself. Malcolm backends the phone out of the other man's hands, doing in seconds what no one else managed to do for the long minutes that this has been going on.

Then, he seizes the reporter's shoulder and takes three huge steps forward until the man's back slams up against the dining room wall. I hear the air leave his lungs from here.

I clutch my cloth napkin to my chest, shaking, as Malcolm hauls the reporter in the air, his hands twisted in his shirt to cut off the air without actually strangling him. Part of me is shocked that he's even aware enough to do so.

Every part of me believes that Malcolm would kill this man right here and now if he wanted to. Instead, he pulls him away from the wall again and slams his back. The reporter's head hits with enough force that it cracks the drywall, and he cries out.

Malcolm growls, "How the fuck did you get in?"

The reporter shakes his head, his face turning red and his legs kicking.

Malcolm twists the fabric harder, and the reporter goes from flushed to dark red in an instant. "Tell me now, and I might let you walk out of here."

Finally, the reporter nods, and Malcolm drops him unceremoniously into a heap on the ground. The reporter clutches his neck and sucks in air between sobs, but Malcolm has no patience for it.

"Now, asshole," he says darkly, crossing his arms.

"It was Adam," the reporter gasps. "He gave me the code for the staff door."

"Fuck!" Malcolm yells, kicking the nearest chair in rage. "That little prick!"

He collects himself and looks down at the man on the ground, up at me, and then back down. "Whatever he paid you, I'll double it if you destroy the footage and release a story about how my asshole son tried to bribe you instead."

The reporter swallows hard and shakes his head again. "I-I can't."

Malcolm kneels in front of him, threatening him with his very presence. "Why the fuck not?"

"It was live," he says in a tiny voice. "It's already out there."

I gasp, tears coming to my eyes immediately. Oh no…so now everyone knows what is going on with me? I quit the diner, got evicted, broke up with Adam, and disappeared off the face of the earth.

All of that is bad enough, but now the information is out there for anyone to see—the information that I'm shacking up with billionaire Malcolm Mayfield after ditching his son. If people thought I was a gold digger because of Adam, I bet it's basically a fact in the public eye now.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

I can't stop the tears from rolling down my face, and when I dash them away, I notice that Malcolm is only looking at me now, the man on the floor forgotten.

He's only around ten feet away from me, but it feels like the distance is stretching and stretching until there are miles between us.

I stand, legs shaking, and turn to leave. I have to get out of this room, away from the reality of what has just happened, and get some space to breathe.

There's only one set of doors, and Malcolm manages to grab me by the arm before the staff opens them for me, spinning me to face him and grabbing my chin gently with one hand.

"Melody, stop," he says, forcing me to look at him. "This changes nothing."

"How can you even say that?! Of course, it doesn't change anything for you, Malcolm! You're a billionaire! This kind of stuff is nothing to your reputation, but I will never be able to escape this scandal as long as I live!" I have to keep wiping the tears away, and I know my makeup must be running. "I have to get out of here."

His grip on me tightens, and he forces me to look deep into his eyes. Anger is creasing his brow, but there's a determination there, too. If only it was enough to make me feel safe right now. "No, you don't. You're mine, and I take care of what is mine, remember?" Malcolm's voice gets deeper as he speaks, the seriousness of his words evident in his tone.

Just then, the reporter, who's still dazed on the floor, lets out a miserable groan. Malcolm's head snaps around, and he looks to his staff and tells them simply, "Get rid of him. He doesn't leave with the phone, either."

Then he looks down at me again. Malcolm isn't the sort of man to ever say sorry, but I can almost see the words in his gaze right before he bends at the knees and sweeps me up into his arms in one smooth movement.

I barely have time to yelp before he's kicking the dining room doors open and striding with a singular purpose towards the staircase to the second floor.

All of his guests are still here, but he ignores them all, and so do I. I'm mad that he has the audacity to just pick me up and carry me wherever he wants, but on the other hand, it gives me the chance to hide my face in his shirt and screw my eyes shut.

I know the names of a lot of the people here tonight, and I can't stand the thought of being humiliated in front of people like that.

So instead, I keep my eyes closed and let Malcolm carry me, pretending this isn't all happening right now.

I feel when his feet hit the stairs, and then in seconds, Malcolm shifts me to one arm so he can open the door to his bedroom suite. When I hear the door click into place, I finally feel safe enough to open my eyes, right as he deposits me on the bed.

My heart is broken, and my pride is wounded to the point that I feel like I'm falling apart. Malcolm stands over me, still dressed in his suit, breathing heavily—not from carrying me but from the height of his emotions. His rage.

Even with the tie on, he looks like he's ready to storm into battle, cutting down enemies with a sword or something.

Malcolm Mayfield is a man out of time, yet he's managed to bend this era to his will easily. This is a man no one wants to cross.

Malcolm crosses his arms and raises one eyebrow. "Better?"

"How exactly is this better?" I huff, adjusting my skirts and sitting up fully.

He waves a hand at the empty room around us. "We're alone, away from that piece of shit reporter and anyone else that might want to gawk at you. You're safe now."

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Malcolm, come on. You are aware that removing me from the situation doesn't change what just happened, right?"

"I still don't see what the problem is," he grits out, jaw tight. "Our relationship was going to become public knowledge tonight, so who cares? Adam and all his dumbass ideas can go to hell. He's no son of mine at this point."

"It's different. We were in control of the narrative, and now it's completely out of my hands. Everyone is going to know that I ditched a billionaire's son for the billionaire himself, that I quit my job for him, and that it all just so happened to be right when I was evicted and desperate for a place to stay. I couldn't write a better description of a gold digger if I tried, and that's what everyone is going to think of me!"

Despondent, I let my face fall into my hands and cry in earnest, the sobs wracking my body. I hear Malcolm curse and bend down in front of me, pulling me into a hug.

It only makes me cry harder. I want to be with him so badly because the only place I've ever felt safe and happy was in his arms.

He's the only one who ever made me feel special, who made me feel like I deserve a place in this world, who respected my boundaries, and who looked out for me without expecting anything in return.

But…

I know this is probably my sign to leave…my sign that this romantic fairytale interlude with Malcolm is finished, but it seems so impossible. The passion between us, the furious connection, hasn't faded with the weeks.

I thought for sure once we came together physically that it would lessen somewhat, but that just isn't the case. Instead, that connection…that bond has just gotten deeper and more nuanced, until now when I… I…

I love him.

How is it that I can only admit it to myself when the entire universe is shouting that this whole thing is over? It isn't fair. I can't give him up now. But this isn't Cinderella, and there is no glass slipper.

He'll never forgive me, and I know for a fact that I will never forgive myself, but there's nothing else to be done. It's time for me to admit that my destiny isn't here. It's somewhere in the lower glass world where I've always belonged.

As he pulls back and wipes my cheek, Malcolm must have seen what I'm thinking in my expression because a muscle ticks in his jaw and he says softly but firmly, "You aren't leaving, Melody."

"Malcolm…"

"I said no!" he snaps, taking my face in both of his hands and cradling it there. "We are not going to let some fucking bullshit story ruin us, Melody. We are not going to let Adam or anyone else win. "

I know I shouldn't but I lean my cheek into his palm, taking comfort in the familiar warmth. "I really want to believe you…but you deserve so much more than me, Malcolm. I am nobody. I am nothing."

"You are everything, Melody. My everything." I can tell the words are hard for stoic, stubborn Malcolm to say, which makes them mean even more to me. "In a few months, no one will remember this even happened, and we can go on with our lives. Don't pretend that you don't feel the same connection like I do. I've wanted you, known that you were meant for me, from the very first second of knowing you."

There should be some argument inside of me, but there just isn't. All the things he's saying are so sweet and wonderful and hopeful that I just want to drown in it and forget what happened downstairs.

Before him, every day just bled into the next. It was work, eat, sleep, repeat. It was all about survival.

With him, I lived. I actually lived every day and loved every minute of it. I woke up and slept happy, knowing there's someone I'm sharing my life with, someone who makes me smile and laugh, someone who makes me scream his name in pleasure.

I can delete social media, never see the video, and just pretend…

I'm still lost in these thoughts when Malcolm kneels between my legs, still cupping my face, and kisses me. It's gentle but only for a second.

Malcolm takes control as soon as I let him, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he's trying to drink down any complaint or argument I might have.

My arms find their way around his neck, and then he's crawling over me onto the bed, making me lie back with him. He lets go of me so he can support his weight, but then he grinds into me, his cock perfectly placed between my legs even with us both dressed so formally, and I gasp.

Everything that's stressing me out right now at the moment blinks out of existence, replaced by a primal need for this man right here and now.

Malcolm must feel the same because he repeats the action, never breaking the kiss. He doesn't bother undressing me, just pulling the full skirts up until he can once again touch my pussy with only my lace panties in the way.

There's a frantic note to the way we touch each other, and before I know it, he has me flipped over and his groin pressing against my ass.

"Grab the headboard," he demands, and I do.

Malcolm gathers my skirts again, pushing them up and around my middle until he can jerk my panties down to my knees, where the fabric basically hobbles me.

A surprised cry comes out of me when I feel him kissing the few bare inches of my spine, right to the globes of my ass, before he rises up and his hands take his mouth's place.

One hand goes underneath me, fingers dipping into my soaked channel and dragging that wetness to my clit, working it in circles before repeating the motion again. It's so intoxicating that I don't even notice what his other hand is doing.

Malcolm has licked his thumb and is circling the tight ring of my asshole with it. I tense up, and he stops. "I want to claim every inch of you, Melody, but if this is too much…"

I shake my head, wet heat blooming between my thighs. I want him to have his way with me. I'm already shaking with the need to have his mouth or hands or thick girth in me.

He plants a kiss on one asscheek and drawls, "Words, Melody. You can tell me to stop and I will."

"No! Don't!"

"No what?"

"Please… I want…"

"What do you want?"

"Don't stop. Just…J-just keep on doing what you're doing."

There. I've said it. I've given him full control. And my god, it's so freeing.

I don't have to tell him twice. So, inch by inch, muscle by muscle, I force myself to relax. When I finally achieve relaxation in full, his thumb breaches my hole, and all I can do is whimper.

It burns, and even more so when he removes his thumb and starts to work one long finger inside, but his other hand is stroking and finger-fucking my pussy so good that it's impossible to concentrate on anything negative.

In minutes, he's pushing two figures past that tight ring and thrusting them in and out in earnest.

Oh god. Sparks zip through my belly, my lips parting in a silent moan.

"My good girl, my sweet Melody," he groans, sliding the fingers out slowly one final time. "I'm going to fuck this hot little ass of yours to remind you that only I will ever make you feel this fucking good."

"Yes," I breathe, even as my heart rate spikes. "Please!"

I hear the zipper of his pants and the jingle of his belt, and then his cock has taken the place of his fingers. He has to abandon my pussy for a moment to do this, so when he starts to push his thick, rock-hard cock into my hole, it's the only thing I feel.

He's probably doing it like this on purpose. I shouldn't be so turned on by it, but I am.

The burning from earlier becomes genuine pain as the head finally slips in, but now, he resumes pleasuring my pussy, and the pain disappears in a flash. I feel so full, impossibly full, and he's barely inside, only about two inches.

Malcolm keeps pressing and pressing, and every time I'm sure my body can't handle anymore, he manages to find space inside of me.

By the time I feel his hips bump against my ass cheeks, there are tears pricking the corners of my eyes, and not for any negative reason… It's because the sensations I'm feeling are so powerful that I'm overwhelmed by it.

Malcolm fucks my ass so slowly at first, being so much more careful than he is with my pussy, and it allows me to feel every second of him pulling out and pushing in again.

Any other time, I'd be coming already, just from the way he's fingering me and stroking my clit, but something even more intense than usual is building, coming from the way he's fucking my ass, too.

All of the feelings, all of the unbelievable pleasure, are coming into something so strong that I don't know if I'll survive it.

I grip the headboard for dear life, completely oblivious to the moans and sounds leaving me. My head hangs low, my ass in the air all for Malcolm Mayfield, and he's going to make me come harder than I ever thought possible.

Instead of that ball of tension that usually builds in my core, this time it feels like it's taking up my entire core and into my chest.

He's fucking me faster now, and his fingers are focused solely on my clit now, bringing me that blinding, electric feeling I love so much. I close my eyes, try to breathe, and let it all wash over me.

Once I let go of that last little bit of anxiousness, the tension inside me explodes. I go stiff like I'm being shocked, as the orgasm hits me full force. Legs spasming, it's only my arms on the headboard and Malcolm keeping me from collapsing, and I see every color possible behind my eyelids as the climax rips through me.

I have no control left. I'm almost screaming, pushing back into Malcolm to get everything I can from him.

He comes now, too, gripping my hips with both hands. Malcolm tilts his head to the ceiling and roars, hot come coating the inside of my ass, wringing the last few spasms of my orgasm out of me as it does.

He comes back to earth first, gently pulling out of me and helping me to lie down on my side while I suck in air desperately. He comes back with a wet towel, cleaning me off before throwing it aside and lying down behind me, gathering me into his arms and burying his nose into my hair.

My poor dress is ruined, but Malcolm can afford a million more, I'm sure.

It's definitely strange, lying here in our formal wear—well, half of his formal wear, in Malcolm's case—both of us utterly wrecked by the sex we just had. It was a catharsis, for sure, but I still feel the doubts creeping in at the edge of my mind when I start to relax.

So I make an excuse. "I can't sleep like this," I murmur. "Can we take a bath?"

Then, a horrifying thought hits me, and I bolt up. "Wait, we don't have to host dinner still, right?!"

Malcolm chuckles, and this time, it's real. He's actually amused. "No, Melody. We don't. If they didn't get the hint to leave, I'll let my butler know to send them all away. Now…" He plants a kiss on the back of my neck and I shiver. "Do you want company for this bath?"

Anything to keep me from thinking of what tomorrow on the internet holds for me. "Yes, that sounds great."

"Good. Because I'm not leaving your side."

This time, it's me who laughs genuinely. "Yeah, I kind of figured that. Can you start the water? My legs…"

"Say no more." If I'm not mistaken, I can hear some smugness in his voice, knowing he's incapacitated me like this. "I'll go start it now. Rest, sweetheart."

So I do, hovering on the edge of sleep while Malcolm runs the bath, never falling completely over into real slumber. Because I know if I do, the dreams will be all about the reporter trespassing his home, busting into the dining room, recording us without our consent…and of course, the way Malcolm nearly beat him to death afterward.

I don't want those nightmares, not now, with the aftershocks of my orgasm still shooting through me. I want to enjoy the rest of the night, shutting out the rest of the world and pretending it's just me and Malcolm here in the sanctuary of his estate. And that's exactly what I plan on doing.