Chapter 32

MELODY

"Are you sure?"Emile asks, looking at me, puzzled.

His frustration simmers beneath the surface as Joanna witnesses our conversation about my migraine, hiding a smug smile behind her glass.

"Yes. I don't feel well," I say, looking for my things––actually nothing––in my purse.

I can't call a cab, so I'll ask the bartender to do it for me. My place is not far from here, but I can't trust my legs to take me there right now.

After finishing my cigarette, I returned to the bathroom, spent some time alone, and tried to clear my head.

I knew I needed to come back, say goodbye, and go home.

But Emile doesn't take the news too lightly, which speaks to how misleading someone's laid-back demeanor canbe.

You wouldn't say he has it in him.His bohemian lifestyle, smooth words, and unwillingness to commit must've fooled many women.

It's all good until something slips through their fingers, the masks slip off, and they show you who they really are.

My sweet Emile thought he'd spend the night with me.

After not making the cut on his list and him giving me a second thought, now he wants me?

I feel too good after that orgasm to deal with his histrionics, so I ignore his bitching and moaning, which irritates him even more.

"Perhaps someone has a pain killer," he suggests. "Joanna?" he asks his friend.

I flick my gazetoher, giving her a warning look.

If she dares toevenpeek into her purse, I'll finish her.

And how can he use her like that?

Can't he see the woman is in love with him?

She sets her drink down, shaking her head.

"I don't have any. I'm sorry," she says softly.

I tear my eyes away from her and look at him. A muscle pulses in his jaw, and I'm thinking… He better get a grip and stop clinging, or he'll have bruises all over his face by theend of the night.

"I can at least get a cab for you," he offers, and I accept reluctantly.

I'm sure he wants to change my mind.

"Sure. Go ahead," I say, having no plans to wait withhimoutside.

I'm hopinghe's picking up his phone and moving away from the table while I wait.

No chance.

It's like hischair is glued to mine, and we are both taped to them.

As he finds his way around his phone apps, I sense a stare on my face.

I lift my gaze and meet Jax's eyes.

That brunette is still next to him,justas Emile is still next to me. I can't tell what kind of relationship Jax and that woman have.

Or have had.

She can't be the married woman he has talked about.

She doesn't behave like a married woman as she openly fawns over him, touching his arm and laughing.

She's friendly with the other men, which makes me think she's not with him, considering how possessive henormallyis.

I see she is a bargaining chip, and I wonder for a moment whether we'll get to that point where I'd do anything to make him mine.

Frankly, I wish we would.

"I need to step outside. It's too noisy in here," Emile says, expecting me to follow him.

That won't happen.

Whiny and clingy, I muse while he pulls away.

Jax's eyes follow him briefly before he swiftly loses interest in him and looks back at me.

A short tilt of his head indicates he wants to meet me in the back.

I'm drowning in heat.

I glance around the table, making sure no one notices me.

"Now?" I mouth to him, shocked at how bold I've become.

He tilts his head, and heat tumbles through my core.

I push my chair back, leave my bag on the table, and without saying a word, I sneak behind Emile's now empty chair, and head to the restroom.

My heels click confidently past the kitchen, where the clanking of pots and pans drowns out the servers' voices.

I move around the corner, stop, and wait.

His shoes trail the floor––I'm so sure it's him, a smile tugs at my lips––as he rounds the corner.

In one swoop,he wraps an arm around my waist, nudges me to face the wall, and lifts my dress.

My underwear slides past my butt, cold air rolling over my skin. I hear the distinct sound of his zipper going down and the luscious noise of his hand reaching inside his pants.

I'm shaking by the time he comes close to me, his erection warm against my body.

It's a mix of anticipation and incredulity.

For one, I can't believe we're doing it. And then, of all places here?

After so many failed attempts,hereI am with my dress up and my panties down, with a man behind me, iron-hard, rubbing his hardness against my entrance.

He buries his face in my hair, brings a hand to my chest, lowers his hard cock, so I feel it between my legs, and thentalks quietlyin my ear.

"Say hello to your new life, baby…" he murmurs, gently carving out a breast and kneading it. "We don't have time, so this will be a quickie."

I'm already dripping, so I can't complain.

The moment I feel him pressed against my opening, tingles riot down my legs.

He tilts my hips, grabs my pussy, makes me thrust my butt out, and smoothly slides hishardlength into me.

The sensation triggers a crazy swirl inside me, bringing moans to my lips.

It's surprise, pleasure, andaddictionall wrapped in one.

"No noises, baby. I want you to come with me."

"I'm not sure that can happen."

As pleasurable as this is, a lot of variables could screw with us.

If my brain freezes, I might not get there.

"Keep quiet. We'll see if it works or not."

With that, the smooth talk is over.

He slides his hand over my mouth to ensure I stay quiet and his fingers over my clit to increase the tension while thrusting hard into me.

I feel him deep inside me, hard, thick, and wet.

My nails claw at the concrete every time he rams into me.

How can something so violent feel so good?

He rocks his hips hard, not sparing me, not allowing me to voice my pleasure or say anything.

Not that I have anything to say.

I witness my dissolution, sweat popping over my hairline before dripping down my neck.

My dress won't survive another round.

With my heels firmly planted on the floor, my calves hurt, and my muscles are sore.

None of that pain can stop this madness.

I claw at his hand this time. I just need to connect with him in some way, but his hand stays solidly on my mouth before he picks up the pace and crushes my clit, stroking it with flair and passion.

We're both climbing when voices ring around the corner.

I jerk, and he tightens his hand around my mouth, not easing his grip or slowing his rhythm.

"Don't do anything," he says, his lips pressed against my ear as he continues plunging into me with force.

Despite not doing anything, I hear Emile not far from us.

He's talking to the manager, holding him accountable for my disappearance. The man tries to be polite and explain to him––the ass Emile can be––that they don't have any surveillance cameras in the bar, especially in front of the restroom, and I can't be far away.

He has no idea.

I'm sweating like crazy, getting pounded by a twenty-four, soon-to-be twenty-five-year-old, tattooed ex-convict, and he is so damn fine. I wish I could spend the entire night right here with him fucking me up against the wall.

The voice of reason blares in my head that soon, those people will start looking for me, and they may be in for the surprise of their lives.

Jax has no problem with the dialogue or the prospect of getting caught.

Eventually, Emile takes his grievances elsewhere, and the manager tries to appease him by promising to have someone search for me.

The second their voices fade, the surge becomes unbearable, the finish unavoidable.

He moves fast, entering me deep and hard, and I become undone before him, the pleasure exploding like fireworks.

MELODY

Momentslater

I gripthe sink's edge and look in the mirror.

Even if everything was flawless and in its place, I could still tell I just had sex.

And what the hell was that? What he did to me.

I run, trembling fingers over my lips, short breaths filling my chest.

My dress is back on, the hemline hitting where it's supposed to while my zipper is closed.

My panties are wet, smelling like him.

My hair is damp, some strands stuck to my neck.

I brush it all back and arrange it neatly so it doesn't give me away.

The smell of sex clings to my skin, and that's a problem.Despite using toilet paper to clean myself up, Istill smelllikehim.

"Fuck," I say, looking around the room.

I find a small sample-sized lotion behind a cute basket of potpourri. That will do. I slather it over my arms and hands beforewalking out ofthe bathroom.

By the time I reach the main room, anticipating chaos, Jax and the beautiful brunette are gone.Some of the men in his entourage are still at the table, munching on their food.

Emile argues with someone on the phone, and the manager––I suspect it's the manager since he signals Emile to look my way––approaches him and tells him I"m back.

"Where were you?" Emile asks, barely concealing his irritation.

My unpredictable behavior has pushed him over the edge. Honestly, I'm as surprised by his behavior as much as he is by mine.

I would've never guessed he was so invested in getting to know me better.

"I told you I didn't feel well."

Suspicion glints in his eyes as he removes his gaze from my face and pushes itin the direction ofthe bathroom.

"Where exactly were you? I checked the restroom."

I resent his accusatory tone, andnormally, I would retort. But as much as I sympathize with him, I want us to end things as quickly as possible.

"I needed some fresh air," I say dryly, hinting I no longer want to talk.

I don't care how I get home at this point. Cab. Or no cab. Walking, perhaps? It's all the same to me.

I approach the table, lift my blazer, and collect my bag before saying goodbye to the group and heading outside.

I meet Emile at the entrance.

He may be a player, but he's not stupid.

He knows what's afoot.

Holding the door for me, he speaks."The car is outside, waiting for you."

He no longer appears concerned with my well-being, which makes me think his behavior was only an act.

Live and learn.

We step outside, where cars and people block the front. Some climb in and move away, while others stroll to the entrance.

The cab is right there when I notice Jax, the brunette, and two other men chatting nearby.

I don't understand the dynamic of his group and can't tell why the woman is there. Is he taking her home? Is she trailing along? Or is she more than a friend?

My eyes go to him.

He is half-turned to the restaurant, and I'm not sure he's noticed me.

"Are you going to be okay?" Emile asks, becomingobvious that I'm dragging my feet.

I take in a long breath.

"Yes. I'll be fine. Listen…" I start, and he gestures and grabs my elbow gently.

"There"s no need to put it into words," he says. "It's evident you haven't had a good time," he adds, and I bring my eyes to his.

The thing is… I had a lot of fun this evening, just not with him.

And it won't happen to him. Or Thomas.

It's becoming increasingly clear that no matter how wrong Jax is for me, Thomas or Emile isn't the answer.

"Yes. It happens," I say, dawning on me we can part ways without making a big deal out of it.

"I'm heading inside if you no longer need me," he says, gesturing to the entrance. "They're waiting for me."

"Sure. We'll talk," I say, knowing full well we won't.

"Have a nice evening," he says.

"You too."

With that, hedisconnects from me, no longer interested in me, and walks away.

My eyes linger on his back until he vanishes inside.

At least he gave me that. It's more than Thomas ghosting me.

I spend a few more seconds pondering whether to take the cab or cancel it and walk when a presence closes in on me, and the heat of a male body lines my back.

He leans close to me, his lips pressed on the back of my hair.

"You did good, baby," Jax murmurs. "Now go home, leave your door open, turn off your lights, and wait for me, naked."

With that, he takes a whiff of me,laughs quietly, and walks away, leaving a swirl of testosterone, cologne, mint, and a hint of smoke in his wake.