Chapter 33

MELODY

I hit the bed late,unsure whether what he said would happen or not.It sounded real. But the more I think about it, the more uncertain I become that it can happen.

I don't even know if it's a good idea.

He clearly knows how to let himself in––he's done it before––but paying me a visit in the middle of the night?

I don't know about that.

Plus, there's another thing.

I'm not comfortable leaving my door open.The building is safe, but there are neighbors.

At any rate, my hair is damp from the shower, I'm not naked under the covers, and the night lamp is on.

My door is locked.

The problem is that I can't sleep.

I grab the remote and flip through the channels, read the news on my phone, make some tea, and drink half of the cup before going to the bathroom andwashing my teeth again.

I go to the window a few times and check the street.

There are no moving cars, andthe odds of him showing up diminishwithevery passing hour.I finally turnoff the TV and night lamp andpoweroff my phone, convinced he only said what he said to tease me.

I roll onto my side, fold my arm under my head, and think about him. Moonlight drips across the floors as I stare out the window, restless and nostalgic.

I wish I could see life through his eyes.

He is such a force of nature, wild and unpredictable, living outside the lines, while my life is so predictable.

I almost never push myself out of my comfort zone whilehe doesn't even know what a comfort zone is.

My thoughts become fuzzy as I almost fall asleep.

I'm not fully snoozing when I hear a noise at the door, and jerk upright, my eyes wide.

For a moment, I don't even know whether I locked the dooror not.

I did.

Luckily, I did.

A quiet click tells me the door is now open.

I quietly roll off the bed and tiptoe to the window.First I need to check the cars. I see nothing suspicious.

What if it's not him?

Where is my phone?

Oh, crap. My phone is not even on.

His car is not in the front. It wouldn't be anyway because there aren't any parking spots.

If it's him, he must've come on foot.

If it's him, I'm not naked,andI've disregarded his instructions.

Out of ideas, I slide to the floor and roll under the bedjustas the door opens.

His smell drifts into the room, rolling over me.

I must look silly now, hiding under the bed in myownhome. I will never be able to recover from that.

His Italian shoes move around the bed, and then I hear his buckle unfastening.

"Get out, baby. It doesn't suit you."

Oh, my God.

How embarrassing.

His jacket swishes as it falls on the armchair.

"For someone used to boss people around, you're not very good at taking orders," he says, his raspy voice holding a smile.

A few moments pass before his top lands on his jacket.

"What did I tell you?" he goes on. "I bet you're not naked."

A soft laugh gurgles in my chest.

"And you think it's funny?" he comments.

I slap my brow, wanting to vanish.

This is so not sexy.

I have no idea what to do when a hand reaches under the bed, clasps my ankle, and drags me out.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I can't," I laugh, covering my eyes.

"No need to be sorry, darling. Say goodbye to your pajamas."

He lifts me up, tosses me on the large bed, grabs my top, and pulls it open, all the ripped buttons landing on the floor.

Next, he grabs my pants, and they tear open easily under the force bestowed on them.

He nudges me to my stomach before spreading my legs.

"I bet this is not how you imagined this," he murmurs, shedding his pants and dropping them on the floor.

"Not in the slightest," I say, propping my chin on my folded arms.

"I'd grab hold of that chiseled headboard if I were you," he says, and the mattress dips as he slides his knees on either side of me. "Man, you're fucking beautiful," he says, the fierce, raw honesty in his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

He runs his fingers down my back, creating havoc, and moves my hair to the side.

His lips slide from the nape of my neck to my lower back, tension growing in my abdomen.

When he sets his hand flat down my back and strokes me, I squeeze my thighs together, relishing the soft throbbing.

His hand follows the swell of my butt before he opens my legs.

"Are you on something?" he asks, and I tense up, my awareness sharpening.

"You mean contraception?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yes. Why?"

My voice suddenly becomes suspicious. I even flick my eyestohim.

"No reason," he says,laughing quietlywhile filling me up.

I've never experienced a man inside me and a storm of dark thoughts in my head.

The sex I used to have in the past was pretty basic.

We talked about the practical stuff, positions mostly, and then got going.As long there was lubrication, and the man stayed hard long enough, we were good.

Feelings add another layer to sex. Emotions, fears, magic. Even bad feelings, or a mix of them, like now.

He moves inside me, and my pleasure soars, yet the thoughts in my head won't quiet down.

"Why did you ask?"

He doesn't say a word, pounding me.

"I won't get pregnant if that's what you had in mind," I continue.

He slows to a stop and twitches inside me, making me feel good andbad.Good because he is perfect for me, and bad because we're headed for a disaster.

That's the other thing about sex and feelings. They're outrageously unpredictable.

We've talked about so many things.But this one, a sensitive topic for me, wasn't supposed to happen.

"I asked you…" he says, in a guttural voice, his lips hovering over my ear, "because if I ever had akid,I would love to come from a woman like you."

My heart stops and then runs away, spooked like a wild mustang.

Even though he said so little, he said so much,infact.

He doesn't mean a woman like me,as inthe merger expert.

He meant the woman quivering under his frame with red or brown hair––it doesn't matter––with narrow or curvaceous hips––again, it doesn't matter.

With crazy ideas in her head, like hiding under the bed and getting railed in the back of an alley.

He really means the woman in me, not what I show to the world.

"That's all," he saysand kissesthe smooth skin below my earlobe."You are so fucking frightened," he says and starts moving again, thrusting into a pool of wetness.

"I wish I could be that woman…" I murmur, and he stops before slowly moving again.

"You are that woman."

"No, I'm not. Even if…"

He stops and kisses the back of my neck before deliciously rolling his hips again.

"Even if what?"

"Even if I were that woman… You wouldn't stick with me."

"What makes you say that?"

"You can't live in my world. And I can't live in yours."

He rocks his hips, every thrust rubbing the most sensitive spot inside my body.

"Is that your biggest fear?"

"It is. Alongwith that brunette who hit on you this evening," I add,hopingour conversation couldturn lighter.

He chuckles and thrusts harder.

"You're not afraid of heroryou wouldn't be under me."

He might have a point.

"Seriously, now…" he continues, fucking me slowly.

"I'm serious. And it's not only a fear of mine. It's the reality of us. You don't know how uninteresting my life actually is. And I know your world is anything but that, but I still have no place in it. I wish things were different."

He stays quiet before placing a soft kiss on my neck again.

"Don't worry.We'll figure it out," he sayswith confidence, andalso like it's not worth talking about it.

Like he's brushing me off.

Either way, I'm happy we're no longer talking about it, but nothappythat my mood is so affected.

That changes dramatically when he slides his hand undermeand also grabs the back of my neck.

If this were a fight, I'd surely tap the floor.

But it's not.

He locks me in place, strokes my clit with deft fingers, and rams into me like he wants to rip me open.

The thoughts get pushed to the back of my mind as I get transformed into bits of pleasure by the man plunging into me from behind.