Chapter 34

MELODY

Monday

I spentmy weekend running online searches about sore vaginas.

And today, Monday, I have to face the ugly truth.I can't walk without experiencing painbetweenmy legs.

He fucked me for about three hours Saturday night with small breaks to shower and light a cigarette, breaking the rules of the building again––with my blessing, I might add.

He leaned against the window sill with only a low–sitting towel around his hips and his tattooed body on display while I studied him with wonder in my eyes.

He invited me to smoke with him, and I said no.

I had given in to enough guilty pleasures––he was one of them––and I didn't need another one.

When he finished smoking, he checked his phone for messages––I thought it was odd––and then signaled me to the bed while he unwrapped his towel, his erection jutting in the air.

He wanted me naked all the time, which pushed my limits in new ways. I'm not used to walking naked in my house. I'm more of a creature of soft, silky, or fuzzy fabrics sliding over my body with infinite tenderness.

I like to be tucked, held, and pampered.

But I complied.

Generally speaking, I'm comfortable in my skin and don't dwell on my physical imperfections. My perception is skewed when it comes to them, anyway.

So I'm mildly confident about how I look, but he changed that every time he reached for me, ran his hand through my hair, pressed his lips to mine, and nudged my mouth open.

Without my sexy heels, I was no longer the sassy woman.I was the girl swept off her feet.

The mistress.

The lover.

We had sex several times, and I made myself available for him with perfectly lubricated sex and orgasms that throbbed around his length.

He liked to fuck me.

And I liked how he fucked me.

We never talked about us or any other life issue.

We had sex, and he fucked my brains out. Just what the doctor ordered.

At one point, he was in the bathroom, showering, and I was in bed, basking in the afterglow. The sensation was sublime, so I fell asleep.

When I opened my eyes, it was Saturday afternoon, and the bedroom was washed in a blinding light.

I powered my phone on and noticed several missed calls anda ton ofmessages, but I ignored them because I was hungry.

I craved savory food, so I ordered subs with meatballs at a place down the road, and I ate cross-legged on the bed, staining my expensive sheets.

When I finally rolled off the mattress and walked into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, my legs almost folded under me from how rough he had fucked me.

With my hair full of knots and a trace of sauce at the corner of my lips, I waited for the shiny coffee grinder to spread the aroma of French roast coffee around the kitchen and give me a nice boost.

The last thing I needed at that point was someone knocking on my door.

I took a second sip of coffee when I heard the noise.

I stopped and swallowed hard.

What the fuck?

Irate, I put the cup down and limped out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, where I collected my robe and hair tie.

I pulled my hair into a bun, put the robe on, and tied the belt before running my fingers below my eyes.

Squaring my shoulders, I walked to the door, checked the peephole, and noticed a silhouette.

As if he knew I was there, peeking at him, the guy barked that he was delivering something.

Something I'd never ordered.

It was the middle of the day, and someone buzzed him in––again, it wasn't me. What's the point of having to buzz people in if someone else is doing it for you, anyway?

He wore a blue company T-shirt and had a huge bouquet of irises and roses and a gift for me.

No signature was required, so he handed everything to me and left.I closed the door, smelled the flowers, and shifted my eyes to the gift box.

Gifts have lost their magic throughout the years, as they have always been sent by my friends and family, but I was curious about that box.

I suspected the flowers were from Jax despite the fact that they did not come with a card, although you never know with these men.

Emile returned to New York to see me. Why wouldn't someone else from the past want to reconnect with me?

I knew the box was the key to the riddle, so using a box cutter, I tore it open.

Whatever was inside was beautifully wrapped in swishy silver paper.

A dress.

A sexy, clingy dress with spaghetti straps and no closure. The kind ofsartorial marvel that flatters your body, slides smoothly over your curves, reveals the top of your chest, and rolls on like a chemise.

Small rhinestones had been hand-sewn on the straps, and despite the lack of labels, I knew it was a custom-made couture piece.

And then I knew it.

It was him.

Jax.

No one had put so much thought into a gift before.

And I liked that he'd thought about me and wanted to give me something special. I liked his gift as much as I liked the pain between my legs, and I knew he wanted to see me in that dress.

I also knew he must've had that ready for me.

No one can walk into a designer studio and pick up a dress like this in a few hours.

But what do I know?

As I put it on, straight on my body, I wanted to have him in the bedroom right then and there with his fingers pressed into the soft fabric.

I felt that sexy.

I wanted my mouth locked with his and his fingers up my dress before he spread my legs open, lifted me up, and fucked me up against the wall.

I wanted him, but he wasn't there, so I carefully removed my dress, placed it back in the box, and deposited the gift in the closet before masturbating and falling asleep in my bed.

Sunday wasn't much different, with one big exception.

I wanted him, not my fingers between my thighs.

And now…

Oh, now.

My head is buzzing with ideas about what I want and don't want to do today.

I don't want to deal with any drama, whether it"s checking my phone every five minutes or confessing that it hurts like hell to put one foot in front of the other.

What I do want is to be focused and productive. Basically, my old self.

I also want to––

"Good morning," Mina says, wearing a green dress and a dazzling smile while derailing my thoughts. "You look great today," she says, joining me in the hallway as we both head to my office.

"Thank you. What is going on?" I say, gesturing to the people on the floor. "Am I late, or are they early?"

"Everybody's early. We have several presentations today for the new clients."

"Oh…The new clients. I remember that."

Vaguely.

She looks at me, smiling, while I veer away and enter my office, a space with white walls, a glass desk, and a faux leather chair behind it.

Two armchairs, a coffee table, and shelves sit across from my desk.

Manhattan is all glitz and glamor as the sun paints the view in a thousand shades of gold.

"You know nothing about it," she says, a sympathetic grin on her face. "And you're not supposed to. The presentations have nothing to do with you."

I drop my big red bag on my desk and unbutton my fitted scarlet blazer.

"Finally, something I don't need to do," I joke, my fingers drifting down my white pencil skirt accompanied by her gaze.

My look is finished with a black sleeveless blouse, ahugebow under my chin, and black pumps.

She studies me in silence.

"This outfit looks great on you."

"Thank you," I say, sliding into my chair.

Her eyes hover over my face and hair.

"Oh. You did it,"shesays, realizing my hair looks different.

"Yes. I went for a more reddish brown shade. You like it?"

"It's perfect."

Someone knocks on the open door, requesting her assistance.

"Go," I say as she gets ready to spin away.

"Breakfast?" she asks on her way out.

"Maybe later. I had something to eat."

No, I did not. But I don't feel like eating.

"You know what? Order something, just in case."

"Will do," she says and exits my office.

Alone, I claim my seat behind the desk and peer outside.

The view is magnificent, a reminder ofhow successful I have beenat climbing the corporate ladder.

And yet…

I never thought there was life behind these walls. And I never believed life could be so disruptive.

My hand goes to my purse when Mina enters my office again without knocking.

"Your food will be here shortly," she says as I swivel with my chair to face her. "And I have three apartment viewings scheduled for tomorrow."

My eyebrows push up.

"So quickly?"

"Yes. I emailed you a list of properties in case you want to check them before going there to see them."

"Okay," I say, my curiosity ignited. "Anything else?"

Her eyes linger on my face.

"What is it?" I ask again.

A small smile tilts her lips.

"There is something about you. Has something happened to you?"

I shrug.

"I don't know. No?"

"You look good," she says again, smiling, and I shoo her away. "Go back to work. You're kissing my butt, and I don't like it."

She chuckles.

"It's true," she says.

"I know. Just go."

Laughing, she exits my office.

I fucking know. I've seen it in the mirror,and ithas nothing to do with me or my outfits.

It's the effect he has on me.

Shifting my focus away from her, I grab my phone and send a message to Aretha Stenson.

Me: I'm not coming tomorrow.

And for the first time in a while, I feel relieved.