Page 71 of A Tragic Melody

I push all that away, though, as I soak in the scent of him. I let my hand roam over my body. The last time I had an orgasm was when Wyatt touched me. Since then, I haven’t really had time, or the desire. The pleasure he gave me was so good that I didn’t find myself needing to come, but touching him changed that.

I cup one tit as I let my other hand slip down my panties. I got wet from touching him, only lessened slightly from Quinn’s interruption, but now I let myself get back into that headspace.

My finger circles my clit. If I was in my bunk I’d use one of my vibrators, but using my finger makes this even better for some reason.

I bite my lip as my pussy comes to life. I start slow and soft, remembering how his touch felt, how he teased me slightly and explored my body. I miss his touch, and I’ve only had it once.

If Quinn didn’t ruin our moment, I’m not sure what would’ve happened.

I push two fingers inside myself, curling them against my G-spot as I drop my other hand back to my clit.

“Fuck,” I breathe out softly.

My hips rock forward, grinding into my fingers. I quicken my pace, desperate for the release that is waiting for me at the end of this. It would be better with Wyatt here, but knowing he is above me in that bunk, maybe even touching himself, spurs me on.

When I come, I bite my lip not to yell out. It’s intense, more intense than it’s felt on my own for a while. I lay back, panting, enjoying the bliss that has fallen over me.

I pull my fingers out of my panties and wipe them on his blanket with a grin on my face, leaving behind my scent so he can remember me.

Then I let my eyes shut as peace falls over me. I could really use a nap now, so I let sleep take me.

When I wake up, I crawl out of Wyatt’s bunk. Standing on my tippy toes, I poke my head into the bunk above mine.

Wyatt lifts his head up, looking at me.

“Thank you for letting me crash in your bunk.”

“Yeah. Sure, no problem.”

“Did you take care of your little problem?” I grin.

“Little?” He lifts a brow.

I roll my eyes. “Big problem. Happy?”

“No. And no,” he says. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m writing a song.”

“Oh. What kind of song?”

“None of your business,” he says.

“It kind of is, isn’t it?” I smirk.

“Until you get him to demand that I write songs for you, it isn’t.”

“Aww, and here I thought we were getting along.”

“We are. I just don’t feel like showing you all my hard work.”

I smile and reach for his phone. He tries to yank it back, but I’m quicker than him. I blame it on the orgasm and the fact his fingers are probably sore from playing the guitar so much.

I glance down at the note app that is open on his phone.

A touch that haunts me even in my wake

A taste I yearn for, but can’t recreate

The moment to seal my fate