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Moving her head close to my ear, she leans into me, bearing all of her weight down as she rides me. Her heavy breaths caress my ear, and I shut my eyes. Just let this happen. And I can’t lie, she feels so damn good against my dick. It’s the worst and best kind of torture.
Against my will, my pelvis starts to thrust. Reaching up to meet her each time she comes down. As she picks up momentum, her breathing intensifies, making my dick pulse in time with my rapid heartbeats.
Her hips circle, again and again, and she presses her chest to mine, getting as close as she can. The fabric between us an annoying barrier as she moans. She removes a hand from my shoulder and reaches down to stroke herself, bring on her orgasm. I’m so fucking tempted to touch her—do it for her. But I bite back the desire.
“Mel, fuck…” I can feel her fingers working her clit. She’s working me right along, hitting my cock right at the sensitive part, and I can’t help it—I reach around and grab her hips. Force her down harder.
Her hot breath pants in my ear as her arm clings to my neck, her body pressed tightly against mine, while I clutch her, helping her get there.
“I can feel you,” she whispers. “I want you inside me so badly…deep inside, hitting that ache just right.”
A guttural roar rips from my throat, and I sink my face into the space between her shoulder and neck, surrounding myself with her heat and scent. My hands anchor her hard to me as I thrust up one final time and release right into my boxers.
The sensitive throb pulses from the head of my dick to my toes, radiating out, carrying the aftershock of my orgasm through my body like a tidal wave. And then Mel crashes all around me, breaking against me, as she bites down on her lip, her body seizing and contracting as she comes. I circle my arms around her, selfishly wanting to feel her come as close to me as possible.
Her head lightly rests on my shoulder, her breaths labored, the heat of them caressing my skin. “That was so ridiculously hot,” she pants out.
Despite the shoc
k in my system, I smile. It was beyond hot. But I don’t know how to describe it, so I stay quiet. Listening to her breaths. I’m scared to move. To disturb the serenity of the moment.
I’m not sure if she’s feeling what I am. It’s more than sexual. More than just getting off together. It’s an openness, an honesty that, even without the heightened climax, I don’t think I’ll ever experience with anyone else. Ever.
That one thought stills me cold.
I close my eyes and inwardly curse. She’s high. Like through the roof. And anything she takes away from this night will be veiled by that realization.
When she leans back, her eyes seeking, probing, I say, “Don’t downplay this in the morning.”
She scrunches her nose. “What do mean? Dude, relax. Enjoy the brief moment of release. Finally.” She runs her fingers through my hair, then moves to sit next to me. “I’ve never done that before. Just got off like that. I’m not even…I don’t know what that was.”
This surprises me more than anything. “You mean I’m a first for something?”
She slaps my stomach playfully. “I’ll take that as a lapse in brain power due to sudden semen emission, and not like you were calling me a slut.”
“Whoa.” I turn toward her, painfully aware of the huge, wet wad in my boxers. “Trust me, you have nothing on me. I’d never say that. I just want…I don’t know. Shit. I really don’t think I’m allowed to want anything. And it’s torture.”
Her fingers lace with mine, and I can’t help but look down at them, and her bare thighs. I’m quickly getting turned on again, and really need to ask her to get dressed. But I don’t want her to. I want to carry her to the bedroom and crawl under the covers with her for the rest of the night.
“Darla was more than my best friend,” she says, erasing every thought from my mind. I’m suddenly attuned to her, waiting for her to give me any detail of herself. Wanting everything.
“She was my sister. Is my sister,” she continues. “Not blood related, or anything. But we were closer than that, even. And yes, I do blame myself for her death. Not directly. I’m smart enough to understand it was a fucked up accident. But—” she closes her hand, holding on to mine tighter “—one thing Doc Sid said stayed with me. Dominos. I watched out for her, and I should have protected her better. I’d looked out for her since the first day we met, threatened her piece of shit father, even hit piece of shit guys over the head with beer bottles for her…but I couldn’t protect her from the domino effect I’d started for our lives. She suffered because of me. She’s gone because I couldn’t…”
Turning toward her, I slip my free hand through her hair, my fingers pushing her red strands behind her ear. I need to see her face. Her eyes are glazed over, no tears falling. She’s holding it all in. “What could you have possibly done?” I ask.
She shakes her head a little, releasing a clear trail of tears down her cheek. “Nothing. I’m sure of that. I’m not a fucking psychic. But there were so many other courses of action I could have taken that night—like many nights before—that could’ve altered the outcome.”
“Mel, who looks out for you? Who’s responsible for your pain?”
Her dark eyes flick up, the question catching her so off guard I hear her slight gasp. “I want you to say something aloud. Even if you don’t mean it. Just speak the words.”
I lick my lips, stopping myself from kissing her. Instead, I nod. No questions asked. I’d do just about anything for her right now.
“Say, I’m not responsible for Hunter’s death.”
My brow furrows, and I shake my head. “No.” I’m not sure what she’s trying to do, but she’s asked one of a few things I can’t do. Not even for her.
She reaches up to run her hand over my cheek. In this intimate span of time, it’s possible the outside world doesn’t exist. It’s possible that, somehow, I’m not responsible. That maybe fate is a real force, and there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent his death. That Melody’s actions had nothing to do with what lead up to her friend’s death.
