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But hearing Melody sing is like seeing a new color. It’s like experiencing an emotion you’ve only seen described with words that never did it justice.
It’s clear and yet smokey. A soft and breathy alto tone that somehow also exudes power and strength.
And it brings me to my metaphorical knees.
I’m aware of nothing else as I slowly move towards the door. As I get closer, I start to pick out the actual words, and hear the guitar she’s strumming—gorgeously and expertly, for that matter—and somehow my jaw drops even further through the floor.
She’s singing Warren Zevon’sKeep Me In Your Heart.
I blink. For one, this happens to be one of my favorite songs of the last thirty years. But for two, what pink-haired, New York City hipster twenty-year-old even knows who the fuck Warren Zevonis?
I approach the door like an utterly hypnotized freak. My eyes are hard and prying, my jaw dropped as I peer through the opening of the door.
I was wrong—about time and the world and all that shit stopping before. I mean, itdidstop before when I heard her voice. But it well and truly fuckingceases to movewhen my gaze stabs through the doorway.
On Melody, standing in the recording studio, with my old acoustic slung over her shoulders.
Wearing a bra-less t-shirt, and little pink panties.
And nothing else.
That’swhen the entire rest of the world around me truly ceases to exist at all.
My jaw clenches, and I couldn’t even hope to stop the low, deep, animalistic growl rumbling from my chest even if I wanted to.
The music stops. With a sharp, choking gasp, Melody whirls to me, her eyes bulging wide as mouth falls open in a silent scream.
She scrambles to pull the guitar strap from around her shoulders, quickly but carefully placing it back on the little stand to the side. Still silent, she whips her gaze back to me. Her arms cross over herself awkwardly, as if trying to use her small hands to block my hungry gaze from devouring the obvious pebbles of her hard nipples.
The way her panties cling to her pussy.
A dark, pink color floods up her neck and her cheeks as she backs against the control board behind her. Her eyes dart here and there as if looking for a way to escape. A place to run and hide.
There’s not.
Not for me.
Not right now.
Our eyes lock. And before I know what I’m doing—before I can tell myself to fucking stop it, or to run in the opposite direction or to go drown myself drugs, drink and whatever other escape I can lay my hands on—I’m crossing the room, fast.
And I don’t stop until I’m right in front of her, arms on either side of her, caging her in.
Capturing her.
Ready to devour her fucking whole.
13
Melody
I jolt awaketo the sound of thunder.
The gasp tightens to a knot in my throat, choking me as reality rips me from the dream I’ve just been drowning in.
Drowning, or more like…writhing.
Moaning.
