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My lips curl as my eyes narrow even thinner.
I think I just got played. That whole story last night about her boat washing away and not being able to get back to shore? Bullshit, apparently. Because there she, is in her boat, on her merry fucking way.
Which means she was only here to be the enemy I’ve always known she was. She was only here last night to spy on me.
My mind flicks back to the photos I scanned on her phone. Sure, my thoughts linger for a second or ten on the ones of her in a bikini or in that pink lingerie. But then I replay the shots she took of my living room. Of the backyard, and the laundry in the basement.
And those are the pictures Isaw, before I was distracted by the racy ones.
I grind my teeth furiously as I stab my gaze across the water at the figure rowing away.
Who the fuck knows what else she took pictures of? Who knows what secret app she had recording our conversations, or photographing the rest of my house like a little sneaking spy while I was still asleep this morning?
I’ve got half a mind to jump in my own boat and roar after her. But the fire fizzles as the hankering need for coffee and substances roars up inside. That, and I look down and realize I’m not even wearing shoes. Or a shirt for that matter.
My eyes raise to the sky, which also looks like it’s about to drop a monsoon down again across the water.
I grunt.
Yeah, fuck this.
I stomp back up the stone steps back to my house. Inside, I slam around in the kitchen, angrily grabbing a mug from the shelf of now-clean ones and pouring myself some coffee. I glower, sinking back against the counter in my thoughts.
And those thoughts are squarely on one thing.
Melody.
But the anger from before is…well, notgone. But, clouded. It’s…diluted, byotherthoughts surrounding Melody.
Specifically, the feel of her skin beneath my fingertips. The way her nipple hardened so eagerly against my hand. The sound of her breath catching and her moan whimpering through her lips. The way her hips pushed against me.
The way I wanted her. The way I still want her, truth be told.
But fuck that. She’s the fucking enemy. She’s the spy that slips over the trench wall at night to cause untold chaos and mayhem while everyone sleeps. Like me.
Another thought hits me, and I scowl as I stomp back into my living room. I storm over to the stack of papers she’s shuffled together into a stack on the coffee table and grab them up in a fist.
I shuffle through them angrily. My thin gaze slides over lines and lyrics I’ve scrawled and then cast away over the last few months. I paw through them for another minute before I stop, frowning at myself.
What, like I’m gonna fuckingknowif she took something?
Before hurricane Melody swept through here, there was probably three-hundred pieces of paper ripped and balled up, strewn across this room alone. And most of that shit I came up with so deep into a bottle, I have no memory what the fuck I even wrote down anyway.
Do I seriously think I’m gonna notice something missing?
I sigh heavily. Fuck it. If something shows up on eBay, I’ll have Cliff rip her a new asshole. And if she just took it to brag to her friends or to tape up in her bedroom or on her bathroom mirror like some sort of weird memento from our meet?
Screw it. Let her have it. Fuck if I care.
I glower as my thoughts melt from black to red with lust.
There’s a…differentsort of memento I would’ve rather she take with her. One more in the vein of marks across her skin. One more in the vein of my cum dripping out of pussy into her panties the whole boat ride back to town.
I shake my head, brow furrowing.
I trudge back into the kitchen and snatch up the mug of coffee again, grunting as the hot liquid rolls over my tongue. I lean against the counter, when suddenly something catches my eye to the side. I glance over, and my lips curl.
She might be a shitty sailor. But it would seem Melody is it even fucking worse spy. Because right here, still laying on the kitchen counter, is her phone.
