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JACOB
She stokes my anger like no other.
I sit outside the dark house in my truck, contemplating my next move.
After I dropped her off, I went home and returned the shiny sports car. It would’ve drawn too much attention parked in the residential neighborhood. And like she said,I’m a truck guy. It’s been my old faithful through college, and even a multi-million-dollar contract with the NHL hasn’t changed that.
My phone has been blowing up with messages from Knox, Miles, Steele, and Greyson. My best friends, one of whom is celebrating with raucous abandon, and the others who are along for the ride.
They know Melody is here. They know my focus has been pulled. I warned them as much before the game, because I didn’t want to just ghost them. Not like what Melody did to me.
Not for the first time, I try to fill in the gaps of her life. There was a before me, and there was an after me. But now that she’s back, there is no before—and there will be no after. I’m not letting her go.
It’s why I watched until a bedroom light flickered on and her form moved across the window before I sped home. It’s why, even now, I consider ways to embed myself into her. Not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally.
I climb out of the truck and slip between houses. I cling to the shadows until I get to the back door of their garage. It takes little work to jimmy open the lock and crack the door. My phone’s flashlight illuminates the space in front of me.
The door into the house is unlocked, and I walk carefully down the hall. I make note of the photos on the wall. They’re mostly of a couple that doesn’t consist of Melody. The man who was beside her at the game in New York and a woman I don’t recognize.
I don’t know what to make of it. I assumed the man with Melody was her husband. But these photos make me think differently. I file that away and continue to check the rest of the downstairs, leaving her bedroom for last. My curiosity is too high. I must know if she’s sleeping besidehim. The other woman in the photos could be a fluke.
Perhaps I’ll walk in and catch them in the act, and I’ll have the pleasure of cutting his balls off.
My hard grip on my phone makes the light tremble.
I switch it off and palm the knob. The door opens silently, swinging inward. I step in, closing it behind me. My eyes adjust to the darkness and the single body in the bed. She’s stretched in the center of it, like she’s not used to sharing.
The thought pleases me.
I’d give her the center of my bed, too.
I circle the bed until I can see her face. Her hair is fanned out around her head, and she hugs another pillow to her chest. My jersey is slung over the chair, along with the sweatshirt that she wore under it.
Did seeing her in my jersey make me play harder?
Yes.
It didn’t matter in the end because my team played like absolute shit tonight. Coach Matthews warned us that we’d be practicing early tomorrow. He probably intends to run all the drills, to practice shooting instead of passing the puck around like a bunch of pussies. To make us sprint until our legs feel like they’re going to fall off.
It’s well deserved. None of us want to lose on home ice, and we were just embarrassed.
Melody rolls onto her back, and I go still. My attention lasers in on the swells of her breasts, free of any bra or restriction. Her nipples are pebbled under the cotton t-shirt. I step closer and kneel beside the bed.
She doesn’t stir when I pull up her t-shirt. Exposing the softness of her stomach, her pale flesh almost glowing in the faint light from the window, and higher still. Until her breasts are bared to me.
My cock is hard. It strains against my pants, but I ignore it in favor of touching her. I would rather torture myself and savor this moment than rush through it.
I reach out and run my finger over her nipple. Her skin puckers, her nipple stiffening. I do it again, flicking it gently, until a low whimper slips from her throat. She made a similar noise the first time I knelt in front of her, hidden behind her desk in her office at Crown Point University, and made her come on my tongue.
Now, I lean forward and take her other nipple in my mouth. I suck and lick and bite until she’s writhing in her sleep under me. Until I’m sure there will be a mark left there when she wakes.
“You’re mine,” I whisper in her ear. “Nothing can change that.”
I leave her with her shirt up to her throat. I take a pair of panties from her hamper and tuck them in my pocket. Cotton boy shorts that aren’t sexy at all, but I think on her they’d be a wet dream. I make my way back outside and into my truck, where I finally unzip my pants and free my erection.
I pull her panties out and drape them on my thigh, spitting into my hand before I stroke myself. As I do, I keep my eyes across the street, on her window. And I think of all the times before that I sat outside her house in the dark, waiting to enter. For the sight that met me all those years ago. Her naked body, the way she comes.
The way she’ll look with her lips wrapped around me, her signature red lipstick smeared across my cock and her cheeks.
