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Grant slipped out of bed just as the sun broke through the windows facing the bed. He looked down at Melissa, now illuminated by the orange light of dawn. She lay curled on her side, her breast and pussy covered demurely by her thigh and arm. There was nothing demure about his Melissa, though.
His Melissa. He scowled and made his way to the bathroom. He knew he had to get to the store this morning. It always ran smoothly when he made an appearance first thing. It kept the employees on their toes and didn't lead to them slacking off as much. But the only thing he wanted to do was get back in bed with her.
He forced himself into the shower and didn't turn up the hot water. The shock of cold would knock him back to his senses. The plan had been to have her and then move on with his life. Once he had her, he would know that she wasn't the end-all of female perfection. The problem was last night had been beyond description. Better than any fantasy he had cooked up about her. She had done anything he wanted, had been intensely responsive, and those noises she made when she came-his dick hardened and he looked down at it in disgust.
"Traitor."
But facts were facts. And it was a fact that he didn't want to move on. He wanted to get right back in that bed, spread her legs and make her come again and again.
9
Melissa
She was a coward, a horrible, despicable coward. She could admit that. Especially as she tiptoed across the wet grass to her home. She didn't want her mother to know she had spent the night with Grant. Or that is what she told herself as she hastily scrawled a note to Grant with a lame excuse and snatched up all the clothes she could find before he got out of the shower.
But she didn't want to see that look in his eyes. The look that said, thanks for a good time, but I gotta go. You're great in bed, Melissa, but boys don't keep girls like you around…at least not in the daylight.
It had happened to her repeatedly, and she was usually good with it. She didn't want to keep any of them around anyway. But, for some reason that she didn't want to admit, she didn't want to see that look from Grant. So, she left before he could give it to her.
She crept back into her house, like a teenager, and went straight to the shower to wash off the most fantastic night of her life.
It didn't take long to lose herself in work, emails, phone calls to her editor, and more emails, but her concentration wasn't what it usually was. Her mind drifted back to last night. To the things Grant had done to her, how he had made her feel. Each time she thought about what they had done, her nipples tightened, and she wanted to run next door and see if he was home from his store. But she couldn't do that. The house was quiet. She would have heard if he had been home. She could see the driveway from the study window, and his truck was gone.
Her phone was also silent. She had left her number in her note. Her desperate attempt to start something. He hadn't texted.
She would have to accept that her night with Grant would be what it was, a night. And she was sure word would spread. He would tell someone at the store that he finally got a piece of Melissa Barrington. The rest of the town would all know shortly. The joy of small-town living. People would all know that Melissa hadn't changed, only that she might like things rougher now.
By the end of the day, she was a mess. Her mother asked her if she wanted to go to the Club with her, but Melissa couldn't take the looks she would get. She had the narrative already set in her mind. The town knew, and when her mom returned from her tea, she would also know. She would probably ask her to go back to New York. Even her mother's ability to look the other way couldn't ignore this. She didn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes.
Melissa could only imagine the conversations being had by all.
"Did you hear? That Barrington girl let the Montreux boy take her in the butt, and he's younger than her. What a whore! That's because she's a Yankee. That poor boy, how would he get a wife now? She must have lured him into her bed."
It wouldn't be Grant's doing, no, not the way this town worked. It would be all Melissa. The corrupter. Like when she was caught with Bill Tralston in the school store room. Bill had been the star wide receiver. Melissa had lured him in there by not wearing a bra to school. She had gotten the detention. The only thing Bill got was a notch in his belt.
Why did she come home?
Her mom came through the door promptly at six o'clock. She stated with no indication of her emotional state that she had a headache and would be going to her bedroom.
Was that because she had found out about Melissa? Was she overcome with the gossip? How much worse had it gotten by the time it made it to her mother's ears? Melissa could only imagine.
She needed a drink. There was nothing in this house. She opened cabinet after cabinet. She had exhausted all the beer in the fridge. She would have to go to the liquor store on the outskirts of the town if she wanted anything to drink. She decided it was worth it. She grabbed the keys to her mom's car, made a mental note that she needed to get her own damn vehicle, and hurried out the back door.
Her hair was in a messy bun. She wore her Tiktok leggings and a crop top to go with the leggings, but she didn't care. Maybe no one would recognize her.
When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she noticed the fire pit had a pretty good fire going, and someone was sitting on the outdoor sofa.
"What the–" but her gut knew before her brain caught hold of the idea. And then her feet took over, leading her down the path to the little nook that had aided in her naughty reputation. The reputation that was giving her such mental grief at the moment.
"About time, neighbor." Grant's sexy voice carried with it all sorts of innuendos. The crackle of the fire, the smell of pine, and the subtle hint of his cologne made her insides squeeze up in anticipation.
"Grant, I didn't–"
"What? You thought you could scare me off with that little note?"
"I just, well, I thought you had me, so well…" She couldn't. She wouldn't put what she was feelings into words. Maybe they would catch if she said them out loud. Perhaps he would realize that they were true.
Two wine glasses were on the side table, and a bottle of wine was already opened and waiting. He was dressed impeccably in a pair of slacks and a polo shirt. She was a mess. She wanted to run back inside and change.
