I sit back, watching as she works my shaft. Her body trembles, muscles burning and aching and twitching for more of me. She positions herself back, resting her hands on my knees as she pumps her body up and down.
I touch her body. I feel her breasts and curves over her shirt. My balls clench, signaling the point of no return. I dig my fingers into her sides and pull her back down, pushing myself as deep inside as possible. Melanie kisses me with smiling lips, triumphantly claiming my groans as she brings me to climax. My sensitive tip screams with each glide, but the pleasure is just too fucking good.
“That’s my boy,” she whispers, her lips pressed against mine.
I wrap my arms around her and she stops swaying, but my cock stays firmly inside of her. I embrace her. I caress her. I taste the sweetness of her lips. I smell the filthiness of sex and sweat on both of us. I fight the natural urge to breathe in favor of kissing her until it seems like we both might pass out.
Then she smiles. She gently combs her fingers through my hair. She looks tired, but happy. Genuinely happy, more so than I’ve seen since before we broke up for good.
But it wasn’t for good, was it?
She’s back. We’re back and better than it was in the beginning… before I fucked it up.
I won’t do that again.
I promise, Mel.
Fifteen
Robbie
“I was right,” I say as I sit back and reach for my tool bag.
“No, you weren’t.”
I glance at Melanie across my bedroom. She lounges on the chair next to the door with a spare notebook of mine balanced on her crossed legs. My mattress lies nearby, propped on its side near the window behind me as I inspect my now broken bed frame. Not the first time Melanie and I have broken a bed.
Hopefully not the last.
She looks up and winces. “Sorry,” she says. “Habit. What were you right about?”
I grab a box of random-sized screws stuffed near the bottom of the bag. “Broken screw,” I say. “It’s an easy fix.”
She huffs. “Bummer.”
“Bummer?” I ask.
“Kinda hoped you’d have to, like... lift things more or... hammer something.”
I raise a brow. “Oh, yeah?”
“You’re not even breaking a sweat. It’s a little disappointing, that’s all I’m saying.”
I rise off the floor, pinching the bottom of my t-shirt as I move. I drag it over my head and toss it away. Melanie chuckles as I flex in all the right areas in nothing but my jeans.
“Better?” I ask.
“Such a handy man,” she says.
“I do my best, ma’am.” I raise my drill and tap the trigger at her twice before kneeling by the bed frame. “How’s that chapter coming along?” I ask.
Melanie sighs. “Not great, actually.”
“Am I... too distracting for you?”
I flex again. She smiles.
“In a way,” she answers. “I can’t get over your note from the other day.”
“Which one?”
“Why does she even like this guy?” she quotes.
“So, why does she even like the guy?” I ask again.
She throws up her hands. “I don’t know! If I were this girl, I’d hate him forever,” she says, glaring at the notebook. “Wondering if I should just toss the whole thing and start over.”
“No, don’t do that,” I say. “We’ll figure it out.”
“We will?”
“Sure.”
“How?”
I smirk. “Trust me. I’m the master of making women who hate me fall in love with me.”
I nearly regret it the second it leaves my lips. I turn to check her reaction, and hopefully block the notebook probably flinging toward my forehead, but Melanie smiles as we make eye contact.
“You’re right,” she says.
A chill rolls down my back.
“I am?” I ask.
“She doesn’t have to like him,” she muses, her eyebrows coming together in thought, “but she does have to need him. Maybe... no... or... yeah, that!” She twitches as she speaks, chasing the invisible plot bunny. “Or how about... no? Wait...” She falls back, annoyed. “No, that won’t work.”
I laugh. “God, I missed that.”
Melanie pauses. “What?”
“That spastic thing you do when you plot.”
She looks down, hiding the blush filling her cheeks.
I focus on my bed again, quickly finding the right-sized screw and drill bit I need. The drill hums loud enough to fill the silent void in the room between us. As the screw finds its place and the room goes quiet again, I stand up and nod.
“All done,” I say.
Melanie nods. “Good work.”
I step toward the window for my mattress. “Thanks,” I say.
“So, what’s that mean?”
I pause, unsure which part of our conversation she’s referring to. “What?” I ask, playing it safe.
“The tattoo,” she says, pointing at my ribs. “With the notches and colors.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing at it. “It’s for my sobriety. One line for each month. First month red. Second month gold.”
“Third month green,” she says, staring at it.
“Figure I’d get twelve months in and play it by ear.”
Melanie nods, impressed. “You were serious about it, then.”
I grab the mattress, carefully hoisting it off the floor and taking it back to the bed. “Still am,” I say.
She smiles for only a second before that heavy cloud drifts over her again. I let the mattress drop onto the bed frame, but I don’t bother straightening it out just yet.
“What?” I ask.
Her head shakes, confused. “What?”
“Something’s bothering you.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Nothing’s bothering me.”
“You’re nervous.”
“I… have nothing to be nervous about.”
I raise a brow, knowing better.
“Okay, I’m a little nervous,” she says.
“About what?”
“Promise me you won’t take this the wrong way.”
I smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She hesitates before letting the notebook slide off her lap onto the chair. “I am so very proud of you, Robbie.”
“Thank you.”
“You know that, right?”
“I do.”
“I honestly can’t express how much seeing you like this means to me.” She takes a
