“Yes,” she says. “Well, assistant to the wedding planner. I’m Melody Smith.”
Nerves dance across her features as she gives me her name.
Fuck, what I’d give to lick those nerves away, one tongue stroke at a time.
A silence hangs between us as my mind continues to assail me with primal take-her vignettes.
I imagine her on her knees, unbuttoning that shirt slowly, revealing more and more of those bulbous creamy tits, and then I’d bring my come-soaked hot cock to her breasts and start fucking them like the sex goddess she is, pinching her nipples lightly as I push them together, tighter, closer, and then drive my manhood into those cute lips and explode until she gulps down every drop.
But no.
Would I truly waste a drop of my seed in her mouth, when she’s got a pussy so perfect for filling, where my seed could take root and flourish in that wide-hipped body, a body made for fucking and giving life?
“How’s the planning going?” I say, having to force the words out.
It takes all my self-restraint not to pounce on her like a jungle cat right here.
“Oh, well enough,” she murmurs.
I can scent her perfume in the air, and, underneath that, her just-her smell. It smells tangy and real, and so alluring my manhood won’t stop pulsing.
“Natalie’s a great person to work with,” she says. “I mean, maybe a little indecisive at times, but that’s all part of the job … Oh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your sister.”
Her face flickers with mortification.
I shake my head, moving closer to her, so close I could loop my arm around her waist and squeeze her round bouncy ass.
“No, you’re right,” I say, with as light a chuckle as I can manage. “And I appreciate people who can speak their mind. It can get pretty boring having ‘Yes Men’ around you all the time.”
“What about ‘Yes Women’?” she teases.
“Well,” I growl. “It depends what you’re saying yes to.”
A blush creeps into her cheeks, a gorgeous crimson, and for a few moments, I contemplate just kissing her right here, right now.
I don’t give a damn if we’re surrounded by my employees.
I don’t give a damn if it’d be unprofessional.
But then her eyes widen and she glances behind me.
“Oh, there’s my boss,” she says.
I turn to find an elegant looking older lady glancing at us. She wears a knee-length black skirt with tights and a blazer that emphasizes her no-bullshit shoulders. Her hair is dignified silver and her eyes are sharp.
“I’ll see you again, Melody,” I say, watching her walk down the corridor, the way the fabric clings to her ass almost causing me to erupt right here.
I spin and quickly walk toward the gym, full of frenetic energy.
Because if I don’t go and punish my body a thousand times over I’ll follow Melody’s scent through the office and take her like the beast she’s turning me into.
CHAPTER TWO
Melody
“You did very well today,” Gertrude says when we’re back in the Eternal Bond offices, a small boutique-style place on the other side of the city from Spark, Mason’s company.
Gertrude leans back in her office chair, the walls surrounded with photos taken at the various weddings she’s planned over the years, the couples smiling and radiating happiness, and puts her hair into a ponytail.
“Though there was that business, wasn’t there?” she says, shooting me one of her I-miss-nothing looks.
“Business?” I say innocently, standing up and wandering over the window.
It’s almost the end of the business day but the sunlight-dappled city is still as bustling as ever, the sidewalks packed shoulder-to-shoulder with pedestrians, horns blaring into the air like a siren song as the cars sit hood to taillight.
“Before we went to meet Miss Mackendale,” Gertrude says, a smile in her voice.
You evil old crone, I think, but really a note of endearment strikes in me.
But it’s followed by a quiver of guilt.
Gertrude doesn’t know the truth about me, so maybe it’s unfair that I look to her as a mother figure.
Just because I never had a mother figure growing up – or a father figure for that matter – it doesn’t mean I should unfairly thrust that responsibility at her.
I’m twenty-one years old now, for Pete’s sake, way past the age where I should still be longing for a mother. But if you’ve never had one, well, heck, it’s kind of hard to turn that instinct off.
But what would Gertrude say if she learned I’d purchased fake identification when I came to this city to start my new life. If she knew what I was running from, who I was running from?
I shiver, remembering that night, remembering the blood and the fear and the pain.
“Melody?” she says, close to me now, her hand sinking softly into my shoulder. “Are you okay, dear?”
“Yes, yes,” I say quickly, turning what I hope is a convincing smile to her. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About Mason Mackendale?”
“What?” I say, a blush creeping into my cheeks despite myself. “Of course not. That was just a friendly conversation. I was networking, Gertrude, that’s all.”
“Is that why you looked so smitten afterward, hmm?”
“You’re evil,” I laugh, shaking my head and returning to my chair with a sigh. “Anyway, as if a man like Mason freaking Mackendale would be interested in me. It’s a silly thing to even think.”
“And why’s that?” Gertrude says fiercely. “You’re intelligent, you’re beautiful, you’re fierce … need I go on?”
I sigh, deciding to let the matter drop.
When Mason was looming over me in the corridor, all six-foot-seven of him clad in his tight-fitting gym clothes, his stark blue eyes like shards of ice biting into me and his body hulking and seeming to pulse muscularly – with his silver peppered hair slicked to the side, and his clean-shaven jaw shaping his smirk – something crazy and ridiculous hammered through me.
For a second as I breathed in the heat of him, I thought he was going to grab my shoulders and push me up against
