"Sweetheart, the last thing I am is shy," he muttered, sliding off the bench entirely. He didn't trust himself to allow her to keep her clothes on while he sat so close to her.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Then why are you so far away?"
"So fucking perfect," he whispered. "You're mine now."
"Dylan-"
"I know what you're thinking. But it isn't like last time." He had to get it all out now or he'd never have the nerve to try it again. "You told me I needed to know this was something worth getting my heart broken for. And it is, because you're not like anyone else. You're the melody I didn't know how to find, and if you don't believe me, if my words aren't enough, I'll make you a recording of that song. The magic we both are feeling now, it's all right there."
"I know," she whispered. Her eyes were wide and over-bright, like he'd finally managed to surprise her. God please let it be a good surprise for once. "I want to kiss you and strangle you all the time."
It was a bizarre declaration, but somehow perfect-the echo of the own words he'd thought to himself over and over again. He smiled and moved forward to kiss her, but she was already there. Her fingers were in his hair, her mouth was hungry and open against his. She was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him, because she had ruined the life he'd thought he was perfectly happy living. He could never go back to the bread and water of dime-a-dozen groupies, not now that he'd tasted the ambrosia of her lips and tongue.
He wanted to take his time with her. He wanted her on a soft bed strewn with rose petals, surrounded with candles and all sorts of other romantic bullshit that had seemed like a waste of time before he'd met her. He wanted her to have all the things girls always seemed to want.
Melody, however, only seemed to want him out of his pants, if the way her fingers were working at his belt was any indication. And when had he unbuttoned her shirt? Shit, she was wearing a lacy yellow bra. It looked like sunshine on her skin. His hand pressed against her flesh, right above her breast. He felt her heart beating beneath his palm and she mimicked him (when had his shirt been unbuttoned?) for a perfect, still moment.
"We can slow down," he said quietly, pressing his forehead against hers. "Or stop, if you want. I don't want you to have any doubts. Or fears."
"I've got both," she said, her honest eyes staring up into his. "But they're not your fault. Well," she grinned, taking the sting out of her words, "they're not all your fault."
"But if I make you mine now, you'll belong to me forever," he said, unashamed. "Are you sure, Mel?"
"I'm brave," she reminded him. "And you're worth the risk."
In a world where people tripped over themselves to pay him lavish compliments, that simple statement was the nicest fucking thing anyone had ever said. Any thought of stopping went out the window. Dylan brought their mouths together again, nipping gently at her lower lip; enjoying the little moan she let out in response. Her hands went back to his belt, and his went for the button on her jeans. They worked together, the same way they had at the piano, until his pants were open and hers were on the floor.
Melody backed up until she hit the piano. She looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow. Should we?
He smirked back at her. Hell yeah.
His hands wrapped around her waist and lifted at the same time she jumped. They settled her atop the piano. He rested his open palms on her knees and she spread them wide enough for him to step forward between them. As soon as he was pressed against her, he felt those long, wild legs wrap around his hips, holding him in place. His mouth began exploring her jaw, the hollow of her throat, each of her ears in turn. He was being greedy again, desperate to have all of her at once.
"I can't stop," he muttered, palming her breasts in each hand, groaning at the way her nipples pebbled through the sheer fabric of her sunshine-yellow bra. He lowered his head to take one of them between his lips, nibbling gently on the tight peak.
"I don't want you to," she whispered, her nails scraping at his back, his scalp. Every time he did something she liked, she clenched her fingers a little harder as they roamed his body. He wanted more of her bare skin, more of her taste.
His hand reached the side of her panties, a barely-there bikini string. He stuck his finger beneath one of the straps, playing with it, enjoying the way it caused her breathing to accelerate. The pulse on her neck sped; he could feel it beneath his lips as he kissed and sucked at the sensitive spot. As much as he wanted to take his time, to tease her, Dylan was well aware they weren't exactly in a private area. And as much as he wouldn't have cared in the past-in fact, public sex where anyone could catch him had always been something of a turn-on for him-he felt protective of Melody. He cared about her well-being, and didn't want her to be exposed.
He realized that somehow, amazingly, he was a better person when he was with her. And, even more amazingly, he found that he liked being that better person.
But since he needed to fuck her too much to stop, that meant he had to be quick.
The hand that had been playing with the waist of her panties drifted to the front. He rubbed against her through the lace, slid his mouth over hers to swallow the mewling little whine she made when she felt him reach her sweet spot. He pulled her lower lip between his teeth at the same time he pushed her panties aside and let his index finger dance over her clit. She bucked against him, her movements wild and unashamed. She was wanton and proud of it, judging by the way she bit at his lip in return. She clenched her feet against his jean-covered ass, a silent encouragement for him to get on with it.
"Put me where you want me," he teased, his fingers moving faster over her slippery flesh. He moved one of them to her opening, dipping inside just an inch. She felt like heaven.
In response to his challenge, Melody's hands were inside his pants in an instant, tugging and pulling until she had his cock pressed against her. He pulled her panties aside, and together, they guided him inside.
"God," she moaned, or maybe it was him. He couldn't focus on anything except the way she felt. She felt better than anyone else ever had and shit, shit, shit he wasn't wearing a condom.
"We didn't use anything," he panted.
"Just pull out," she muttered.
He laughed. "That's not very responsible, Ms. Hopkins," he chastised. His voice was tight and his breathing labored, because he was trying not to move within her while they were having this rather important discussion. This, he reflected, was the sort of conversation people were supposed to have before they were in the middle of having sex.
"Are you clean?" she asked.
Dylan nodded; fortunately, he was sort of obsessive compulsive about his health. One obsessed fan who had claimed he was her baby daddy had been more than enough incentive never to go bare-back, thank you very much.
Then why wasn't he scrambling for a rubber? She felt good, sure, but...it was more than that. He wanted to be with her like this, nothing between them.
"Then we're fine. I'm on the mother-of-all birth control," she assured him, obviously thinking that was what his hesitation was about. "Pun intended," she said, yanking him closer, pulling him farther inside, her limbs holding him to her fiercely, as though she was afraid he'd escape otherwise. Like there was anywhere else he'd ever want to be.
It was really fast.
Her knees ended up somewhere around his ribcage, and he braced one of his hands flat against the top of the piano for leverage. Melody anchored one hand in his hair, kissing him sloppy and sweet, while her free hand drifted down to rub frantically at her clit. She was already tightening around him, and in response, his hips moved against her more insistently, fast and hard. Their pelvises slapped together with a wet sound that was so hot, he had to force himself to think about Snake getting out of the shower to calm down, to make it last just a little while longer.
When she moved her other hand between their bodies and started cupping and rolling his balls, not even Snake and Tank getting out of the shower could calm him down.
"Mel," he muttered, biting down on her shoulder to keep from yelling loud enough to bring hotel security running. Her pussy contracted around him, and she started to whimper. He covered her mouth with his hand as she got louder, and she bit down on his palm in return, riding out her orgasm and triggering his. He didn't pull out. He didn't want to, and by the dazed, euphoric look in her eyes, she didn't really want him to, either.
He removed his hand from her mouth, swiping at her bottom lip with his thumb as he went. A perfect imprint of her teeth decorated his skin. She had a matching mark on her shoulder.