A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(23)

     



 

"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.