A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(24)

"Such an animal," she whispered, clinging to him with her arms and legs.

"Look who's talking," he murmured, dipping his head down to taste her  mouth, her chin, the hollow of her throat. The obsessive need to be with  her was building again, urging him to take his fill, but slower this  time.

"We should go," she whispered.

"We should," he said, half worried she was about to say goodnight. "Where should we go?"

"Don't take what I'm about to say the wrong way," she warned. His heart  constricted. "Fast was fun. Fast was amazing. So amazing that I'm  officially desperate to know what it's like when you take your time."

Dylan was relieved, though he really shouldn't have been. She wanted  something real, something long-term. And if she stayed with him for too  long, he knew he'd find some way to fuck it all up, to ruin what they  had, to hurt her. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. But,  he reminded himself-since he was too weak to do the noble thing and walk  away before hearts got shattered-she wanted something that was so good,  it would hurt like crazy when it was over.         

     



 

And God was it going to hurt when it was over.

**

This man is going to fuck me stupid. And I won't care. Because I'll be stupid and satisfied.

Melody's head was hanging off the edge of the bed. The side edge. At  least, she was pretty sure it was the side edge...it was hard to tell  where she was. Dylan had his mouth on her thigh, and-Oh, no, that wasn't  her thigh anymore.

Another brain cell died. She buried her hands in her hair. By now, it was a mess; they had been very busy.

After hastily donning their clothes and darting out of the deserted  hotel bar, they'd found themselves alone on a long elevator ride to the  ninth floor. By the time they'd made it to Melody's room, her shirt had  been half undone again, and he'd completely lost his. First, he had  fucked her against the door. He'd gotten her panties all the way off  this time, but nothing else; her shirt had dangled carelessly from one  arm. He'd simply shoved her bra down, baring her breasts for his  gaze … and his hands, and his mouth. He'd been inside her again in  seconds, soon enough that she had been impressed and aroused by his  recovery time.

He'd barely let go of her breasts the entire time. When he hadn't been  palming them, his mouth had suckled at the tips while his hands had  taken inventory elsewhere. His fingers had rubbed between their bodies  as he had pounded into her. The frantic coupling had lasted a delicious  eternity. She had come quickly, roughly, but he had held off manually,  bringing her down from her high with long, enticing kisses and warm,  welcome caresses.

Stumbling back from the door, he'd kept her wrapped around him. Melody  wasn't sure how they had managed to get to the bed without having  sustained bodily injury, but she couldn't be bothered to worry about it.  That was a line of thought better reserved for a woman who hadn't been  fucked stupid.

Everything after that had been a blur of skin and lips and fevered  cries. She remembered laughing, though she couldn't remember what had  been so funny. She had also smacked him at one point, but again, she  couldn't remember if he'd deserved it or not.

Now, as she lay halfway off the bed, her back arched, his wicked,  talented mouth swirling across her wet flesh, she couldn't remember her  own name. She could remember his, though. Dylan.

"Please," she whispered. He slid his hands under her ass and traced them  down the backs of her thighs until he reached her knees. Then he hooked  her legs over his shoulders, pushing her farther into his mouth. His  lips and tongue sucked and pulled, kissed and licked. Suddenly, she was  grateful for all the mindless groupies who had come before her, because  they had all turned him into a sex god. They had just been practice for  him, but she was going to have him over and over again until she'd had  her fill.

I'm never going to get enough of him, though. Never. This is going to hurt so much when it's over.

She shoved the thought away, burying it far in the back of her mind.  This wasn't the time for melancholy; this was the time to revel in  ecstasy.

He pushed two fingers inside her, and let his thumb lightly circle the  puckered hole at her rear entrance. Melody writhed beneath him, grasping  at the sheets and trying not to scream. Dylan rose up, leaving her  gasping and wanting more, and began trailing kisses up her stomach,  towards her navel. Though his mouth had left her groin, his fingers  remained where they were, moving as quickly as ever.

He nuzzled his nose up higher until it came in contact with her bra,  which was still attached to her torso, but was no longer remotely  functional.

"This is in my fucking way," he growled, reaching behind her to unhook and discard it.

"Mercy," she murmured, only half kidding. Every inch of her skin was  oversensitive, hyperaware from her numerous climaxes. Yet still she  hungered for him.

He seemed to sense her need for more, and once again, he slipped inside  of her. She was wet and ready for him, and arched up to meet him as he  sank deep within her, wrapping her legs around his hips. They moved  together slowly at first, then faster and faster. He thrust with wanton  abandon and she cried out his name, and God's, and probably a few  apostles' as well, before she came, climaxing around him and bringing  him over the edge with her. As she came down from her high, Dylan  wrapped his arms around her body and pressed his mouth against her neck.

"No mercy," he murmured playfully. They lie like that for a few minutes,  entwined around one another, simply content to be together. Finally,  Melody twisted in his grip, and managed to prop herself up higher on the  bed.

"I need water," she informed him. "Or a milkshake. Maybe a scone."         

     



 

"Oh, but I'm not done with you yet," he said, his voice low and teasing.  He tugged at her hips until her backside was flush with his pelvis  again. He rubbed against her and she responded at once, pushing back  against him, all thoughts of food forgotten.

Who was she kidding? There were several brain cells he hadn't  obliterated yet, and Melody didn't believe in leaving a job  half-finished.

**

"Seriously," Melody said, panting in exhaustion. "I need sustenance."

Dylan raised his arm-or at least, he tried to-and gestured feebly at the  bedside phone. "Room service," he grunted. "Get me anything that isn't  fried."

"Grilled cheese coming right up," she said, invigorated as always by the opportunity to push his buttons.

He didn't look annoyed, though. The corner of his mouth quirked up in  amusement and he gave a lazy half-shrug. She should have known that sex  was the key to mellowing him out; she would be sure to use this  information to her great benefit in the future.

Melody ordered a grilled cheese, a plate of fried zucchini ("You're  right about eating more vegetables," she'd explained when he'd given her  an exasperated look), and a chocolate milkshake. She'd added a Caesar  salad, though he'd rolled his eyes and muttered that she might as well  just eat a burger. That had sounded like it would hit the spot, so she  had ordered them a bacon cheeseburger, too.

"You're going to die of heart disease," he said sadly. "Who will disagree with everything I say, then?"

"I'll haunt you," she said cheerfully, wiggling until she was on her  side, sharing Dylan's pillow. They faced each other, covered only  partially by a thin hotel sheet. He palmed her thigh beneath the sheet  and hooked her leg over his hip. She liked that, so she moved even  closer, until her breasts came in contact with his chest. The friction  against her nipples sparked the fire within her again, but she put a lid  on it. Food first, then more sex. A woman had to have priorities.

"Promise?" he asked quietly. Something vulnerable lurked behind his  eyes, something Melody had only seen glimpses of in the past. Suddenly,  she felt sad-and angry. Whoever had turned the sweet poetic boy with a  beat-up acoustic guitar into the glib, womanizing asshole with a  self-destructive streak a mile wide, was someone she wanted to meet in a  dark alley. Since it was unlikely that she'd ever have that chance, she  vowed that she would do everything in her power to beat the asshole  down, and breathe life back into the poet.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said softly. "I'll haunt your ass with a  vengeance. Not even the Ghostbusters will be able to get rid of me."

His lips curled again, into that unconscious smile that was all the  sweeter because it was so different from the sexy smile he had carefully  cultivated for the stage and his groupies. "I ain't afraid of no  ghost," he quipped.

They kissed softly for a while, hands and mouths taking their time now  that the hormonal rush had simmered down. Room service came and went.  Dylan ate half the grilled cheese, and even tried a bite of the bacon  cheeseburger after she goaded him into it.