A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(44)

"What's your favorite board game?" he asked, tracing her shoulder blade with his tongue.

"Mm. Clue."

‘Would you like to make an accusation?" he growled, thrusting the evidence of his impressive arousal against her rear.

"‘Mr. Bennett did it from behind with a lead pipe?'" she joked. "No more silly questions."

"I want to know more about you," he said. "I want to know everything."

"I'll tell you anything," she promised, shivering agreeably as his hands  started wandering, driving her to the point of insensible distraction.

"What's your favorite color?"

"Like I can think about colors when you're doing that with your fingers," she whispered.

"Come on," he coaxed, nibbling on her earlobe at the same time that he  finally slipped his fingers beneath her bikini bottom. "You can  multitask. I wanna know. You're all these different colors. Yellow and  pink and blue and purple. Which one's your favorite?"

His fingers swirled and stroked with practiced ease, and she gasped. It  was clear that he was teasing her, just enjoying the feel of her against  his skin. She knew he could do this with her for hours and not tire of  it.

"I don't have a favorite," she confessed, giggling as he kissed and  sucked on her neck. His fingers moved lower, two of them slipping deep  inside her, causing her to clench down on them. Her giggles trailed off  into moans; he felt amazing.

"Gun to your head," he taunted, pressing and twisting his fingers. He  could play her like an instrument, but it wasn't just his skill as a  musician that made him so adept at this-he had put in time with all his  sexual pursuits. I'll never be upset about his life of debauchery. God  bless those girls for letting him practice so much.

"I couldn't pick," she gasped. "They're all me. Sometimes I'm pink and  girly and sometimes I'm yellow, bright and alive. Sometimes I'm blue,  because I miss the sea or I'm feeling melancholy. Sometimes I'm purple  because I am a goddess."

"You're my goddess," he agreed, fumbling with the strings of her bikini  bottom with his other hand. "You'll always be my goddess. I need you."         

     



 

"I need you, too," she whispered. He untied the strings and peeled her  bathing suit away. She could feel him pressed against her ass, naked and  hard and hot. She mewled in protest when he removed his fingers from  her body, but he shushed her and pressed desperate, hungry kisses to her  neck and jaw and ears as he eased his cock inside her.

"God, yes," she cried, reaching her hand around to tangle it in his  hair. She loved this, being with him; she wanted to see his face, and  she opened her mouth to tell him so, to ask him to move...but the words  froze in her throat. She couldn't ask him to change positions. She was  filled with the terrible certainty that if she changed anything about  this moment, he would disappear.

"You're so warm," he muttered, thrusting against her. His hands hungrily  roamed over her thighs, her hips, the swells of her breasts. He pulled  the cups of her bikini down roughly and pinched her nipples. He bit at  her neck and she came, suddenly and almost painfully. "I'm sorry I hurt  you," he whispered, still moving inside her.

"You didn't," she denied. This was rough, but it was nothing she  couldn't handle. The pain was incidental to the overwhelming pleasure he  was bringing her.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, gripping her hips with both hands as he  plunged into her ever more insistently. He pushed her forward, until she  was lying on her stomach in the sand, her hips tilted upward as he  thrust almost helplessly behind her. Her face pressed into the sand.

"I'm drowning you," he said, though he showed no sign of slowing his movements.

"You're not," she promised, and it was true. She still had no problem  breathing. She reached her hand up again to curl around the back of his  neck. His skin felt like ice. "You're cold."

She tried to move, to finally switch their positions. She would be able  to warm him up if she could wrap her limbs around him. She wanted to  hold him so close he would never feel the chill again. But he resisted  her movements, pushing her hands back into the sand with his own. His  fingers were freezing.

"Let me in," she begged him.

"I can't," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Mel, I can't."

Suddenly he released her hands and left her body. She scrambled to her  knees and reached out for him, but he was already gone. The sea air  turned frigid and she shivered, standing naked and alone before the  stormy sea. She called out his name, and her voice echoed along the  empty beach.

He was gone.

**

Melody was still softly crying his name when she woke. Just another  nightmare. Lennon rested his massive head on her knee, staring up at her  with wide, worried brown eyes. She absently scratched behind his ears,  both aroused and disturbed by the dream she'd just had. She didn't need a  psychotherapist to analyze what it had meant.

Never be with a man you think you can fix, her father had wisely warned  her, back when she had barely been a tween. If they need fixing, there  isn't a do-it-yourself kit in the world that'll get the job done.

But Dylan didn't need fixing, because he wasn't nearly as broken as he  or her father thought. He just needed someone to keep him warm. He just  needed to be reminded occasionally of how much he had to offer. Melody  would be willing to spend the rest of her life reminding him that he  deserved to be loved, if it would keep him safe. She needed him to be  safe.

If he's safe, I'm probably going to have to beat him up.

"You'd beat someone up for Mommy, wouldn't you?" she murmured to Lennon.  He affirmed her words with a sloppy kiss and a low woof. "Good boy. If  Dylan won't listen to reason, I'll get you to rough him up for me."

Suddenly her phone rang, loud and piercing in the silence. Melody  gasped. She banged her elbow on the headboard and nearly gave poor  Lennon a black eye as she hurled herself across the bed to grab the  phone from where it lay on her nightstand.

Tank's number came up on the screen.

Well, it was about time. The last thing Jesper had told her was that the  band would be heading over to Snake's house in Topanga to see if he was  harboring their fugitive. That had been-she glanced at the clock-four  hours ago? What could have possibly taken so long?

Maybe they hadn't found him. Maybe they had found him, and he'd put up a  fight. Maybe they'd found him and lost him again, the way she had lost  him on the highway back in Oklahoma.

"I guess there was a lot of traffic on the Canyon?" she said when she answered the call, feeling defensive and upset.

"Mel." Tank's voice was heavy and hoarse, as if he'd been yelling or  arguing with someone. Under different circumstances she would have felt  bad for him.         

     



 

"So, did you find him?" she asked, trying to let go of the gnawing  feeling in her stomach that told her the whole world was about to fall  out from under her.

"Jesper's on his way over to your place," Tank said slowly.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Why would Jesper … "

There was a knock on her front door. Lennon barked once. Melody was  suddenly seized by the absurd urge to huddle in bed and bury her head  underneath the covers.

"There's been an accident, Mel." That was why his voice had sounded so  thick. He hadn't been yelling, he'd been crying. Tank, big, strong,  burly Tank, had been crying.

Numb shock-and naïve hope-kept her functioning on autopilot. She hung up  on him and hurried to the door, her heart beating in erratic patterns,  alternating between slow, pained beats, and spurts of panic-fueled  speed. Fumbling with the knob, she wrenched open the door. Jesper stood  there, his eyes red and empty. Though pain and terror shot through her,  Melody's eyes remained oddly dry.

"What happened?" she asked, though she found herself dreading the  answer. Don't say the words, Jesper. If I lose Dylan, if something's  happened to him...I won't be able to survive.

"There's been a car accident. Snake was driving. Dylan was the passenger. Both wasted."

Thump. Melody suddenly found herself on the floor-her knees had given  out. A buzzing sound filled her ears, and she struggled to draw breath.  It was as if all the oxygen had left the room. Her head spun, her vision  went blurry.

Jesper knelt before her and put a hand on her shoulder. She shivered at  the touch; she felt feverish and nauseous, still unable to fully process  what she was hearing, still grasping onto a last, foolish shred of  hope. Please God, don't do this. Don't let this happen. He has to be all  right. It can't end this way.

"Dylan … " he began.

"Tell me he's okay," she whispered, in a voice she wasn't quite sure he heard.

Jesper shook his head.

The world fell out from under her.





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