Chapter Ten: Melody

 

 

Touching him, being touched by him, was all she'd dreamed of and more. She was half out of her mind with desire, and when he dipped his head between her legs and his tongue between her folds, she arched her back as if electric current flowed through her.

She was already poised on the edge of climax, and when his fingers entered her to go with the licking—first one, then two, and finally three, pressing at her inner walls—she gasped and tumbled over the edge with a sudden white-hot shock.

He gripped her hips and eased her through it, until she fell back with another gasp and he raised his head, looking pleased.

He was glorious, every inch of him perfectly chiseled and dusted with golden hair. She wanted to trace the inkwork of his tattoos, touch him everywhere, feel him all over her. Right now she was getting at least part of her wish, as he stroked her belly and hips, thrilling her in the sensitive moments just following her orgasm. His cock was still tremendously hard and large; her eyes were drawn to it, and she ached for him even as she still fluttered from her climax.

"I—I—" she stammered, struggling to pull her thought together. "But you haven't yet—"

"Women can come more than once, or so I've heard." He sounded delighted to give it a try.

"I never have," she protested, but to her surprise, her first climax had hardly abated her desire. She still felt eager, desperate even. She saw from his smile that he knew. By this time the intense sensitivity from her first orgasm was starting to fade, giving way to new rising urgency, and she was the one who pulled him to her, guiding him between her legs.

She cried out when he entered her, overwhelmed by sensation and need. After the first few thrusts, they rolled over, still joined together for neither wanted to break apart; it was easier, on the hard floor, to have him underneath and Melody riding him. Anyway, like this she could see him better, and she wanted to see him, even with her long hair lashing in the way.

She could feel herself rippling toward her second climax. He held her hips firmly in his strong hands as he thrust up into her, controlling speed and depth with deft thrusts even from below. She threw her head back, closing her eyes, sweat wet on her bare back; at this point she could hardly tell where he ended and she began. She only knew they were perfectly in sync, thrusting together, her hips slamming into his as he rose to meet her. Oh yes, she thought incoherently, yes—as she came again, and he did too with a low cry, their bodies melding together as mutual waves of pleasure rolled through them both.

Melody wilted onto him, draping her body over his. It took her awhile before the boneless feeling faded enough that she could have gotten up if she'd wanted to ... and some time longer before the way the hard floor was pressing into her elbow finally made her rearrange her position and roll off him, with some regret, so she could sit up and resettle her glasses on her nose. They were smudged, as Gunnar had warned, but she decided it was well worth it. Her entire body felt as if it had been filled to the brim with honey-rich warm pleasure. She reached for the nearest item of clothing, which happened to be her shirt, and cleaned her glasses on its tails.

She had to laugh, looking around at their discarded clothing crumpled on the floor and draped over the boxes. She couldn't have chosen a better place to have her mate make love to her for the first time: surrounded by her book-hoard, or at least as much of it as would fit in a single room.

Though something soft to lie on might have been a good idea. She shifted her hips to ease the hardness of the floor.

"Good for you?" Gunnar asked, looking up at her.

"Better than good." So much better.

His eyelashes were gold like his hair, she noticed. Smiling, she combed her fingers through his short hair and scritched her nails against his scalp. He leaned into her hand and closed his eyes.

She could taste him on her lips, and smell him on her, deliciously, as sweat dried on her body.

"You should probably go open your store again," Gunnar murmured. "Not gonna sell very many books this way."

"I don't care if I sell a single book today." And she didn't. The bookstore could stay closed. How many customers would she actually have today, anyway—two, three, four?

Gunnar opened his eyes. "No," he said seriously. "You shouldn't talk like that. The bookstore is ... it's what you do. I can see that. I never had a—what d'you call it, a calling? I never knew what I wanted to do with my life. Maybe I wouldn't have ended up in prison if I had."

"You were in prison because of your brother, from what Ben tells me."

"Yeah, but I don't think I would've been if I had loved something the way you love this. Anyway, I don't want to talk about that." He smiled up at her. "I love watching you in the bookstore. Seeing how excited you are about it."

Melody smiled and traced the corner of his lips with her fingertips. "I just wish I could get the people in this town to share some of my excitement. When I first moved here, I thought it was such an opportunity. The old bookstore was closing, so I leased the space with all the shelves already in place, and even bought a bunch of their old stock for a song. Then I found out why they went out of business. It's hard for a small town like this to support a bookstore."

"But it's worth it?" Gunnar asked.

"Oh yes. Even on the days when I hardly sell any books. Even on the days when I just sell one." She smiled reflectively, thinking of the soul-deep satisfaction of watching a customer walk out with the perfect book. She worked so hard to make sure that each customer who came in was able to find a book they'd like. It was like a game: this little girl clutching a stuffed dog might like the Clifford books in the kids' section. Perhaps the elderly widow might be interested in seeing their cozy mysteries? And sometimes people surprised her. One of her regular customers was an old guy with a long beard and overalls, who drove up every week in his rattling truck and walked out with a bag full of romance novels. She'd helped pretty teenage girls with expensive hairdos and immaculate makeup select books on gunsmithing and auto repair.

"It's like being a matchmaking service, in a way," she said slowly. "Like I'm a matchmaker between people and books. I love that. It's something you can't get if you buy your books from an online store. Especially if they aren't really sure what they want. I love talking to them and trying to figure out what kind of book would make them happiest." She smiled again, mostly to herself, tracing little circles with her fingertips on Gunnar's well-muscled chest and combing her fingers through the curling blond hair between his pecs. "You know, I never really talked to people much, before I bought the store. I was really shy. I guess I still am, but it helps a lot to have something to talk about. ... and I guess I'm talking your ear off. About books. Again."

"I love listening to you talk."

She might have thought he was just saying that, but she couldn't deny the sincerity in Gunnar's blue eyes as he gazed up at her. Moved beyond words, she leaned down to kiss him, long and slow, running his lower lip through her teeth as she pulled back.

And then she reached for her bra with a small sigh.

"Awww," Gunnar said, propping himself up on his elbows. "Back to the bookstore?"

"I ... don't know." As much as she loved running the store, it just didn't have the usual appeal today. She hadn't really taken a proper day off since she'd moved to Autumn Grove. "Would you like to see the town? Not that there's much of it to see. You'll probably get bored before we even make it all the way through the two blocks of downtown."

"With you," Gunnar said earnestly, "I could never get bored."

 

***

 

He actually seemed to be telling the truth about that. Melody had worried that he'd lose interest by the second antique store, but he really seemed to be interested in all of the little small-town businesses, the tiny little park by the stream, the old-fashioned lampposts.

"I've never really been in a town like this before," he explained. "To me it's like something from TV."

They held hands as they wandered down Main Street, going into any little business that caught their eye. Melody hadn't realized how little she had explored the town, either. She'd just been too busy with her new business. She'd never been inside the hardware store, or gotten an ice cream cone at Marie's Creamery Corner.

What she hadn't expected was to get stared at. Normally, she was used to being beneath notice, hiding under her gray sweaters and quiet, drab, librarian-like exterior. Coming from her father's mansion and a clan of larger-than-life dragons, not being noticed suited her just fine.

But people noticed Gunnar. It was probably one part "stranger!" and one part "danger!" Women with little kids crossed the street to avoid them. Even the people who Melody had gotten to know from working at the bookstore gave her little waves but didn't come over to chat.

"How dare they," she seethed as she turned away from paying for their ice cream cones. Even the young lady behind the ice cream counter had tried not to make eye contact with Gunnar and had only spoken to Melody. "How dare they judge you."

Gunnar shrugged his big shoulders and licked a drop of chocolate from the edge of his cone. "They're not wrong, are they?"

"They couldn't be more wrong," she said staunchly. A passing older couple gave Gunnar a nervous look, and Melody scowled back at them until they found something else to look at.

But it was sucking the joy out of the day. And it was making her think more than she wanted to about Gunnar's past and the terms of his release, which she realized she didn't actually know. Was he out of prison permanently, or only while Ben and Derek tried to recapture Nils?

"You okay?" Gunnar asked indistinctly, crunching a bite of his waffle cone.

"I'm fine." Melody sighed and applied herself to her ice cream before it melted.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Melody grimaced. "You don't want to know. I was thinking about your brother."

"Oh." He looked pensive. "I look a lot like him, you know. Did you ever, uh, have the displeasure of meeting him?"

"No. I didn't meet Derek and Gaby until after Nils was already in jail." She looked around for a trash bin to discard their crumpled, chocolate-stained napkins. "But it doesn't matter if you look like him, Gunnar. You aren't your brother, not in the slightest. You're nothing like him."

"Most people don't seem to believe that."

"Nobody else," she said gently, "has looked into your soul. I know you, Gunnar. I knew from the moment I looked into your eyes that you weren't dangerous, no matter what anyone else thinks. I knew you meant no harm to us. And my brother does too, or else he wouldn't have helped you get out of prison."

Gunnar grimaced. "Wish I believed that."

"What part? About you, or about Ben?"

"Either. Both. With my brother around, I am putting you in danger, Melody, and—"

"Hush." She silenced him with a chocolate-flavored kiss. "No, you're not. You're here to help us. And ..." She glanced around at the quiet small-town street. "I, for one, feel safer with you here than not."

"You're biased," he pointed out, but his hand wrapped around hers, his fingers strong and warm.

"Mmmm." She smiled at him, tightening her hand in his. "Nobody's completely unbiased, you know. Maybe I'm just biased in the right direction. But you know what ..." She hesitated, looking him up and down.

"What?" he asked, an anxious expression crossing his face.

"I'm thinking maybe it would help if we got you some clothes that fit." Damn it. Now she felt like she was turning into Tessa, who used to nag her about her cardigans and severe hairstyles. The cardigans were going to have to be pried out of her cold dead hands (they were comfortable, damn it) but the way you dressed did influence how people saw you. In her case, she knew perfectly well the impression she was putting across and didn't care to change it, but if the problem—or part of the problem—was that people tended to look at Gunnar and judge him by his hair and clothes and jail tattoos, maybe giving him a makeover might help with that. It wasn't going to change minds, exactly, but at last it could make him display on the outside the qualities that she saw on the inside.

Gunnar shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't exactly have ... you know ... a lot of money. Or much at all."

"If that's the only problem, I'll be happy to buy you something." He still looked dubious. "As a present," she said. "Look, it's at least partly a present for me, too. I get to dress you up in something sexy. What's not to enjoy about that?"

Now he looked intensely nervous. "Er ... how sexy are we talking here?"

"I'm not going to put you in Speedos. How about a leather jacket or something like that?"

"Which you're going to buy ... where, exactly?"

"Uh. Hmmm." She looked around thoughtfully. He had a point; the shopping choices in downtown Autumn Grove were somewhat limited. She knew there were a Walmart and a Target in the shopping complex down the highway, but it was a bit of a drive. Her eye lit on an outdoor supply store. "Want to see what they have in there?"

"Are you sure you can afford this?" Gunnar protested as she dragged him into the store. "I mean, you're trying to start up the bookstore and everything. There's gotta be a thrift store around here."

"Trust me, I can afford it. I don't like to lean on Dad's money if I don't have to, but my family could afford to buy this whole store."

"You're rich?" Gunnar said in surprise.

Melody scowled at him. "Say it louder, why don't you."

"Sorry." He dropped his voice and glanced around. It wasn't a large store, and they were the only customers except for an old man with a Santa Claus beard looking at hip waders. "But ... you didn't mention it. I wasn't expecting ... um ...."

"Well, you know what I am. We ..." She made a gesture, trying to indicate "stuff," but Gunnar just looked confused. "We hoard."

"I know that, but you hoard books."

"Yeah, but Dad doesn't. Remember what you said earlier about a stash of gold? Now imagine how much of that you could accumulate over a couple hundred years, with sufficient determination and no particular scruples about where it comes from."

"A couple hundred—what? You're—what?"

"I'm not that old," she whispered. "Dad is, more or less. Please stop staring at me." She grabbed a flannel shirt off a rack and held it up against him. "This looks like a good fit. Want to try it on?"

"Yeah, but ... you ..." He gave up when she shoved the shirt into his arms. "Okay."

Gunnar obediently shed his ill-fitting suit jacket and began pulling on the flannel shirt over his T-shirt. Melody took advantage of the opportunity to check out the flexing of his shoulders and the rippling muscles of his back. So did the middle-aged saleslady who was putting tags on things behind the counter, Melody couldn't help noticing.

"I just don't understand," he said quietly, buttoning the shirt. "Your life must have been so different from mine. Unimaginably different. I don't know why you're bothering with—"

Melody whipped out a hand and clamped it over his mouth. He paused in mid-buttoning and gazed at her in mild confusion.

"Because you're my mate, for one thing. But also ... look, we're not that different, don't you understand? Okay, so I grew up in a nice house, though I bet it wasn't whatever you're imagining. Dad has a mansion, but I grew up with my mom, and she's just got a nice townhouse in a good neighborhood."

"Your mom isn't a dragon?"

"Oh no, she is a dragon. It's just that she hoards music, not money. Here, let me get the sleeves."

As she buttoned his cuffs, Gunnar said, "How does that work?"

"About like you'd imagine, I guess. She's got a million records and CDs in storage. Digital music was a godsend for our closet space. She also owns a recording studio and represents some bands. That part kind of comes and goes, because on the one hand, being a patron and muse for her own band is her dream life, but she's also somewhat on the unreliable end of things, and she's not actually that good at finding bands who are going to do well. Mostly they're a money sink. But she has fun and does some charity work, like organizing benefit concerts, and that sort of thing."

"That's ..." Gunnar shook his head. "That's not what I was expecting. At all."

Melody smiled. "We're all different, just like anybody. Anyway, I grew up in a modest townhouse because Mom always sunk her money into her hobby, the same way Dad likes to hold onto his and invest it in precious things. Turn around."

Gunnar rotated obediently. "You like this one?" he asked with a hopeful little smile.

"I do, but I'm not really feeling the lumberjack plaid ..."

 

***

 

It was hours later when they left the store, Gunnar freshly decked out in a new flannel shirt with creases so crisp that he kept squirming, and Melody carrying the bag with his old clothes.

He looked, if she did say so herself, amazing. She would've preferred maybe a little more 5th Avenue and less backwoods chic, but at least these clothes fit him and flattered him, unlike the old brown suit. The lumberjack look was hot on him. She'd found him a dark gray work jacket, which he was wearing over a shirt in a subdued green and gray checked pattern.

And it was fascinating how the clothes changed the way he fit into his environment. Suddenly, rather than looking like a stranger who might easily be fresh out of prison, he just looked like someone who was maybe down from one of the logging camps up in the mountains, or a local farmer. People no longer crossed the street to avoid him. Instead there were friendly smiles and curious glances. An older couple even stopped to congratulate her on her young man and ask for Gunnar's name. Melody was blushing fiercely by the time they moved on.

But Gunnar seemed pensive, subdued even. "Doesn't it seem fake to you?" he asked quietly. "They wouldn't have given me the time of day before."

"They just don't know what to think of you. This helps. It's like camouflage; it lets you blend into a crowd."

He touched a hand to the side of her face. "Is that what you do?"

She didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. "Look, it's complicated. My father wants me to be ... ornamental, I guess. Beautiful and deadly."

"You are beautiful, no matter what," Gunnar said softly. He smiled. "And probably deadly too."

"It doesn't bother you?" she asked. Although there was no one nearby on the sidewalk, she lowered her voice. "Knowing what I am."

"Why should it? If you're not afraid of me, knowing what I am ... why would I be afraid of you?" He leaned in to sip at her lips, and murmured, "I would like to see your dragon sometime, though."

Her heart fluttered. No one had ever seen her shift except other dragons, and more recently, Ben and Tessa—but that was due to necessity: she'd had to fight another dragon to protect them. She had never just shifted because someone wanted to see her do it before.

"Wait until dark. I'll show you then—"  Her phone interrupted her with an incoming text. She rolled her eyes when she saw who it was. "It's Ben, checking up on us."

Gunnar grinned. "You gonna tell him what we were up to?"

"And have him go all protective big brother on me? Hell no." She typed a brief return text letting him know she was still with Gunnar, still in Autumn Grove, and doing absolutely fine. "I told him I was showing you the town."

"Well, that's not wrong. Though ..." He glanced around. "I kinda think we've seen most of it."

"In that case, I suggest we get something to eat." She swept a hand down the line of shopfronts. "As you can see, you have your choice of diner food or ... diner food. There's also a biker bar up by the highway, and some chain restaurants out where the Target and all of that is, but it's a little bit of a drive."

Gunnar's stomach rumbled, and he flashed a quick, embarrassed grin. "Diner food sounds great."