Bittersweet Melody

by Belinda Boring

  “Yep. Eight o’clock still good?” Somewhere along the way, we’d become workout partners as well, him wanting to keep in shape while I worked at maintaining the strength in my legs and back. Physical therapy had helped me recover the flexibility I’d lost being injured, but it was something I needed to continue doing so it didn’t falter.

  Most days, I welcomed the burn and soreness that followed a visit to the local gym. It gave me something to focus on other than the demons prancing about in my thoughts. And after walking away from a sure fuck tonight, it would also help me curb my sexual frustration.

  I should’ve stayed and taken care of business. I growled, inwardly chastising my inability to keep my shit in check. Caylee or not, feelings or not, abstinence was not a philosophy I endorsed. If I didn’t get some action soon, I’d start getting twitchy.

  Snorting under my breath, I shook my head in disgust. How did my life get even more fucking complicated? Wasn’t my life mantra to keep everything basic?

  “Should I come pick you up?” Marty’s voice broke through my musings, revealing we were parked in front of the house I shared with my brother. “I think it’s my turn to chauffeur.”

  I nodded. “Sounds good to me. Thanks for the ride.” With my body already halfway out the car, I should’ve known he hadn’t forgotten it. Marty had simply been biding his time until now.

  “There’s nothing wrong with pursuing Caylee. If you ask me, I think she likes you as well. I know Rebecca has dropped a few hints, fishing for information.”

  “And?” My head spun as I held my breath like a freaking pubescent teen with his first woody.

  “I played it cool. I figured if you’re into her, then you’ll make your move.”

  Relief coursed through me. Even though he would like nothing more than to play his version of brotherly matchmaker, he knew not to overstep his bounds. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to even entertain it.” Try as I might, I couldn’t hide the disappointment. Hell, if we both didn’t come with the baggage we had, I would’ve been banging down Caylee’s door.

  Leaning over the seat so he could look at me, his one hand still gripping the wheel, Marty added, “All I'm saying is think about it, Coop. What’s the harm?"

  Waving good-bye as he pulled away, disappearing down the darkened street, his words reverberated in my mind.

  That was the problem. Caylee Sawyer was all I could think about.

  And that was dangerous.

  No, scratch that.

  Catastrophic.

  ****

  Cooper.

  My name floated across the air—a mixture of pure pleasure and need. The mere sound of desire ricocheted molten arousal straight into my crotch, instantly hardening my cock. It tampered my ability to think, but wasn’t that the point?

  Sex wasn’t something you thought about. You simply acted and felt.

  The body beneath my fingertips squirmed as if she would die if I didn’t touch her again. Dropping to my knees, I struggled to temper my anticipation, raising the hem of her shirt so I could sample the satin-like skin underneath.

  So incredibly soft.

  So deliciously sweet.

  If this were just a sample of what was to follow, I would drown. Tracing my tongue once more over her panty line, it was everything I could do not to rip off every stitch of clothing with my teeth and lose myself in sensation.

  “Sssh,” I murmured against the heat of her skin. Names weren’t important. Speaking was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was this moment. In the quiet of the room, no demons gnashed their teeth, firing a steady stream of reality and guilt at me.

  In this moment, I was merely a man enjoying the escape.

  Gripping her hips, my thumbs automatically brushing back and forth, her gentle moans and pleas for more were almost my undoing. I was no inexperienced teenager ready to blow a load in his pants.

  This was what I lived for, what soothed my ragged nerves. By the time I was finished, she’d be hard-pressed to remember her name. It wasn’t a brag or some exaggerated arrogance.

  It was fact.

  I knew how to fuck, and fuck well.

  Trembling as my breath blew across her sensitive flesh, my fingers teasing the waistband of her jeans before dipping below, I synchronized my mouth with the sharp tug that popped the top button, automatically lowering the zipper.

  She was wet already, and we’d only just started. Round and round my tongue swirled, with each breath going lower and lower. As she lifted her hips, I slid her clothes off completely, leaving her bare and exposed.

  “So beautiful,” I whispered, need breaking in my voice. My erection pressed hard against my own jeans—like a prisoner flexing his muscles, pulling on his cell bars in an attempt to break free.

  All in good time, all in good time.

  What was the point of laying her out like a feast only to lose control and shovel each delectable piece of food into my mouth? She should be savored—relished.

  There was something about this one, something that stirred at those hidden parts of me, something that cautioned me to be gentle and reverent.

  This one was . . . special.

  Whatever that meant.

  Goose bumps spread over her body like a sudden chill had seized her. The sight brought a satisfied grin to my lips. I knew it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with me slowly hooking my right hand around the back of her knee, effectively spreading her legs and opening her up to me.

  Mine.

  The primal, instinctive emotion swept through me, causing me to wet my lips. In this moment, I loved my life. The world could crash and burn around us and I wouldn’t give a shit.

  It was all about her.

  Part of me screamed to raise my head, to see the face of the one whose world I was about to rock and send careening. Another, louder part, demanded I resist.

  Faces didn’t matter.

  The only thing I focused on was her warmth that held me captive and promised me relief. I was a junkie and I fucking knew it.

  Leaning forward, I traced my tongue up the innermost part of her leg, pausing only to nip and graze my teeth as I made my way closer to the apex of her thighs where I knew we’d both find pleasure.

  Another moan sent my heartbeat thudding. I could listen forever to her melodious cry for more.

  Without any hesitation, I lowered my mouth again, this time on her core, finding her clit, that one sweet, little spot that drove every female I had underneath me wild and reckless with abandon. I applied just enough pressure before any willpower and restraint I had fled, rendering me a slave to my own passions.

  There was nothing I could do as I feasted on the soft flesh between her thighs.

  I was like a man lost in the desert, stumbling across an oasis. I couldn’t tell who groaned louder—me or her. If this was what she felt like with just my finger sliding inside of her, my mind reeled over how it would feel having her slick, wet heat around my cock as I pumped into her.

  “Like fucking Heaven,” I murmured, the only words spoken as I forced myself to take a breath before returning to suck and lick at her most vulnerable place.

  In and out, my finger moved—first just one then two. With each thrust of my hand, my patience whittled away, my body aching to join with hers. As her muscles tightened around my fingers, pulling her closer to release, the precipice I was hanging on to fled.

  The time for being slow was gone. I was fucking losing it.

  I could explore every delicious inch of her skin later. I needed to feel her wrapped around me now. I would take time afterward to caress every line and sinew of her body, taste every groove and swell of her flesh and see just how far I could test her limits of pleasure before wrecking them all. Breaking and shattering her every wild imagination over and over until she didn't know where she began and I ended.

  This would be the fuck of a lifetime. That’s how I saw her, my mystery partner. She would obliterate all those who came before her, and I
didn’t even know her name.

  By the end of tonight, I would know her intimately.

  “Cooper,” she breathlessly moaned, her fingers threaded through my hair as if to lock my head between her thighs. She wanted me there, needed me there. Her entire being seemed to thrum with carnal electricity. Just one spark and she’d ignite. “C-c-cooper,” she stammered. She was so close, her approaching orgasm dancing across my tongue.

  That voice.

  I knew it.

  I knew her.

  “Don’t,” she sighed again, her pleading tone erotic as fuck. She could barely form a sentence. “Stop.”

  I broke my rule. I couldn’t help it. That voice.

  Lifting my face, my gaze rushed quickly over her stomach, her breasts, continuing higher until I saw.

  And recognized.

  Her.

  Caylee.

  “Fuuuuuuck!” I screamed, jackknifing up out of the bed, my body on fire. Pain lanced through me, my erection so hard that it hurt. Wave after wave of disappointment crashed down over me.

  It had only been a dream. A goddamn dream.

  Smashing my fist forcefully on the bed in frustration, I fought to return to sleep, even if it was just a fantasy. If I was going to torture myself obsessing over her, I might as well enjoy it.

  Sweat trickled down my temples, my insides still wracked with full-blown arousal—there was no escaping it.

  I was in Hell.

  Damned if I didn’t want her—need her—more than my next breath. She was now invading my dreams, and even though it was a welcome relief from the regular nightmares that plagued me, it was yet another reminder of what I couldn’t have.

  Squirming against the mattress, each inhale was agony, the fabric of my boxers like sandpaper against my engorged dick. Just the thought of moving sent me on overload.

  “Fuck!” I exclaimed again, knowing there was only one way to alleviate it. With Caylee’s face still fresh in my mind, her imaginary taste still filling my mouth, I wrapped my hand around my cock. With each blessed pump, I gave in to temptation and followed the path my dream was taking.

  Swallowing her orgasm.

  Inching up her body so I could capture her lips, sweeping my tongue into her mouth so both our flavors mingled.

  Palming her soft breasts in my hand, tugging on her nipple just so I could hear her breath hitch.

  Lowering my body onto her, taking her hand so she could help guide our bodies to join. Dying over how incredible her fingers felt slowly tightening around my length.

  The anticipation—that hushed whisper before sliding into her.

  The way her eyes would sparkle and widen as I buried myself deep inside her.

  My hand was a shitty substitute for the real thing, but at least this was safer. I would never be able to indulge this way with her, ever.

  Gritting my teeth together, the muscle in my jaw jerking, there was no shame, no wavering. Life sucked, but right now, my own orgasm screeching to the surface, I just didn’t give a fuck.

  I didn’t care.

  I couldn’t care.

  I would have this moment, and it would suffice.

  My back arched off the bed, my other hand fisting the sheets. With a few more hard pumps, it was over.

  And somewhere, I heard her voice, again.

  “Oh, Cooper.”

  Laughing like the fucking idiot I was, realizing just how pathetic I was, I didn’t wait or bask in the afterglow before going to clean up.

  Nothing had changed.

  Caylee would continue to be forbidden.

  And I would remain the fool.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Caylee

  Tears threatened to spill as I finished typing the last few words of the essay required by the scholarship I was applying for. When I’d first read, “Write about a time in your life that taught you a valuable lesson”, there was only one topic that surfaced—the hardest experience I’d ever had to endure.

  It had been two weeks since I’d picked up the information from the financial office, two weeks of wracking my brain for something else to share other than the subject that still hurt my heart.

  The application called for honesty—at least, that’s how I’d interpreted it. Sure, I could make something up or call on other memories to use. Maybe recollect a childhood event where I faced a challenge, triumphing over it with the help of beloved family members. Throw in a few anecdotes and lighthearted humor, and surely that would be enough to secure the much needed financial safety net.

  But no matter how many times I’d started those essays, within minutes, it would reduce me to staring at my screen, fingers hovering over my keyboard, my mind blank.

  No. If I was going to do this right, there was only one experience I could share. It was ridiculous how hard I’d attempted to convince myself no one wanted to hear about how my husband’s death had almost crushed me, obliterating all our carefully constructed hopes and dreams.

  Yes, everyone loved a good emotional story¸ but that was just it.

  I hadn’t chosen it because it was fodder to pull on the heartstrings and secure a coveted scholarship. It felt a little like I was cheapening my grief by using it.

  And frankly, it wasn’t some fairytale—a feel good story you could read in one sitting, close the book, and go on your merry way. It had been my life, was my life. As each day, month, year passed, it became easier to survive the aftermath, but it didn’t make it any less complicated.

  I snorted to myself as the tears I’d managed to hold back finally fell free. That was the thing—I’d thought it would be the hardest assignment to do. However, once I’d sat down at the kitchen table, steeling myself for the expected onslaught of grief, the words had literally poured themselves out of me.

  I couldn’t type fast enough, and with it came a sweet sense of relief as I gave voice to all that pent up sentiment. It was cathartic. It was authentic. It was empowering.

  “How’s it going?” Rebecca asked, peeking around the corner. When I’d told her what I was planning, my roommate had instantly sobered. I could see the questions burning in her eyes, the concern. While we didn’t always talk about Owen, she’d caught glimpses of how his death still haunted me in our time living together.

  Glancing up, I burst into laughter, grateful for the sudden infusion of happiness. Without needing to be told, Rebecca held a bottle of wine in one hand and two coffee mugs in the other.

  She was prepared for the worst—the possibility she’d need to pick me up from the floor and help drown out the heartache of losing someone beloved. The telltale wrapper of my favorite chocolate bar poked out from her plaid shirt pocket.

  Damn, she was amazing. Rebecca had covered all her bases.

  “Finished,” I sniffled, wiping away tears with the back of my hand. Clicking on the save button, a wave of satisfaction filled me, followed closely by pride. This had definitely pushed me to my limits, but I’d conquered it.

  And frankly, it was a damn good essay. If anything, it had helped heal my heart a little more in the process. To me, that was a win right there.

  Rebecca lifted the bottle in the air as she moved from the doorway to sit at the table with me. “You look like you could use a little liquid fortification.”

  “I’m okay, promise. We should celebrate, though.” Her look told me she didn’t believe a single word I’d said. That’s when I realized I was still crying—the tears streaming down my cheek. “Oh.”

  “It’s okay, Caylee,” she said quietly, opening the bottle before pouring it into the cups one at a time. “If I haven’t already said it today, I’m proud of you.”

  Her kindness made me sob harder. I buried my face in my hands and let go, giving up any hope of holding everything in. Some days felt normal, and most days, I resembled a well-adjusted adult who was dealing with the cards life had dealt her.

  There were moments, however, that truly gutted me—moments where it was impossible to cover up the sadness that would always be there
. I loved my life and was grateful for all the blessings I enjoyed, but it didn’t change the reality that I missed Owen and wished that things had been different. Even now, I caught myself wondering what we’d be doing if he’d returned from Afghanistan whole and alive.

  It was torturous, plain and simple—an exercise in futility.

  He was gone and I was still here.

  Life kept on ticking.

  I either moved on or drowned. It was why I’d moved to Black Canyon and decided to start school to begin with. This was all part of the process. It was what was expected. To keep breathing—believing that some day I’d wake up and suddenly feel better.

  Fixed. That was the word I used. Like Owen’s death had broken me and the rest of my existence would be spent painstakingly piecing those fragments back together.

  It was something I had in common with Cooper. We both hurt. Although, my heart whispered his demons were much more brutal than my own. It was another reason why writing about Owen had made sense.

  I wrote it for Cooper as well.

  A loud scraping noise pierced the sound of my sobs as Rebecca pushed her chair back and crouched beside me, her arm wrapped around my shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Caylee,” she said, choking on her own tears. Sure enough, her eyes were red and watery.

  “I don’t know why I can’t stop crying,” I hiccupped, struggling to regain control. “It’s not like it just happened. I’ve had plenty of time to accept it.” Memories from the days that followed that dreaded knock on the door by military officials skated across my mind, undoing my efforts.

  It was so unfair.

  “It doesn’t matter when it happened, sweetheart. It did and it sucks. Don’t ever feel like you have to apologize for being human. If you need to cry, do it. If you need to scream, do it. There’s no right or wrong.” Her hand gently patted my arm in a soothing pattern.

  “What good would it do? It won’t bring him back. He’s gone.” Another gut-wrenching sob escaped through my lips. I’d given up trying to wipe away my tears, droplets collecting under my chin before falling. At this rate, my shirt would be soaked soon, but I didn’t care.