Healing Melody (16 page)

Holding her as I stay standing, I slide into her tightness. When I’m finally balls deep, I give a hard shove of my hips.
 

“Deeper,” she shouts.

I smirk. Melody and I share the same belief: If you’re going to do something, go the distance. I lift her off my cock and drop her legs to the ground. She looks at me, her eyes sparkling with life. I can’t wait to give her what she needs. I quickly whirl her around, so her back is facing me. I push her forward, so her upper body is draped over the grand piano.
 

I run my hands over her scarred back; then ease the head of my cock inside her. She widens her stance so she can take all of me in. I grip one of her hips as I continue running my other hand over her back.
 

“You feel fuckin’ amazing,” she exclaims with joy.

I thrust my pelvis forward, my cock tingling with pleasure as it stretches her wide.
 

“So do you,” I tell her. And it’s the truth. Her pussy fits my cock like the perfect glove. I continue my thrusts and run my hand up and down her back. As I pound her with my cock, and she begs me to continue, there’s no other place I’d rather be.

We finish round four in the bedroom, collapse on the bed, both of us catching our breath.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk for weeks,” I exclaim.

“Was I too rough?” he asks.

I turn and look at him. “It can never be too rough with me, Kade.”

I lose myself in his gaze, and I notice a smirk cross his lips. I want to kiss him, but I can’t. I don’t want to deal with the awkwardness of removing my mask, or the possibility he might cringe at the sight of my face. It would destroy the illusion of what we have. I don’t want to ruin a good thing.
 

I’m so grateful he doesn’t care about the scars on my body.
 

“I guess I can count this as one of my workouts,” he says.

“Part of your training. For your fight?”

He nods. Then he sits up, about to get out of bed. I reach and grab his arm. He turns and looks at me.

“Can you stay the night?”

He shrugs. “Really? I’ll have to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“That’s fine. I just don’t want to be alone right now.”
 

After so many nights by myself, it’s nice to have someone by my side. I want to feel his warm body next to mine as I fall asleep. Even though he’s a stranger to me in so many ways, the thought of his presence comforts me.
 

“What if that paparazzi guy sees me leaving tomorrow morning?”
 

“I don’t care. I need this,” I confess. “I mean, you. I need you to spend the night.”

“Alright,” he says and lies back down. I scoot closer to him and rest my head against his chest. I hear his heart beating under the mass of muscle. I find it soothing.
I’m not alone.

“You don’t mind, do you?”
 

“No. Not at all,” he replies.

I don’t know if he’s lying, but I want to believe it’s true – that right now –there’s no other place he’d rather be.

I smell him, and feel him lying next to me. I let out a sigh.

“You all right?” he asks.

I raise my head and look at him. I love his eyes. They hold me captive. Slowly, I nod. “Just thinking…” I confess.

“What?”

“Do you really care?” I ask. Part of me wants to know what is an illusion and what just might be real.

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t interested,” he replies.

“It’s stupid, really,” I say shaking my head. I immediately check to make sure my mask hasn’t shifted. I hate this mask. But I can’t find the courage to take it off. As I look at him again, I allow myself to be completely honest. “I wonder if I’m going to have to pay to spend time with a man for the rest of my life?”

“Because of the mask?” he asks softly.

I nod. “Not just that. My body, too.”

“You don’t have to worry about your body,” he tells me. “I really enjoy fucking you.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m paying you.”

He shakes his head. “You can think that if you want. But it wouldn’t be the truth. Sex with you is the best sex I’ve ever had. You’re so passionate, so in the moment.”

I look at him. Could he be telling me the truth? Or is this just part of his job, to make me feel special? But the look in his eyes appears so genuine.

“Listen,” he continues. “The only way you’ll ever be with a man in any meaningful way is if you’re comfortable with who you are.”

I sigh. “Which means taking off the mask,” I reply.

He nods.

“I know.” I drop my head onto his chest. “I’m just not ready for that. Not yet,” I tell him.

He rubs my shoulder and trails his hand down my arm. His touch is so comforting.

“I can see how it’s scary,” he says. Then he begins talking, confiding in me. For a man of few words, he’s surprisingly candid. “I remember years ago, when I went on my first tour, one of my commanders told me that it’s the scared ones that always get killed. Now, I don’t think that’s true. Because from what I could tell, we were all scared. But I think the point he was trying to make is: fear controls you. It’s the fear that kills you, sometimes slowly, sometimes clear out of nowhere. The fear will always be there. But you have to make your peace with it, recognize it and move on, whatever happens.”
 

I raise my head and look at him again. I want to kiss him now more than ever. He understands. “Thank you,” I tell him softly.

“For what?”
 

“For being here.”
 

There’s a long pause. I sense he wants to say something, but he hesitates. He just keeps looking at me with those intense, deep, dark eyes.
 

“Did you start fighting when you came back from the war?” I eventually ask him.

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause and then he says, “It helped.”

“With what?” I ask.

He lets out a big exhale and starts talking again. I hang on every word. Kade captivates me. I want to know everything about him.

“Over there,” he begins. “In the Middle East, you know in a second it can all be over. You go from boredom to something exploding, just like that. You can lose your life to a hidden explosive or a ten year-old kid with a gun. The shadow of death is always hanging over you. But when you come back here, it’s like you were never gone. Life went on without you. Everybody goes to the mall like it’s totally normal. Nothing’s changed: But
you
have. It’s like you’re an alien in your own home. People keep saying our freedom needs to be defended. But they don’t care what happens to the people who are in charge of defending it: The sacrifices they make, physical and mental. I’m one of the lucky ones. I didn’t have a bomb blow off my leg or arm. I just came back angry. Fighting in MMA helped me get rid of some of that anger, but when Max…”

He stops.
 

I want him to continue.
Who is Max?
Is he the boy tattooed on his chest? I want to know more about his life.

I glance at the tattoo of the smiling boy. I run my hand over the child’s face.
 

“Please, don’t ask,” he says softly.

I glance away from the tattoo and stare at his face once again. I see a whirlwind of emotion swimming in his eyes: pain, grief, anger… I feel instantly drawn to him. Now, it’s clear to me that Kade has experienced great loss. I can see the heavy weight of sorrow pulling him down; it’s in his eyes. We’ve both lost something. But his loss is much greater than mine. He lost a child. Nothing I’ve gone through can compare to that terrifying loss.

I’m overcome with a desire to comfort him, to kiss him. I have to push the urge away. Because the longer it lingers, it will only sadden me.

I lower my head to his chest. I can hear him trying to steady his breathing. He’s struggling to regain his composure, fighting to bury those emotions or memories. I know what it’s like because I do the same thing.
 

I decide to change the topic of conversation.

“So, can I see you fight on TV?”

He clears his throat. “No. I fight underground now,” he finally says. “I owe a guy a favor. One of the fighters pulled out last minute and he asked me to fill in.”

“What’s the difference between an underground fight and what I see on TV?”

“No rules. Anything goes.”
 

“Could you get hurt? Like seriously injured?” I ask.

“It can happen. The last fight I broke my leg.”

I sit up. “I hope you’re getting paid a lot of money for this.”

He looks at me, and I can still see the emotional tempest brewing in his eyes. “It’s complicated,” he finally says. “I owe somebody.”

I want to know more but decide not to pry. I lower my head to his chest. His hand slowly rubs my arm again.

“So, what’s your album going to be called?” he asks in an attempt to change the mood.
 

I shrug. “I haven’t given it any thought. It probably won’t even be released. I just have to record it as part of my contract.”

“Then why do you care if the songs are good? Your assistant made it sound like you really care about the music. She said that’s why you need to keep seeing me. She said I inspire you.”

“Did she really say that?”
 

“Yeah. So does that make me your muse or something?” he asks, the tone in his voice now lighter.
 

I shrug and pat his firm chest. “Maybe you are,” I reply. If I wasn’t wearing my mask, he could see that I’m smiling.
 

“But seriously,” he says. “Why do you care if the songs are good, if you don’t even want people to hear them?”

“Because I don’t believe in doing shitty work,” I tell him.

“I respect that,” he replies.

 
“The irony is,” I confide, “Now that I don’t have to worry about my career, the music is going in some really cool directions. Ever since we’ve been fucking, I’ve written some pretty good stuff.”

“Go figure,” he says.

“Yeah. Go figure.”

Damn, it feels good to be with a man, like this, just talking in bed. I don’t want him to leave in the morning.

“But what if the label likes the songs? And wants to release the album,” he asks.

“Doesn’t matter. They won’t want me to tour.”

“Why?”

“Because of what I look like underneath this mask. It would be a freak show.”

He squeezes my arm tenderly.
   

“You have too much talent to stay locked up in here,” he says.

“My days of performing are over,” I mutter.

We fall into silence, my head resting against his chest. I slip into sleep, listening to the beating of his heart.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’re going on a hot date?”

“I don’t look fat, do I?”

Suzie couldn’t look fat even if she tried. It’s really annoying. She’s wearing a safari emerald green print dress that works perfectly with her red hair.
 

“No. You look hot as fuck.”

“Awesome.”

She snaps her clutch shut and walks over to the piano. She moves Mingus and takes a seat on the bench next to me.

“Okay, you were right. I admit it,” she says with a shrug.

“About?” I ask.

“It’s not Mingus. It’s him. The last three songs have been awesome.”

“I told you,” I say with a smirk. “Kade fucked me out of my stupor.”

“I’m worried, though.”
 

“Why?”

Suzie rolls her eyes. “You know this is going to blow up sooner or later. That jerk was on your lawn trying to get a picture of you. Right now, as we speak, he’s parked outside on the street. The press has already gotten pictures of Kade coming over. It’s only a matter of time before they find out he’s…you know…”

I look at her. “You can say it, Suzie: an escort.”

She sighs. “Do you really want to deal with all that, Melody? Does he?”

I ponder her question for a moment. “All I know is that I like being with him,” I confess. “I feel comfortable. I feel connected. I haven’t felt like this, well honestly, ever. Kade gets me somehow. He gets what I’m going through. I can’t explain it. And I know it’s fucked up that I’m paying him to have sex with me. But I really don’t care what people think right now. I’m happy. That’s all that matters. And I’m finally writing music again. Isn’t that what everybody wanted: you, Randy, and the label? This is all because of Kade.”