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My satisfaction grows, just like my affection for this woman does. “Good girl.”
5
MELODY
Living in Malcolm's mansion for over a week now feels like stepping into a dream, one I'm afraid to wake up from.
He showers me with attention, ensuring every need and desire is met. Every meal is shared, every comfort provided, and yet, there's a chasm between us that I can't ignore.
Our connection is undeniable, a fiery tension that hangs in the air whenever we're in the same room. But he hasn't taken our relationship to the next level, despite the alluring chemistry that ignites whenever we're close.
I've tried to push my impatience aside, to be grateful for all he's given me, but a part of me longs for him to bridge the gap.
It isn’t like he hasn’t been touching me because he has. And then some. Whenever he gets the chance, Malcolm has his mouth on mine, and even better, his mouth between my legs.
He’s made me come so many times like that I’ve lost count, but besides letting me stroke him for a few seconds outside of his pants, things have never gone farther. And that worries me.
I want him so bad that I dream about it, waking up in the middle of the night next to him with my pussy wet and my arousal making me almost crazy. I rub up against him, and he takes care of me every time, either with his hands or mouth, but it never quite fills the emptiness in my core.
Maybe it’s because of Adam. I know he’s still around, even if I haven’t seen the asshole myself.
Malcolm's words still echo in my mind—the day he forbade me from mentioning Adam. My ex-boyfriend's presence here, in the same estate, is probably a constant undercurrent of tension for his father.
Late at night, Adam comes and goes, straight to his old room, a reminder of a past I'm desperately trying to put behind me.
So Malcolm won’t fuck me, at least not yet. There is a part of me that’s relieved because, well…I’ve never slept with anyone. Ever. Malcolm has proven to be such an unbelievable lover, though, that I can’t help but want him to be my first.
And if I’m being honest, my last, too. But that’s too intense to think about right now.
Yesterday, Malcolm mentioned a charity dinner he's hosting in a few weeks. While he didn't outright invite me, his allusions to a seamstress and a dress fitting hint that he plans to unveil our relationship to the world.
It's a small step, and yet, it could be monumental. If Adam doesn’t know what’s going on between me and his father, there will be no way to deny it then. Letting the world know that I’m with Malcolm feels scary, but it’s inevitable.
I understand how important it is that we are in control of the narrative. The less mention of Adam, the better.
All of these thoughts are why I find myself in the gym this morning, practicing yoga, something I haven’t done since high school. It helps center me, and being centered is something I desperately need these days.
As I move through Malcolm's home gym, my body sinking into the yoga poses, I marvel at how my life has changed. From struggling to make ends meet at a diner to now being taken care of in every way imaginable. Pampered. Nurtured. And soon, maybe even loved.
Guilt occasionally prickles at my conscience. I'm hooking up with my ex's father, after all. But the connection Malcolm and I share feels deeper, like fate guiding us together.
I flow through my poses, feeling true peace, and make a decision. Tonight, I’ll tell him I’m a virgin, and we’ll see how it goes from there.
The day unfolds, filled with moments that make me smile and contemplate our uncertain future. I want to talk to Malcolm, to be honest about my feelings, my fears. He probably has no clue I've been keeping a secret—my virginity—and it feels like a weight on my chest.
The fact that I've never gone beyond kissing someone until him. My inexperience, combined with our age difference, makes me worry he'll tire of me.
As dinner arrives, Malcolm's presence across the table anchors me, his knowing gaze making my heart race. I muster up the courage, ready to open up to him. But his perceptive eyes catch my distraction.
"Melody, you seem preoccupied," he observes.
I take a deep breath, my fingers curling around my fork. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something. Can we go to the library after dinner?"
He arches an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Of course, sweet Melody. The library it is."
When the meal draws to a close, my heart races. The library is one of my favorite rooms in the whole mansion, and the crackling fireplace creates an intimate atmosphere that seems fitting for this conversation. Malcolm follows me in, his presence comforting yet also intimidating.
He’s already had his butler light a fire, and the glowing warmth makes me sigh in pleasure. Malcolm has also had a bottle of port brought to the library, and he pours himself a glass, settling into his favorite red leather chair.
