Page 67 of Whispers and Wildfire
I didn’t answer.
She tied the elastic band around her hair and pulled the strands to tighten the ponytail. “I can do that. Who am I? Ex-wife? Forbidden coworker? What’s my name?”
My voice came out in a whisper. “Melanie.”
“Melanie? I like that. It’s pretty. I can be Melanie for you tonight.”
She started to come closer, but I held out a hand. I didn’t want to look at her face. “On the bed, on your knees.”
She climbed onto the bed and got on all fours. I squinted, making her image blur. Yes. That was good. It wasn’t her, but it would do. Tide me over until I could have the real thing.
I unzipped and put on a condom. I had no intention of taking off more clothes than necessary. I didn’t really want to touch her—this poor substitute—but I was going crazy. It had been so long. I needed this. Deserved this. I’d been so patient. Melanie would understand.
The hooker obliged, answering to Melanie while I fucked her. I said her name every time I thrust—a rhythmic chant.Melanie, Melanie, Melanie. With my eyes closed, I imagined it was her. I wasn’t in a cheap motel room with a stupid whore. I was in our place, wherever that was going to be. And it was her. My Melanie. It was her stream of yeses, her eager and willing body.
I knew it wouldn’t be like this right away. It would take time. Years, most likely. She wouldn’t be so compliant. Not my Melanie.
Not the one who got away from me.
But I’d teach her. Slowly but surely, I’d show her that she wanted me as much as I’d always wanted her. And we’d be together forever.
I finished with a roar of her name. With my eyes still closed, I held her hips for a moment longer, still pretending. Still fantasizing. Wishing I could be lost there. That I’d open my eyes, and it would be her.
But it wasn’t.
A wave of revulsion swept through me as I pulled out. I went straight to the bathroom, still breathing hard, where I threw away the condom and fastened my jeans. Closing my eyes again, I washed my hands, chasing the feeling of satisfaction. Of heat and desire and the burst of pleasure. Imagining what it would be like when it was real.
Not yet. But soon.
When I came out of the bathroom, the hooker was mostly dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed putting on her shoes. She gasped again, like I’d somehow startled her.
“You’re so quiet,” she said.
I didn’t reply.
“Well, I guess you weren’t quiet before.” She stood with a smile and held out her hand. “I’ll be on my way unless you want another. Half off the second round, but you have to finish in thirty minutes or less. And trust me, I can make you finish in time.”
“No.” I pulled cash out of my pocket and handed it to her. “Get out.”
“You sure? I liked being Melanie. I think I’ll start using that name with all my Johns.”
White-hot rage hit me like a bolt of lightning. Gritting my teeth together, I lunged for her. “You’re not Melanie!”
She was bruised and bloody by the time I was done. But alive. I hadn’t heard her protests, her pleas. I’d muffled her attempts to scream.
No one would care anyway. Not in that place, and not about her.
Still, it meant I had to leave. Pity. I’d paid for the room. I glared at her as she whimpered on the floor. It was her fault. She shouldn’t have said that—shouldn’t have dared to claim that name.
I gathered my duffel bag and stepped over her on my way out the door. Without another look, I left.
CHAPTER 17
Melanie
Something was definitelywrong with me.
I was out on a date with a nice, attractive man—who, I might add, was exhibiting none of the red flags my ex had inadvertently taught me to watch out for. He was well-spoken and had good manners, and our conversation had been interesting enough. My lack of filter didn’t seem to bother him, although I was trying to think before I spoke as much as possible. All in all, the date was going well.
