Saving Mel

by Rye Hart

  My pulse was racing and my heart hammering in my chest, both terrified and exhilarated at the same time. Part of me wanted to ask him to come inside, to join me for – well, I don't know. For something that probably wasn't a drink – a thought that sent twin currents of fear and excitement shooting through my veins.

  Oliver stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground, his face awash in thought and emotion. It seemed clear to me, though, that he also didn't seem to want to leave. With his hands still in his pockets, he leaned forward, leaned into me. I almost thought he was moving in for a kiss, so I closed my eyes and leaned toward him only to feel his lips pressed against my cheek instead.

  I opened my eyes as he pulled away and my face fell. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and, I'm sure, were turning a shade of red not normally found in nature. I wasn't sure how I'd been so wrong and felt kind of stupid about it. I really didn't want the night to end though. After everything I'd been through, it was nice to have some fun with somebody I was enjoying spending time with.

  “You know, I'm sure we could raid the mini bar,” I said, turning and glancing at the mini fridge. “I think they had some beers in there, at least. Might not be the best drinks ever, but it would at least wet your whistle.”

  “Hey, I'm always up for a beer,” he said, a smile spreading across his face that showcased those adorable dimples of his.

  I stepped aside and with a sweep of my hand, invited him into my suite. While it was nice, it certainly wasn't home. The place felt foreign and uncomfortable to me – and the mattress really was every bit as bad as I said it was. It had a living room area with the mini bar and an alcove with the bedroom. There was a large flat panel TV hung up above a faux-fireplace, but the last thing I wanted to think about was fire.

  It was a decent room, but I just wanted to go back to my place. My home. I wanted to be among my things, where I was comfortable and at peace.

  We walked through the living room and sat down on the sofa facing the television. Burgundy curtains surrounded the windows, covering them and keeping anyone from seeing inside. I'd made sure to pick a place with only interior entrances. It made me feel safer, even though anyone could probably come up the elevator and knock. It was more or less an illusion of security but it at least gave me some semblance of protection and comfort. That was something, I supposed.

  “Nice room,” he said.

  “It's not my room, though,” I said, leaning back against the couch.

  My dress rode up and showed off a little knee and I caught Oliver staring down at it, briefly. He turned away quickly, looking everywhere but at me.

  “No,” he murmured. “But at least you're safe here.”

  “Tell me something – why do you care so much about my safety?” I asked. “After what I did to you back in high school, I'd—”

  “You were just a kid,” he said. “Hell, so was I. Like we had any clue about the world or anything. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I asked you out. I—”

  Without giving myself time to think – or back out of it – I quickly leaned forward before he could finish his thought, and pressed my lips to his. Years ago, we'd kissed, and I remembered his lips were softer than any boy I'd ever kissed before. Even all these years later, all grown up, and with his hands roughed up from hard work, his lips remained soft and gentle.

  I pulled back and blushed, quickly averting my gaze. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that.”

  “Why did you do that then?”

  I blinked and looked up at him. His blue eyes were striking, even in the dim light of the hotel room. His hand, rough and calloused, stroked my cheek and I found myself answering without even meaning to. It was like he'd cast some magic spell that compelled me to answer him.

  “Because I wanted to,” I said softly. “Honestly, I wanted to kiss you so many times since you walked into the hospital room to see me. But, the fear of what happened between us stopped me every single time.”

  Oliver looked at me for a long moment, a thoughtful, perhaps even nostalgic, look on his face.

  “Why did you disappear on me back then, Madison?” he asked, his voice quiet.

  The question made me blush and dredge up all the guilt I'd been harboring for so long. But I smiled because I knew that, after all these years, I could finally make amends for the wrongs I'd done to him. For leaving him high and dry. Oliver didn't deserve what I'd done. I knew that then and I knew it now. I'd been an asshole, plain and simple.

  We'd gone to the same high school, we were in some of the same classes, but I'd just ghosted him in the worst way possible. I stopped talking to him. Stopped even acknowledging him in the halls. I pretended I didn't see him, always looked right through him like he wasn't even there.

  The only solace he could take – even though he didn't know it – was that doing that, treating him that way killed me. I wasn't that kind of a person. At least, I never thought I was. After ghosting Oliver like I had, I started to change my mind about that. Started to change how I saw myself.

  “I'd like to say because my father made me, but that would be a lie,” I said. “Because God knows, I never listened to my father.”

  He cocked his head again, those deep blue eyes searching mine. “Then, what was it? Was it something I did? Didn't do?”

  I shook my head quickly. “No. Definitely not. It had nothing to do with you, quite honestly. It was all me. I know that sounds like a terrible cliché—”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, it really does.”

  The smile on my face felt wooden, so I let it fall. “It's just— I saw what happened to Katrina,” I said. “She fell in love with the first boy she dated. She didn't go to college, even though she'd been accepted to several really great schools. But, she couldn't bear to leave her boyfriend behind. She made some really poor decisions about her life. Because of a boy.”

  His fingers moved to my hair, stroking it gently away from my face as he listened to me confess my sins. Yet, he didn't look at me like he was judging me. Condemning me. It surprised me because he actually looked like he understood where I was coming from. Or, maybe I was just hoping he understood and was projecting that onto him.

  “I just— I didn't want that for myself,” I said. “I had dreams, you know? Ambitions. Things I wanted to do and experience in my life. I needed to get out of Chicago to make it all happen and I couldn't let a boy – any boy – get in the way of that. I hate that it was you though, who was mixed up with me back then. You, unfortunately, got caught up in a perfect storm of my father, my own head, and my selfish desires.”

  “You weren't selfish. You were a smart girl, Madison. Still are a smart girl. I knew you had dreams and ambitions,” he said. “I would never have stood in the way of those. I would never have asked you to stay—”

  “You wouldn't have had to ask me, Oliver,” I said, biting my lip. “I knew if I fell in love with you, I'd never leave Chicago. And Penn State was calling my name.”

  “Like I said before – the past is the past,” he said.

  His voice was soothing and gentle, and he actually sounded like he meant what he was saying. He leaned close and pressed those lips to mine again, making my pulse race. It was a sweet kiss and, when he pulled back, I felt myself drowning in those bottomless blue eyes.

  “And all that matters,” he said, “is the here and now.”

  “So, you forgive me?” I whispered, my lips brushing his.

  “There's nothing to forgive,” he said.

  Not even his absolution could wash away all my guilt, but it certainly helped. The next thing I knew, Oliver's hands were in my hair, pulling my face into his. Our lips were meshed together, our tongues moving in and out of each other's mouths. As my hands explored the hard, toned body beneath his clothes, my body started to ache for him.

  The sweet, emotional, and thoughtful Oliver I was getting to know suddenly turned into someone else entirely. Once we kissed, it was like he knew
what he wanted, and he was going after it with everything in him – and I felt my body responding to his every touch. His every kiss. His every movement.

  Pressing me down against the sofa, he hovered above me, kissing my mouth, then my neck, his lips moving slowly and deliberately down to the neckline of my dress. His erection, so thick and so long, pressed into me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer to me.

  “Yes, yes,” I muttered, my eyes fluttering open and shut as Oliver covered me with kisses.

  My hands kneaded at his back as he reached for the hem of my dress, lifting it up. I shuddered at the feel of his hands moving up my thighs, feeling the warmth and wetness blossoming between my legs. Oliver slid my dress all the way up my body and smoothly slipped it up and over my head.

  He fumbled only a tiny bit with my bra but was much better than he'd been at unhooking them back in high school, that was for sure. Not that we ever actually went very far – I was a good girl back then. But, I had let him grope me. That night was when I realized if I didn't want to be like my sister, I needed to put a stop to things.

  I didn't want a baby right out of high school, or a marriage to a man I didn't love. I knew statistics well enough to know that if we'd gotten together, if we'd gotten pregnant, our marriage wouldn't last. Just like my sister's hadn't. She'd wasted almost a decade of her life with a man she didn't really even know. She'd given up her dream of becoming a doctor in favor of a high school love that went nowhere.

  I loved my niece more than anything in the world. She was a light of joy in my life. But, I didn't want that to be me. I'd never wanted to give up my dreams or lose my sense of self and purpose to a man I wasn't sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

  Now though, I was older and, more importantly, on the pill. Mistakes in love, now that I was older and wiser, wouldn't ruin my whole life. They were merely a setback. An emotional kick in the gut. One I could recover and move on from in short order – not like having a child with a man I'd come to despise.

  Oliver stared down at me, his eyes sliding up and down my body, an expression of absolute hunger and desire on his face as he squeezed and kneaded my tits.

  “You've seen mine,” I teased. “Now show me yours.”

  I reached for his buckle, but he grabbed my hands and stopped me. I stared up at him, hurt and confused. Did he not want this too? Did he not want to sleep with me after all? Was he afraid of me hurting him all over again? I didn't know why he'd stopped me when every nerve ending in my body was crying out for him.

  Hell, I didn't blame him if he was having second thoughts about being with me. After all, I didn’t think either of us were looking for a relationship.

  The rejection still stung though.

  He held onto my hands for a long time, looking deeply into my eyes, as if he were trying to decide what the next move would be. In my head, I begged for him to take off his pants, to fuck me. To make me – to make both of us – feel good. But, that was purely selfish on my part. If he wanted to step back and not take it to that level, I had to respect that. I didn't necessarily like it, but I would respect it.

  Oliver still held my hands and he pressed them over my head, pinning them down on the couch as he lay down flat on top of me. His tongue darted into my mouth, stealing my breath away. I gasped as he kissed me harder and with more fire and passion than I'd ever expected from him.

  I writhed against him, begging with my body for him to fuck me. To fill me up. He held my hands up above my head and pressed himself into me. I so badly wanted to strip him down, to rip his clothes off and fuck him like I'd wanted to do all those years ago.

  “Please—” I muttered against his lips. “Please, Oliver. Please.”

  He stared into my eyes and the look almost scared me. Almost. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes serious as he stared back at me. At first, I thought the look was cold. Detached. But then, I started to see it differently and realized that what I was really seeing in his eyes was fear. Fear of what, though?

  “I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship, Madison,” he said.

  “Good. Me neither.” I arched my back upward, rubbing my crotch against his. “I just want something good after all the hell I've been through. I need to feel alive, Oliver.”

  “Me too,” he whispered.

  His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, and I was afraid I hadn't heard him right. What sort of hell had he been through? What was he running from? Hiding from?

  I didn't get a chance to ask, though, because he took my nipple between his lips and sucked, gently. My body spasmed and I groaned, the sensation traveling through my entire body, shooting straight down to my groin. I felt myself growing wetter, my pussy begging to be filled with something long, thick and hard – the very thing that hovered mere inches from my opening.

  No, not just anything – but him. I needed him inside of me. I needed to know what his cock felt like since I'd gone away to college always wondering, never knowing what he felt like. It was one of the many regrets I'd carried with me all these years. A regret I was seriously hoping I'd be able to unburden myself of.

  Oliver let go of my hands, and right away, I reached for his belt. I fumbled, breathing hard as I struggled to remove it. Oliver's steady hands helped guide the way and, when it was off, we both tossed it aside. Together, we unzipped his pants, and I finally slipped my hand down into them and took hold of the big, hard prize I'd wanted for so damn long.

  My eyes grew wide as I held him in my hand. He was a big man, all around. I shouldn't have been surprised by what he had hidden in his pants. It was thick and long, and already seeping with pre-cum.

  I knew it would feel glorious inside of me, filling me up and stretching me open. My heart stuttered in my chest as an electric surge of anticipation coursed through my body.

  I stroked his cock, and Oliver tossed his head back, his eyes closed and jaw clenched. He muttered something under his breath as he stripped his pants down all the way, exposing himself for me to see as well as feel.

  “God, you're so sexy,” I said without even realizing I'd spoken.

  His six-pack glistened with sweat and, when he lifted his shirt off and over his head and tossed it to the side, I was treated to the sight of his toned chest. It was all hard angles and planes and was covered in tattoos, which surprised me. They were all dark in color, intricately designed, and all seemed to carry some hidden meaning. My eyes specifically fell on one – half a heart. I looked at it, wondering if the other half was missing, its edges ridged and broken. The symbolism seemed clear to me, but I wondered who he'd had in mind when he'd had it branded onto his flesh.

  Oliver looked down at me as if waiting for me to ask about it, his body tensed up and his eyes already glazed over as he prepared himself.

  None of my business, I told myself. I reached lower, grasping his cock in my hands again, tightening my grip around that thick shaft and stroked him. Nothing else mattered at that moment. It was just him and me. No one else. No exes. No arsonists. No one would stand in the way of either of us getting what we wanted now.

  I pushed upward, rubbing myself against him, my body inviting him to plunge that deliciously thick cock inside of me, but he stopped me. He looked down at me in a way no man had ever looked at me before. His eyes glowed with desire, but his face was etched with admiration as he drank me in. The way Oliver looked at me made me feel like an exquisite work of art. Like the most beautiful woman in the world. That only served to get me hotter and wetter. I wanted him. Needed him.

  “You're so beautiful,” he said. “I just want to stare at you for a while.”

  My cheeks flushed red, the heat burning bright, and suddenly, I became very aware of my naked body. I worked out and thought I kept in pretty good shape but, like most other woman on the planet, I was painfully aware of all of my flaws and faults.

  My breasts, while not small, weren't as large as I'd like them to be, nor as rounded or perky. My stomach seemed to pooch out
, even when lying down, no matter how many crunches I did. Yet, Oliver looked at me like I was a goddess. Like I was the only woman in the world worth looking at.