Page 247 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

MELLY

I felt guilty about calling in sick when I really wasn’t, so after talking with Arlo, I went into work.

Besides, I had no idea what to do with myself outside of my set routine.

What did someone do with a few free hours on a weekday?

I had to think about what to do with Daniel and I did my best thinking when reshelving books.

It was a one-person task so I didn’t have to talk to anyone.

I didn’t have to think too much about what I was doing, only remember the alphabet and numbers.

Fiction was simple and the Dewey Decimal System wasn’t rocket science.

So after settling Fred on her dog bed in the office, I put all the return books on a cart and went into the non-fiction section.

What did I want to do with Daniel?

I felt like there were so many possibilities. Romance books offered endless variety of sexual options. A buffet of possibilities we could do together.

Based on how Daniel talked and handled me in the storeroom, I had to put him in the alpha, caveman, lumberjack, growly, bearded, dominant, possessive lover category. And I couldn’t forget dirty talker. God, that had been hot.

I loved his kisses. I loved his fingers inside of me. I wanted his mouth on me. His dick in me. Beard burn on my breasts and thighs. I wanted to be taken from behind. Against a wall. Over a table. Inside. Outside. Heck, I even wanted butt stuff.

Yes, me! Little Melly Harwood had a lot of naughty thoughts, and they were only stirred up by one big Daniel Pearson.

I realized I’d shelved three books and hadn’t made it out of the Self-Help section. Maybe I needed some self-help.

The night before, pre-throw up, Mallory told me to jump him.

Arlo told me to go for it.

My pussy was telling me to get my shit together and call the man.

Pulling my cell from the back pocket of my pants, I took a deep breath and called him.

I looked about. No one was in this section.

Only one person was on the computers which were in the center of the non-fiction area and he had headphones on.

It was after lunch so the kids’ section was quiet.

Toddlers were home for naps and bigger kids were at school.

“Melly.”

Oh, that growl.

“Hi, Daniel, I… I–” I what? I knew what but I couldn’t say it. “I’m sorry I threw up on you.”

“Yes, you’ve already apologized.” He waited. I waited. “Is there anything else?”

I shook my head, grabbed a book off the cart. Florence In Summertime.

“No. That’s it.”

“You’re sure there isn’t anything else I can do for you?”

I could see him standing beside a huge tree, ax in hand. He had on a red flannel and jeans. Flecks of chipped wood were on his clothing. He was a little sweaty from exertion from handling a big piece of wood.

Then my mind went filthy and him handling his own big piece of wood.

“No, I mean yes.” I squeaked. “I’m… Goodbye.”

I hung up. My heart was racing as if I’d been the one chopping down a tree. “Way to go, Melly,” I whispered to myself. “Now he thinks you’re–”

My cell vibrated in my hand–I kept the ringer turned off in the library–and I jumped a foot.

“Hello?” I murmured, keeping my voice low out of habit.

“Melly.”

That growl. I remembered him saying it just that way the night before as I came all over his fingers.

“I’m thinking there’s something you want to say but are maybe a little too shy to do so. Like in the storeroom last night. You had something in mind but wanted a little coaxing. Am I right?”

Was he? If he called fingering me to orgasm coaxing, then yes. I whimpered and he heard it because he gave a growl in response. Every time I heard that deep rumble I felt like I was a lamb and he was a very hungry wolf ready to eat me up. Or do other naughty things to me.

“No.”

I hung up. Again.

I closed my eyes, squeezed the hell out of the travel book.

Mentally, I screamed. AGGGGHHHHH! Was I being like this because I was stubborn?

Because I was afraid? Because I was an idiot?

It wasn’t because I was hot for him because I’d have admitted it from the start.

He was giving me the chance to tell him the truth, but just like he guessed, I needed coaxing.

And he was coaxing.

I put the book down, lifted my chin and called him back.

“Yes.” I heard a little huff, which I assumed was him being amused. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Oh sweet girl, the last thing I’m doing is laughing.”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Trying not to come in my pants imagining all the things yes means. What did you like best about being finger fucked, little Melly?”

I glanced around, afraid someone could hear him through the phone. Besides the guy on the computer, a woman was perusing the new release section, but not paying me any attention.

“I can’t answer that here.”

“Oh, where are you?”

“At work.”

Now he really did chuckle. “Couldn’t be the bad girl and call in sick, could you?”

“No.”

“But you can be a bad girl with me.”

I took a breath. I did want to be bad with him. The night before, in that storage room, it was me, but better. More. Free. Very bad. And I felt safe with Daniel. As if he would take care of me when I’d been completely out of control.

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Good answer. So yes/no questions. Got it. You let slip you’re a virgin. Is that true?”

I pushed the cart further into the stacks. “Yes.”

“May I ask why you’re still one at twenty…”

“Four. I’m twenty-four. And well, I guess I never found the right guy,” I admitted.

It was true. I definitely wasn’t having sex with anyone my mother recommended.

Since I’d returned to Hunter Valley, I hadn’t been interested in anyone.

Sure, a date or two, like with Danny Pearson, but not one got me interested. Or aroused. Or… wet. Until Daniel.

“But you’ve come before with a man?” he asked.

“No.”

“Only me.” Another growl.

“Yes.”

“You said you have vibrators. Big ones. You fuck yourself with them?”

Oh my God, this conversation! I grabbed another book from the cart and randomly shoved it in the stacks, then moved along. At the end of the stack, I turned and hid behind it.

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll take me so well. I won’t have to hold back too much. You’ll be sore, but you’ll always be a little achy when you take all my dick.”

He didn’t ask a question so I didn’t say anything. I wanted to push my hand down my pants and touch myself because he made me wet. And needy. And remembering how he’d made me come with ruthless precision and fast enough for him to feel cocky about it.

“Want it down your throat, in your pussy, or nice and snug in your ass?”

“Daniel,” I whispered, leaning against the side of the book stack. My eyes fell closed and I was lost. So lost.

“Oh, that wasn’t a yes/no question, was it? I guess you’ll have to come over after work and try all three. We can have a little fun.”

My eyes flew open. Have a little fun.

I’d heard that before. From my mother. From Creepy Carl.

Why are you so uptight? Have a little fun.

Carl wants to have a little fun with you.

He’ll show you how fun sex can be.

Fun. Everything they’d proposed had been the complete opposite of fun. That was when that word changed meaning for me, that maybe I wasn’t fun if I didn’t like it.

It was as if I’d been shoved face first into a snowbank.

“No.”

Daniel was silent for a moment, as if surprised by my answer.

I was on the verge of hanging up on him if the next thing he called me was uptight, too.

“No,” he said, repeating my answer. “Okay. That answer is okay, Melly. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

I exhaled in relief that he wasn’t pushing. That he respected my words. Me.

“I want to,” I said, contradicting myself. I ran my fingers over my forehead because my brain was spinning. “Daniel, despite what I led you to believe by my actions last night, I can’t do casual. I can’t… have a little fun. It can’t be without value. I won’t sleep around.”

“You’re a virgin. You don’t sleep around,” he said, not as a reminder to me, but it seemed because he was lost and trying to keep up.

I pressed my head against the stack and stared up at the ceiling. The building was old, an original Carnegie library, and had a high, stucco ceiling. At one time, the paint had been white or cream but was now more of a gray from age.

“I’m not a free spirit,” I explained, or perhaps warned. “I’m not an interchangeable receptacle of pleasure.”

“Interchangeable what? I don’t even know what the hell that means,” he said, almost frustrated.

“My mother is… pretty much, a hippie. A free spirit. She gives all of herself to others. Openly. Too openly. She tried to push that concept, and men, on me.”

“Your mother,” he repeated, his tone not a surprise. Who mentioned their mother when talking about sex?

“Valerie Price.”

“Valerie Price. Valerie Price. Oh. OH.”

And he figured it all out as if I’d been hoarding the last piece of a puzzle and finally gave it to him.

“Yeah, oh,” I muttered. Someone coughed and I lowered my voice. “I don’t want to call her a slut because there’s nothing wrong with a woman embracing and exploring her sexuality with many, many partners, but everyone in Hunter Valley probably thinks the name fits her.”

“Um…” Now he was afraid to say something that might bother me.

“You know my mother,” I prodded.

“Of her,” he clarified. “The stories. The mayor and how she broke up their marriage and had him kicked out of office. She slept with the school superintendent too, right? I may have seen her last year at the grocery store in the produce section.”

He was probably right.

“Probably, she has a thing for penis-shaped vegetables. I don’t see her that often either. Maybe once or twice a year whenever she’s between men and needs a place to crash. That’s always tons of fun.”

“I hear sarcasm.”

“Oh yeah. She also calls occasionally when she’s got a guy but well, we aren’t close.

Not since I was eighteen and decided to return to Hunter Valley and live with my grandmother.

” We weren’t close. At all. Not since I turned down Creepy Carl and fled Idaho.

I dreaded when she randomly showed up. “I won’t be like her,” I told him. “Not with sex.”

“I’m leaving town on Saturday, Melly. This isn’t going to turn into a relationship,” he reminded. Yes, he was headed to Scotland to wear a kilt and toss cabers. If there was something that made a woman’s panties wet–at least mine–was that visual. “It can only be casual.”

I nodded, but he couldn’t see me. “Yes, I know. I don’t want one. A relationship. That’s not what this is about.”

My grandmother had been married for twenty-five years when my grandfather died.

That was before I was born and she never met anyone else who could ever compete with him, so I never saw her in a relationship.

The only relationship role model I had was my mom and that was find a guy with some money who she could fuck and keep happy until he got tired of her.

It sounded like a sugar daddy situation, but it wasn’t like that.

It was casual, a mutual exchange, an easy trade of sex and companionship.

No legalities like a marriage license or even a shared rental agreement.

It was… weird. And included no love. I didn’t think my mother knew what real love was.

“Then what do you want? Sex is fun, Melly. It shouldn’t be anything else and if something happened to make you not think that, then, well, I’ll kill the guy and then prove to you it can be fun… with the right person.”

“I want like last night.” That hadn’t been fun. That hadn’t been anything like what it would have been like with Creepy Carl. With Daniel, I’d felt safe and protected. Taken care of. I hadn’t had to think or be worried or do anything but feel, even in a bar’s storage room.

“It will always be like last night. Better.”

Better than last night? How was that possible?

“I need to know I’m safe and while I feel that with you, what we’re going to do is… unfamiliar. I’m not scared of you, I’m scared of the unknown. Unlike my mother, I need to know the rules.”

“Rules?”

“Yes, guidelines. Agreed upon expectations even though you’re leaving. I need walls. Boundaries.” God, all that sounded awful. Boring. Right. Boring Melly Harwood. “See? That makes me uptight and not fun.”

“You want a contract,” he replied. He wasn’t laughing, but he sounded amused. “Like my business has with Arlo for the deck extension. Agreed upon expectations so that when the contract is over, we’re both happy. For him, minus the sex, of course.”

A contract? Formally outlining what was to come, even if it was until Saturday?

“YES!” I shouted. Why had I shouted that? Because it felt like a relief, that he understood.

“A sex contract,” he said, as if mulling over the concept. “That’s not a new thing. For me, yes, but it sounds f–, I mean, I’m intrigued and very hard. Hmm.”

Now I was confused. “Intrigued? Hard?” The idea of uptight boundaries and guidelines turned him on?

“This is a good idea,” he said, sounding pleased. “Come over after work and I’ll have one ready for your review.”

“You… you will?” I asked, stunned by the turn this conversation took, but he’d already hung up.