Good vibes only

“Abby and I had a fight in the parking garage.” Frank sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “Really Abby picked a fight with me over an imaginary problem. It was… insulting, to put it mildly. There's a reason the majority of our communication is through text and we only talk about the kids.” 

“That sounds really hard. I’m sorry that you have to deal with that.”

He glances at her, and because it's Mel he knows she's sincere before he even sees her face. 

“Sometimes I-” The snow is coming down a little heavier now, and as it melts against his skin it covers the tear that slips out his eye. But it can’t cover how his words choke and get stuck in his throat, “Sometimes I think that maybe my kids would be better off without me in their lives.”

“You don't really think that… Do you?”

Frank shrugs, “On the bad days.”

She’s frowning at him, it’s such a severe expression. “As someone who doesn’t have a dad: I promise you that they will always need you.”

He thanks her, but she must doubt his sincerity because she continues on. “My dad had a lot of problems. He saw a lot of things overseas that he didn’t know how to cope with. He probably was on the spectrum and that mixed with PTSD was just… it wasn’t a good combo and he chose to rely on alcohol to numb it away.

“But just because he struggled doesn’t mean that he didn’t love Becca and me. And it doesn’t mean that I love him any less for being human.

“Tanner and Penny are so lucky to have a father like you, Frank Langdon.” She tentatively places a hand on his forearm and gives it a comforting squeeze, “Your kids will always be happier with you in their lives. And one day they’ll understand just how hard you worked for that and they’ll love you even more for it.”

Frank’s heart is thudding against his ribs, threatening to break out as a few tears escape. God what a sucky Thanksgiving but then Mel’s presence and little speech have slammed into his whole being and he’s floating. “Thank you, Mel.” 

Fuck he needs an anchor. He needed it three hours ago and he needs it even more now. The last year has been an exercise in learning to ask for help but he can barely get the words out to ask, “Can I have a hug?” before Mel is pulling him in, her arms around his middle and her head sinking into his chest. 

Frank can’t help curling around her, his arms around her shoulders and tucking his chin over her head and breathing in and out. In and out. … in and out. When he comes back to himself, enough to be aware of just how short she is, how she fits against him in a way that feels so right but is different from Penny and Tanner. He feels the contentment nest in his chest. When he pulls away with a “Thanks.” She simply wishes him a “Happy Thanksgiving, Dr. Langdon.”

“You really should call me Frank. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She beams at him, “Then Happy Thanksgiving, Frank.” before giving him another quick hug, “I’ve got to get going, you should get inside, it’s freezing out here.” and he watches as she walks away, his heart still beating faster than it should and a little dread sneaking his way into his stomach.

(Ignore Ignore Ignore)

Frank Langdon is well on his way to falling in love with Melissa King.

"Nights have gotten my sleep schedule all messed up," she said as she hopped on the counter. "I've given up falling back asleep."

"Oh?"

Her tank top strap dipped dangerously low down the curve of her breast. Any second, it might slip further and a delicious pink nipple might pop out and greet him. Tearing himself away from the bad thoughts Frank busied himself with making the coffee.

"Will this wake Becca?" he asked as his finger hovered over the grind button. Three-hundred years of German engineering went into that machine. It was loud.

Mel waved him off so he pressed the start. "She could sleep through a hurricane." She dangled her feet on the edge. "I used to be the same way back when I had a boyfriend."

Frank turned to her, eying her as she wiggled her feet in boredom. Her weird pantaloons rode up on her calves.

"Well, I'm always available if you need a nightcap," he said conversationally, thinking absolutely nothing of it, but she gasped and he thought maybe he'd offended her.

Kidding, kidding, he meant to say, but the words died in his mouth when she locked eyes with him.

"What about now?" she said. Her legs swung open. The pantaloons covered everything but Frank suddenly sympathized with the Victorian men he'd had to read about in school. He'd do anything to be suffocated by her petticoats.

"Yeah, okay," Frank said, ignoring the coffee beans. He slid up in between her legs, bracing his arms on the counter. "What do you want?"

"Oral sex and then you need to go get me a pan au chocolate from the place down the street because I am not paying a $6.99 delivery fee for a $4 croissant."

"That can be arranged," he said as he leaned in and kissed her.

He'd dreamed about her so long, her soft hair, her plush mouth. Her breath was minty and she sighed into the kiss, pulling him closer.

"Becca's going to want a muffin," she said as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "And then we can have penetrative sex when you get back."

"Baby, I'm on board," he said. He'd buy her the whole bakery. The sweetness of her mouth was nearly enough for him, but the drumbeat of oral sex rattled around in his head so he gathered her up and directed her to the couch. Pulled down her ruffle bottoms and discovered no underwear underneath, just her perfect pussy waiting for him.

Her fingers laced in his hair in anticipation of him touching her and he looked up at her, reverent. Then licked a stripe from her clit to her opening, tasting her.

The smell of coffee was high in the air as he opened her up with his tongue, sucking on her and drinking her in. He'd drown in this girl, he decided. He'd memorize her soft moans and do anything to get more trembling sighs from her. It took hardly anything to make her come, just some focused attention, laving on her clit and rubbing her gently. She was wet for it already, he decided.

She'd probably woken from some dream of him, or a faceless boyfriend. Found her sexiest undergarments with a plan to seduce him. If only she knew, all it took was a word, a gesture, and he'd pounce on her.

Unlimited croissants for life, baby.

When she brought the metal plate with cheese and bread, Mel's hands trembled. She hadn't brought him the wine he requested. Papa said drinking was the devil's poison and Langdon already had enough demon in him already.

"Pretty thing," he said as she approached his cell. His hands were bound at his front with heavy shackles. "You've come again."

Mel curtseyed. "I have." She slid the plate through the opening across the floor. "Tell me more stories of your adventures."

Langdon's eyes flashed with mischief. "Only if you come to help me, my dear."

"What do you mean?" Mel's eyes widened in concern.

Frank leaned down, kneeling in front of her. "You see, I have this gash. It's getting infected. Praytell how will you ship me up to judgement day if I die long before the gavel strikes?"

Mel peered into the dark cell. It was hard to tell, but Langdon had put up a fight as he had been taken away.

"I'll help you," she said. "One moment."

She came back an hour later with a jug of wine and her medical supplies. It was unladylike for a woman of her station to know such practices, but she'd once been a young, curious girl and the apothecary allowed her to ask him endless questions.

The key was so heavy in her hand when she opened his cell. Surely the townspeople were wrong about him.

Langdon leapt for her with surprising skill. He looped his bound hands over her neck and pulled her in close. "What a pretty bird you are," he said. "You'll be even prettier once you're mine."

Mel's chest trembled in fear. "Don't kill me. I'll let you go."

Langdon scoffed. "Kill you? No, I'm here to eat you."

Mel had no idea what he meant, but he soon pushed her to the dirty floor and used his body weight to pin her down. Even with his arms bound, he still had considerable might over her. He pulled up her skirts and Mel thought oh, he wishes to greet me in a carnal way. How that worked, she had no idea, because her father had told her that one day her husband would teach her everything she needed to know.

"They say the proper girls taste like honey," Langdon said as he pawed at her petticoats.

Mel had no idea why men would say such a thing, but she decided her best option was to remain very, very still. Perhaps he'd only take one bite out of her and be bored with it.

The sensation of his mouth on her intimate area made Mel gasp. "What are you doing?"

"Shh..." he said. "You musn't alarm the guards." He kissed her, his tongue and mouth working in tandem to claim her. Mel felt a very soft flutter at first, and then rivuelts of pleasure started building. "You'll be able to leave after this and say you took a tumble. That's why you're so dirty."

He worked her open mercilessly until her legs quaked and Mel's whole world went white.

"But I'll know the real reason you're a dirty girl," he said. "And I'll be back here when you want more."

“If we were the only two people on a desert island, or like prisoners in a POW situation, surely, after some time we would be inclined to fuck,” Langdon said. 

“How long would that take? My IUD’s only good for five years.” 

He snapped his fingers, “That could be it. Hormonal birth control has been shown to change the attractiveness of potential partners. Maybe you should switch?

“Okay, my dudes,” Shen said, walking into the patient room, arms outstretched, body already four steps ahead of his brain. “Your options for tonight are…” head lac, room 3 “Suturing a lovely, lovely elderly woman woman,” what else? “Waiting room triage,” or, “or… you can do a TikTok dance with me.”

“Ooh! Me!” Mel said, raising her hand. “Dance video, for sure.”

“Sold,” Shen said, pointing to Mel. “Chairs or head lac?”

Langdon sniffed. “How old? Is her skin crepey like paper?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes please,’” Shen said. “Out you go.”

Langdon grumbled. “Think about it, Mel. Copper IUDs are very 99% effective,” he said as Shen pushed very firmly on Langon’s upper back in the general direction of the patient in question. 

“After you,” Shen said to Mel, giving her a hand up and then making a sweeping gesture. He closed the empty patient room behind him and ushered her back to the nurse’s station. “Your pick,” he pointed to the board. “Looks like…”

“I thought we were doing a TikTok trend,” Mel said. 

Shen laughed. Mel was like that sometimes, a little slow on the uptake. “That was a joke.”

“Oh. I did ballet growing up,” Mel said. “I loved it. I had this ex Soviet instructor who always told me I was too fat to dance well.”

Shen puzzled at her. “You’re definitely not fat.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t a bad thing, she was right. Ballerinas must be very, very slender. And every class she’d have us line up in the order of our performance, her number one, two, all down the barre. So I always knew exactly how well I was doing,” she paused, “Or wasn’t. I was almost always number nine or ten.”

“Incoming, car crash, ETA 3 minutes,” Perlah said. 

Shen nearly melted in relief, “Perfect. King, you’re with me.”

“Sometimes I think it was the place I fit in the very best. She was so direct. Observant. She didn’t tolerate anything less than perfection.” Mel said as they jogged to the ambulance bay. “There’s apparently a lot of people on the spectrum in the military for the same reason. Lots of instruction, clear standards, that kind of thing.”

“I see,” Shen said, filing away that tidbit of information for later: clear, soviet-style feedback. That’s what she wanted. 

EMTs rushed the victim into the ER: A twenty-something with a partially collapsed lung and a sharp nail file sticking from her thigh. She must’ve been touching up her manicure at the time of the crash. 

“Call up to surgery, let’s get an ETA on removal. Dr. King, why am I paging surgery instead of attempting removal?”

“Location is near the femoral artery,” Mel said. “High risk of infection with an unsanitary implement lodged near the bloodstream.” She peered over at the victim. “Plus, Abbot’s said something to the effect of ‘never remove a gusher.’”

“Ten out of ten,” Shen said, and walked her through inserting a chest tube. 

Garcia joined them after they stabilized the patient, marveling at the crystal nail file protruding from her thigh. “It’s opalescent.”

“Glass, most likely,” Mel said. “I think they sell them at CVS.”

After Garcia’s assessment, Mel turned back to Shen. “I really would be a competent and capable dance partner,” she said. She took two half-steps back from the patient, before assuming her position and sweeping her arm down, as if entranced by silent music. Then she raised her leg, first a half kick, lines strong and exact until her toes reached chest height. She came back to center, feet bounding through the steps, before extending her leg all the way up, in a graceful développé.

“See, Langdon’s got gumby to work with, and he’s still fumbling,” Garcia said. “Can you get both your legs over your head?”

Mel cocked her head to the side. “At the same time? How would I stand?”

Garcia snorted. 

“Okay, okay,” Shen said. “You pick one, an easy one, and we’ll do it.”

Mel brightened. “Okay.”

She picked a Taylor Swift remix, some kind of terrible techno overlay to Style. It started with a shimmy shake, backing into a twist, arms twirling overhead. It took Mel three shifts to learn, citing her inability to pick up new choreography. But eventually, she got it, and they recorded it together on a slow night in October. The birds chirped preceding the sunrise, and they filmed under the yellow light of the streetlamp out in the parking lot.

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye/and I’ve got that red lip classic thing that you like. 

We never go out of style. 

Mel’s eyes snapped up to him, smiling as she pulled her top back up, covering her dusty pink nipples. “Good thing you’re my step brother.”

Her words soaked him like cold water, to the core. Step brother. Oh, okay. Technically, it would be true within the next three hours, as his dad walked down the aisle to her mom. He thought: oh, I’ve just met you too late, as he got snippets of her all day long: her breasts, bare in the bridal suite. Her eyes, misty, as her mom said her vows. Her touch, on Frank’s elbow, while they danced to ABBA. Her voice, soft. Her perfume, wild rose, and the brush of her hair when he fixed a bobby pin sticking out. 

AHHHH!!! Tanner called from somewhere across the dance floor, mid-song, so Frank tore himself away, and didn’t speak to Mel directly for another year and a half. 

By then, she’d already taken the family name: Melissa Langdon. 

Dr. Langdon, very soon. 

+

Frank and Joyce talked every Sunday, because Joyce had a degree in early childhood education and taught every grade up through third and he could text her just about any question, like, Tanner just ate a crayon, is his poop going to be purple?  and she’d reassure him that he would be fine. And she wouldn’t make him feel badly about it, not like Abby, who would snipe at him: you’re a medical doctor, those are non toxic, it’s fine, you should know that. 

Dr. Abigail Langdon specialized in plastic surgery, and she hired the three best nannies on the east coast for Tanner, and booked a C-section for Millie because she’d determined the tearing on the first round was too painful to endure again. 

“Plus they’ll sew my abs closed,” Abby said, as if that were a real pro. 

So yeah, Frank called Joyce, Mel’s mom, and they talked every Sunday and she never hung up because Tanner was doing his warrior shout in the background. She accepted every finger painting and sent back photos of it hung on the fridge. She visited Frank every week in the first round of rehab, and took his hand and said, “Mel would be here too, but she’s in Oregon and can’t get away.”

University of Oregon, her med school program. Frank didn’t take it personally, because he’d only spent five days with Mel in between the wedding and his spiraling drug problem during a family trip to Key Biscayne Florida. 

“I think you two would really get along,” Joyce said, and squeezed his hand. 

So no, Mel never visited him during the 90 days he spent in rehab right after Millie was born and Abby’s abs got sewn shut. But she wrote him letters, beautiful, longform letters on pink stationary and she sent one a day, so he’d always have something in his mailbox. 

+

During his first relapse the following year, the family took a trip to the Rockies, and stayed at their log cabin. By three a.m, on the second day, he’d run out of pills, having swallowed his last oxy hours earlier. He had that itch under his skin, pulsing, and he knew Abby would crush his balls with her pointy elbow if he woke her up to fuck, so he padded downstairs, already on Tinder trying to find someone local to hook him up with more pills. 

He spotted Mel in the kitchen, leaning into the fridge. It was the only light cutting through the darkness. He saw her bare feet, long pajama bottoms and skimpy tank top, one strap already hanging off her shoulder. He crossed the room without thinking, and saw her headphones in, perfect, and his excuse for touching her would be I thought you were Abby because they’d both worn the same “L” monogrammed pajama pants that night, the supersoft ones from her side hustle Etsy shop. 

He’d touch her ass, he decided. It stuck out from the fridge as she pushed all the Yoplait aside to try to reach the waters. He stood behind her and bracketed his hands on her hips, thumbs pressing up into the depressions in her lower back, fingers splayed across her stomach, and she jumped, made a yelp, and then she backed up right into his erection, the fridge swinging closed, lights out, he thought, like at summer camp, and he held her steady as she caught her breath and felt him, long line of his cock hitting the place where her bottom met her quad. 

She grabbed one of his hands, chest heaving, he could hear how loud she was breathing, and the tinny music coming out the headphone, and she spun and Frank thought, oh she’s going to hit me, and she gripped the hair right on the base of his neck and pulled. She might’ve meant it as a warning, but it turned him on, so he swooped down and captured her lips, and then he couldn’t stop touching her, like he’d turned seventeen again, the clock striking back to a time when nothing could ever quench him. 

He kept kissing her, so hungry, making a mark on her, surely, from his teeth on her lip and then her neck, right by the shell of her ear. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered and spun her to the counter, and said, “Baby girl, get up for me,” and she hopped up on the counter because while he could probably lift her, the oxy was wearing off and he didn’t want the twinge in his back, no not when he needed his discs in tip top shape so he could kneel between her legs and taste her. 

He considered using his fingers, but she might be a virgin, because she’s got that good girl charm and Joyce mentioned once she didn’t have a date to senior prom. 

 “I’m going to eat you, honey,” and then, pulled her pants off and inhaled, and left her cotton underwear. He added, a “Abby, baby,” just for good measure, before he touched her, in case that’s the hard firm line she wanted to draw for him, but she was so turned on, he could tell, that it just made her tighten her grip of his hair, so, that’s all–that’s all he needed to tongue at her underwear, taste the fabric before sucking it, ruining the pair of panties, making a wet patch over her clit. She always wore this crazy monogrammed shit, and he wondered if the lights were on if it would say Melissa Landgon on the back of them, or maybe, Monday, or maybe, slut, because she shuddered so hard when he sucked her, and then swiped into her with his tongue. 

Oh, she was trying to be so quiet for him, he thought. Her moan is shuddery, twisted off, contained. He only got the sound of her breath, her sharp inhale as he tasted her. 

Abby waxed and Mel didn’t, but even that wouldn’t have mattered, because he’d know his wife’s pussy anywhere, he’d know her taste, he’d know her moans. He’d know the soft plane of her belly. He’d feel the scar there, and Frank palmed right above her cunt, pressing there, because some girls liked that, tilting the hips back for a better angle. He lapped at her until she was sobbing, so close to the edge, and then he had to know if she really was a virgin, the addict brain taking over, and he felt very carefully along the seam of her labia, one finger, so soft, and felt a the rubbery push of resistance, and oh she was, so he stopped that and sucked so hard she’d forget all about his finger, the plausible deniability shattering if he felt a hymen on his wife who’d had two fucking kids. Abby hadn’t even been a virgin when they met, her so racy and cool she’d already slept with a celebrity, some rock star. Good for her.  

Good for him, to be the first man to make Mel Lagdon come, her head thrown back with a thunk on the counter. Be careful baby, he wanted to say, but couldn’t, because he couldn’t move his mouth as she seized and clenched, coming with a long sob, her hands gripping so tight in his hair, and her thighs quaking with it. He lapped her through it, until she finally relaxed, and he didn’t stop, even when her hand relaxed in his hair. 

“Get down,” he said. “You can do one more for me, right honey?”

Mel slid off the counter, gripping it as her legs wobbled and got on the tiled floor, and Frank gave her five seconds to recover before he looped her thighs over his shoulders and went back for seconds, licking her up, trying to commit it to memory. He couldn’t use his fingers, not there, not risk it, so he snaked a hand under her top and played with her nipple, pulling, tugging so hard, rolling it as she flexed her hips to meet him, grinding against his face, chasing that second high. 

“Can’t wake the kids, honey,” Frank said when she got a little too loud, and pulled a dishcloth off the oven and placed it in her mouth. “You know how hard it is to get Tanner down.”

He could feel how wet her face was, and that made him pause, even the addict brain recoiling. 

“Baby we can take a break,” he said, because he didn’t want to scare her, lifting his head. He couldn’t see her, not in the very pitch black kitchen, the only light from the clock on the microwave, a pinprick of blue right above him. Mel moaned through the fabric, a cut-off, frustrated sound, and gripped his hair and put his face back on her cunt. “Okay, Abby, baby,” he said, and went back to work. 

He wondered if the towel in her mouth were monogrammed. L, for Langdon. Or maybe something witty, like Happy Hunting with a big buck on it. She sold a lot of those types of towels. He’d have to take these back with him, stuff them in his suitcase. Dirty, her spit all over them. He’d take her laundry too, claim he’d mixed it with the kids and they’d just do it all later. Her underwear, where was it? Somewhere around her ankles. He scrabbled for it, struggling to multi-task, but he unlooped them from her ankles and stuffed them in his pocket. 

She moaned so hard when he sucked on her clit and stroked her vulva with his fingers, the outside, not touching the tender place, and she came so hard this time he tasted the fluid she released, a rush of it, like she was preparing already for his cock to take her, it to smooth the way. No baby, not like that, not on the floor. He’d take her in a very soft bed and film it, immortalize it. How cool would that be? A tape of it. The deflowering. Slow, methodical, and he could direct her to look into the camera and speak to her future self, insisting on how much she loved it. 

But even the addict brain figured he’d hit his limit on sexing Mel Langdon in the dark, so after she came, he pulled her pajama pants back up, and took the towel from her mouth. He threw it under the sink, to fetch later. Before someone helpful came along to try and clean it. 

“There you go,” Frank said. “You can thank me later.” And since he couldn’t see her, he said. “With your mouth, baby.” Yes, in her mouth. Not her cunt, he’d save that. 

He had her underwear in his pocket and he left her on the floor to pull herself together, wipe her face. He’d made it half-way back to his and Abby’s room when the lights came on. 

“Oh shit,” Frank said, recoiling from it, and he spotted Becca staring at him from the hallway, one eye screwed shut from the sudden brightness. 

“Oh it’s you.” Her voice was laden with sleep. “I thought a racoon got in.”

Frank glanced back at the kitchen. He couldn’t see Mel, her body blocked by the island. 

Becca rubbed her eyes. She turned the lights off. “Stop being so loud.”

On the way back to the room, Frank tried to keep the lie straight– maybe he’d been upstairs, in the library, and thought Abby was grabbing water? He couldn’t go back to his room and find her, right? How could his fucking wife be in two places at once? So he went to the study and put Mel’s panties in his mouth, and turned all the lights off and stroked himself and he came so hard, and once he stopped panting he cleaned himself up and climbed into the marital bed. 

Then he climbed out when his Tinder catfish matched with a druggy and Frank left to buy more pills, and drifted off to sleep after taking two more. 

Abby actually wanted to fuck that next morning, miracle of all miracles, so he pushed into her from behind, and felt the difference in the swing of her hips and thought, yeah, no way. No fucking way he’d have missed that. He was still a little high for that sex, too, so he really only snapped into it at lunch the following day, and thought, so crisp and clear: holy shit. 

Holy. Shit. 

He’d slept with his step sister. (Whom he’d only really known for seven business days, but still). 

His step sister, who had said she’d had the flu that day and refused to leave her room. Frank could literally see the closed door to her and Becca’s shared bedroom. And she’d been crying. He’d probably get arrested. And unlike his first DUI, this would probably stick. 

“Can you give me five minutes?” He asked Abby, who glared at him, because she had one boob out for Millie and she was pulling at her hair. “I want to check on Mel.”

Read the rest on AO3 (complete)

“Dr. Langdon, do I really have to leave?” The girl asked and Mel cleared her throat. 

“Yes please.” Mel said. “He’ll call you.” He wouldn’t. Not once, not ever. Except for one girl in Atlanta, who wore her hair in a braid, strawberry blonde, pale skin, mole on her shoulder. He’d gone out with her three times. 

She could tell the girl hadn’t moved, because she hadn’t heard anything rustle, so she reached in her pocket and pulled out her business card. “You’re welcome to have this.” She heard the girl get up, scramble around for her clothes, and she took the card from Mel’s hand. 

Melissa King, Executive Assistant - it read, along with her number, the Langdon Entertainment main line, and her email address. She got at least one brokenhearted letter weekly, subject line: what did i do wrong? Subject line: I’m pregnant (he’d had a vasectomy after Millie, so, no) Subject line: did he change his number? (no, blocked, sorry, but Mel would say it nicer than that).

“When’s the wedding?” The girl asked on the way out. Mel had learned she needed to physically escort the girls out of his room so he could get ready. 

“Oh,” Mel glanced down at her hand. She wore her mom’s eternity band on her ring finger. “April.” She always said April. The perfect month to get married. The jewelers couldn’t resize the ring, not without breaking it, so she’d worn it there, the only finger where it fit. Frank bought her a matching one for Christmas that year, one for her right hand, and sometimes she’d wear that too, one on each hand. And for Valentine’s Day, he’d bought her a Spinelli Kilcolin, solid 18k gold, champagne diamonds. And for her birthday, he’d bought her two Cartier loves, different sizes, so she alternated, her right hand full of rings, and her left with just the one. He’d tried pulling her into Van Cleef and Arpels in Chicago, so she was pretty sure she was getting another band for Administrative Assistant Appreciation Day (also in April).

“I like your rings,” The girl said as Mel opened the hotel room door for her. 

Mel wore five today. “Thank you.”

When the door clicked behind her, she heard Frank’s voice. “I set an alarm.”

“You weren’t answering my texts and you weren’t up,” Mel said. She’d learned not to be angry at Frank, for making her come in and fetch him. “It’s Millie’s birthday next week, and you need to pick and wrap a gift.”

Mel didn’t do that, the faux parenting. She’d drawn a big firm line, and Frank respected it. Would she order weird Japanese candies for his kids? Yes. Would she book flights back home? Yes. Would she be Frank, selecting a dress or a doll or some other trinket? No. Besides, Frank gave great gifts, thoughtful gifts. 

He’d given Mel the cabin she and Becca had stayed one summer, the last summer with her mom, as an AirBnB. It had been a fairly shitty cabin, middle of nowhere Georgia outside of Athens, but she’d gone back, exactly one time, as the homeowner, and everything was preserved, the furniture and the Ikea decor and the white mugs, and she’d taken all eight back with her in her suitcase, and used them exclusively, because her mom had taken her chamomile tea from them that week, and she was so close she could practically feel her, through the ceramic. 

“I would’ve had time,” Frank said when she re-entered the room. He’d drawn his knees up to his chest on the bed, arms looped over them, holding his wrist. The sheet covered him, a small miracle. His eyes followed her as she opened his suitcase and wrinkled her nose in disgust, because he hadn’t unpacked his garment bags properly, so she’d have to steam his suit. He'd once worn a lime green necktie on air, so no, he couldn't afford to be unsupervised.

“What would you wear?” Mel said, holding the bag up high. “Wrinkles?”

“Evidently,” Frank said, and moved off the bed to shower. Mel ignored him and took out her portable steamer from her purse. She’d brought a bottle of distilled water and got to work, very carefully fixing his shirt, his jeans, so he would appear effortless, the hot, cool doctor everyone loved on primetime tv. 

The TV interview started off smoothly, but Frank said he owed everything to his family and Mel, and the camera panned to Mel and she did her wave, right hand, all the rings twinkling in the light. That did well on social media, Frank and his assistant. Mel thought he’d been going for a Conan and Sona thing at first, but Conan was happily married, and didn’t bang doppelgangers, and Sona didn’t have to field calls from TMZ asking if they’d hooked up yet. 

No, she said. And then she’d started wearing her mom’s ring on her left hand, and those calls stopped. Secret wedding, now. That’s what they got all the time. Langdon’s secret wedding to his hot assistant. They were poly, everyone said. Or Mel just tolerated cheating, because he was so wealthy, so beloved. 

The GMA producer gave Mel the go ahead, and she cleared her throat five minutes into the interview. “I’ve got some news,” she said. She was miced up. The camera panned back to her. “Healthy Living with Dr. Langdon has hit the number one spot on the New York Times bestseller’s list.”

A camera stayed close to Mel’s face, and she couldn’t believe how proud she was of him. Former addict, now bestseller. She tried to school her expression into something neutral, because this was her boss, but she got to see Frank light up, Kathy and Hoda congratulating him, “wow, what an accomplishment,” and even with them chattering in his ear, his eyes were locked on her, so blue, and shit, she knew Frank’s expression, the i’m going off the reservation and you can’t stop me thought passing through his head. The bad thoughts, the addict brain. 

Mel held up a finger, under the frame of the camera, a no, Frank, don’t do that– but he was already getting up from the couch, Kathy and Hoda, and came right at her– for a hug, she thought, that would be cute, that could be on-brand, and he slipped his hand around her waist and Mel relaxed, oh that would be fine–

Until it wasn’t fine, because Frank cupped his face in her hand and kissed her, pulling her away from the camera, right out of the frame, but the cameraman was right on them, practically the third person in the kiss because Mel could smell the guy’s cologne, and then her mind blanked out for a second in shock, and then Frank pulled away, and that fucking cameraman was so close to Mel, but she needed to be professional, on screen, so she just said, “Oh.”

“Oh that’s so sweet,” Hoda said. “How sweet is that?”

“Just adorable,” Kathy said, taking a sip of her white wine even though it was 9am and Dr. Langdon preached sobriety. “How long have you been dating?”

Frank trotted back to the couch and sat, obediently, addict brain satisfied. “Oh, that was our first kiss. I’m pretty sure I’ve won the worst boss in the world award.

“Oh,” Hoda said. 

“Hottest boss,” Kathy said. She pointed at Mel. “You get some of this, okay?”

Mel nodded, maybe, she was sort of in an out of body limbo, the tips of her fingers pressed against her mouth. 

“Well, what an accomplishment,” Hoda said, getting back on script. “Healthy Living with Dr. Langdon is available where all books are sold!” 

The executive producer counted them down to commercial break, and as soon as the “on air” light turned off, Hoda grinned at them. “Oh that’ll go super viral.”

“Next time, tell us please,” Kathy said, the more sour one. She peered around Hoda to Smith, their executive producer. “Did you know about this?”

“It must’ve been in an email,” Mel mumbled, because they really really needed to be invited back. “We didn’t go over our slot, did we?”

“Nope,” Smith said. “Next time, get that cleared, okay?” He stared at his iPad. “X loves it, so it’s fine, but really–”

“No, no surprises, I know,” Mel said. “It was a spontaneous thought,” she said. Had by Langdon and his delusion she mentally filled in. 

Mel forced herself to drop her hand from her mouth. “After me, Frank,” she said, snapping her fingers. 

Frank knew better than to say anything, and instead thanked the hosts and then the producers, and then the cameramen, who’d done a great job getting the reaction shot, he said, because he could see the preview on his monitors. 

“I’m always on it,” cologne camera guy said. He clapped Mel on the shoulder. “I hope you get an extra big Christmas bonus this year.” 

Mel glanced at her phone. X did love it. They’d sold ten thousand more copies in the past couple minutes. She’d expected three, five at most. He’d stay on the bestseller list all week for that. 

“Thanks, everyone,” Mel said, and turned off her phone, because as soon as she turned it back on, she’d have to deal with it. Abby was probably freaking out, because the kids knew he’d be on GMA, and that was a family show. They’d already called her Momma Mel. 

Mel checked her watch. Analog. Piaget. Frank had bought it for her last year. It was worth more than her car. “Tell Abby I’m turning my phone off for the next hour, and then I’ll deal with it.”

Frank followed her down to the main parking garage, two steps behind her. “Mel,” he said. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

“I know,” Mel said, because she suspected her boss wanted to add more rings to her fingers, make her change her last name to his before she attended medical school and added a “Dr.” in front of it. He’d paid off all her student loans from U Michigan. He’d found her the best tutor for her MCATs. She’d scored 520. He’d written her recommendation letter. Gotten Dr. Emery Walsh, the godmother of general surgery, to do the other. 

Frank had— he’d insisted she apply to the very best schools, not state schools (well, he’d let her apply to UVA, but not Berkley, because his family home was in Pittsburgh, and he didn’t want her to leave the east coast). Ridiculous, stretch schools. Schools that wouldn’t take her with a 3.5 GPA as a Bio major in 2015, so long ago. Maybe that was Frank’s brand of sabotage, letting her hope for things she’d never have. 

He kissed her again while they waited for the limo, gripping the side of her face like he’d die without her. Nobody waited for a selfie with Frank. They were alone, no cameras. The heat of his lips, oh, that made her heart flutter. Frank. Her boss. Probably the hottest man alive, who FaceTimed Becca every week and let her win on the Scrabble app. 

Mel pulled away. Frank grabbed her right hand, the one with all the rings, and the limo pulled up, and Frank opened the door for her. He put the screen up between them and the driver, and Mel pressed it down. 

“Newark International,” Mel said. A forty-five minute drive. Well within the hour of her phone being off. She leaned back in the seat and put on her seatbelt, and Frank put the screen up again and unclicked her seatbelt. 

“Frank,” Mel said, a warning. “Frank,” she said, as he cupped her face again. “Frank,” she said as he snaked his hand under her blouse. She didn’t wear blouses normally. Cotton t-shirts, jeans, sneakers. But she’d known she’d be on camera. Fuck, why did Frank have to be such a good kisser, pulling her blouse off over her head, fluid, perfect. “You literally just had sex this morning,” Mel said, helpless to it, the pull of desire in her stomach, so deep, like a fishhook lodged there. 

“I had sex last night,” he corrected her, and pulled her into his lap, and mouthed at her neck. “Keep all your rings on.”

Oh, yeah, she could do that, feeling him hard underneath her, and it was one thing to see him naked, but she’d never seen him like this, mid-way through the fucking, eyes focused and expresion flushed and all the attention right on her. 

They fucked the whole way to Newark, forty-five minutes, two orgasms, one on his cock, one with his mouth, and Mel had the driver do a lap around the terminals so she could pull her clothes back on, and turn her phone back on, and re-braid her hair. 

“I hope you didn’t leave a hickey,” Mel said as she stepped out of the car. “That was a one-time thing,” she said, and Frank grabbed her right hand, the one with all the rings, and said, “Okay, whatever you say.”

When she emerged, drying herself off with one of his gray towels, she appraised him. “Lie back? I think? So I’m not on my knees?”  

“Me first?” Shen asked, confused. He’d expected the blowjob part would be cursory or forgotten about altogether as he focused on her. But he obeyed and took off his t-shirt, then his sweatpants, the only thing convincing him that Mel King wasn’t joking was the fact that she was completely naked. 

“Yes,” Mel said with a decisive nod. “And I would prefer if we do try you coming in my mouth because then I’ll know what it’s like.” She tilted her head to the side and looked up at the ceiling. “Becuase if not then I’m going to worry about it, and I don’t want to worry. Studies suggest it’s actually a very reasonable amount of semen.”

“You can always spit,” Shen said weakly. 

Shaking her head, Mel hesitated. Then she glanced around and went back into the bathroom for a washcloth. “Backup,” she seemed to agree. 

“Can you–” Shen hesitated. “Glasses off? Hair down?” 

She had her hair tied up in a bun on her head and her signature blue frames. Mel touched her glasses. “Oh, yes, good idea,” she said and set them on the nightstand. Then she frowned as she undid her hair. “It’s going to get in my face.”

“Headband?” Shen suggested, already totally hard because her breasts were so gorgeous, small and perky and he wanted to palm her pink nipples in his hand and suck. When Mel disappeared from his room, a wave of despair crashed over him: you’re such a dummy SHUT UP! But she soon came back with a thin black headband. 

“Okay?” Mel asked hesitantly as she peered down at his dick. “We’re okay?” She blinked, momentarily started. “I could wear a shirt?”

“What?” Shen said. “Why?”

“My scars,” she said and Shen couldn’t help but pull her wrist up to his mouth to kiss the first one he saw. 

“You’re perfect,” he said. “They look so cool.” Then he flipped his, showing off the silver-web of his own burn. “Besides, we match.”

Mel beamed. “Yeah, okay.” Then she frowned as she saw her glasses on the nightstand. “Are those too dorky to be sexy?” 

Shen wilted, and decided he would just have to go for complete and total honesty. “I think they’re hot, but I don’t want a mental picture of you with them on.” He faltered, face heating, because he was very into them, like, obsessed with how the blue frames slid down her nose, and how her pink tongue darted out in concentration when she sutured. “Like, at work—I don’t want to imagine–”

“Oh, oh,” Mel said as her eyes widened. Then she tapped her temple. “Smart. That’s– really smart.”

She climbed up on the bed, taking a few moments to situate herself before finding a comfortable position, and then she mouthed at him hesitantly, then took him in fully. 

“Oh, that’s not so bad,” she said with a pop as she came back up. “I mean ergonomically this isn’t ideal but I think–”

Shen shut his eyes and then had to cover them with his hand because holy shit her mouth. It was going to take every ounce of self control he had not to blabber and ruin everything. 

“Alright,” Mel said, seemingly steeling herself and getting back to work. She pressed one hand against his hip and took half of him in her small mouth, her tongue laving against the underside, before closing her lips around him and sucking in a delightful twist. When Shen moaned, she bumped him with her teeth in surprise, before getting back into exploring how to cram him in. Her small hand wrapped around the base of his shaft. 

She kept stopping, asking for feedback on what she was doing wrong and finally Shen said. “Mel– Mel you’re so perfect, do whatever you want,” which wasn’t really constructive but he couldn’t help it because she was so cute, with her freckles that extended down her shoulders and her soft golden hair and bright pink lips currently stretched around his cock. 

She soon enough found a good rhythm: hand around his shaft, sucking the head and laving it with her tongue, dipping down and up and focusing on his pleasure with a soft sweet sigh, and that did it. His balls tingled, then tightened, and Mel kept sighing and twisting her hand, sending rivulets of pleasure up her spine. 

“Mel– I’m close–” 

She hummed in response, eye shut, and kept going, her tongue was so wet and warm and soft against his cockhead, unflinching as he finally released the long tension of his body and came for her, spurting against her flat, hot tongue that kissed the tip of his dick so well. Oh shit, he thought as he tumbled down, her milking him with smooth, strong strokes, not letting up until he physically couldn’t take the overstimulation and wrenched himself back. 

“Okay, so–” Shen said as he panted. “Yeah.” 

She coughed and scooted back. 

“That wasn’t difficult at all,” Mel said a moment later, totally delighted. He wasn’t sure if she spit or swallowed and decided he very much did not care. He could feel her getting up off the bed and heading to the bathroom. “Obviously I’ll need to practice but I think it’s just like a cric, the hardest part is deciding to do it, not the actual procedure.”

“Guys are pretty easy,” Shen agreed breathlessly as she came back. His eyes trailed across her body. Fuck, he needed to taste her. “You, now?” A wave of relief crashed over him when she nodded shyly.

He had absolutely no words left to coax her, so he waited until she slid across the bed of her own volition and then he took her by the hips, pulling her into the right position, legs pared. He kissed her inner thigh, hands on her knees, giving her a second to freak out or flinch away or change her mind, but when she wiggled down into the mattress in contentment, he kissed down her thigh to her pussy, perfect, and let himself soak the sight of her in for a whole moment before he licked into her. 

Squeaking, Mel nearly snapped her legs shut and Shen pulled back. “What?” 

“Oh, golly, uh–” Mel gasped. She nodded, seemingly mostly to herself and opened her legs. “Go ahead, sorry, reflex.”

Shen looped them over his shoulders and pressed his hand against her belly, flat and warm so she’d have something to ground her as he licked into her with focused determination for about a minute, and then he absolutely lost the plot and blissed out. Fuck, her pussy was so small and his tounge could lap at her endlessly, he could practically curl into the bottom of her slit and then back up in one fluid motion, right on her clit, right where she needed him as she let out huffs and sighs of delight. 

He knew he shouldn’t tease her, draw it out, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the soft taste of her, how she curled her hands into his hair and tugged, seemingly unconsciously, when he got the pressure just right. She’d flex and tighten and then let out a puff of air and relax, her cunt clenching around his tongue or nothing at all as he focused on her center, slower, longer. 

He could tell she was close by the way her thighs started trembling, the low, slow clenches speeding up, fluttering, faster then a pause, then a low moan and another soft movement of her inner walls practically inviting him in, demanding he stay. He wanted to caress his fingers inside her, pull against her g-spot to make her shudder but they’d said oral sex so his mouth had to suffice, making her clit feel so good with the way she tilted her hips to get him in the right spot. 

When he sensed she couldn’t last much longer, her hips lifting and swaying, he buckled down, leaned in hard to keep her pinned and sucked as sweetly as he could against her center, relentless, focused, until he felt her muscles seize up in delight and release. She didn’t moan, if anything she sucked in a breath and held it as he worked her, making her take it as she shuddered and finally pushed him off. 

“John–” she said in a breathless moan. “Uh–” 

He pulled away, with only her knee knocking against his chest as he sat up. “That okay?”

She nodded, eyes still closed. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He pushed her knee open so he could admire her cunt, now glistening with his salvia. “You want me to fuck you now?”

“Yeah,” she said weakly. “Please?”

The orgasm seemed to loosen her up and she was so pliant, legs like putty as he grabbed the condom off the nightstand and pushed a pillow under her hips so she wouldn’t be so flat and boneless against the bed. He didn’t really know the best positioning for de-virginizing, but figured missionary would probably work. 

“This might be uncomfortable,” Shen said as he lined himself up, hesitating. He then sat back and decided he was rushing it, so he pushed his finger inside her, like that was his plan all along. 

“I’m–” Mel tensed and huffed at the intrusion and Shen mentally patted himself on the back for showing so much restraint. “Partially intact hymen, so it should be–” she gasped as he stroked her g-spot with a second finger. 

“What do you want to do?” Shen asked, already half zoning out with his fingers inside her, curling to find the right spot and as she scrunched her eyes closed against the rippling sensations. “You probably won’t orgasm.” Not with the stretch against his fingers, the slight tug of resistance he felt around her entrance. 

“Uh–” Mel pushed herself up on her elbows. “Like, a normal amount of penetration, maybe? So I know what to expect?”

“Does it hurt?” Shen stopped, worried suddenly he’d gotten everything wrong. 

“It’s–” Mel hesitated. “Hard to describe. It’s like when you’re moving a muscle past where it wants to go.” She closed her eyes. “Burning, but… kind of nice?” 

“I have no idea if this is helping,” he said honestly, and withdrew his fingers. The hymen was a thin mucus membrane, capable of stretching or tearing. He’d felt the edges of it. If the stretching caused the burning, she might be better off with a pop and release. 

“Just– uh,” Mel said, gripping his forearms. “Put it in, I think.” 

“Well, okay,” Shen said, not having a better idea of what to do to make it more comfortable for her. He grabbed some lube and stroked her, focusing more on her g-spot and clit with his forefinger and thumb, to give her a break from the tug at her entrance. 

As Mel twinged in discomfort, Shen nearly lost his nerve altogether. “You know this is really not super pleasant for me to cause you pain?”

“I know, I know.” Mel nodded wildly. “Please?”

Shen wasn’t exactly sure how to spear her without feeling like a total monster, so he urged her up. “Here,” he said as he arranged himself against the headboard, sitting back. “You take it at your own pace.”

“Right,” Mel said. “Good idea.” She clamoured up and swung her leg over him, and that made everything better because suddenly her face was right next to his, the curtain of her hair brushing his shoulders as she grabbed his dick and paused, biting her lip as she stared down at it. 

Shen couldn’t help it and swooped in and kissed the side of her jaw, then dropped to her shoulder so he could lick one of her scars, smooth it out with his tongue, as if to say, so badass, Mel. They hadn’t talked about making out again and he doubted she’d like it if she tasted herself in his mouth. Some girls didn’t like that, the sweet tang of sex. But his mouth at her skin seemed to destress her some, pull some of the anxiety from her lungs as he whispered, “there you go,” as she slid on his cock in one long, fluid push. 

Wrong spot, he almost chided her, too high as his cock nestled in her upper folds, hitting resistance and then somehow magically, sliding all the way back anyway. 

“Oh,” Mel twisted up her face in pain, biting her lip as he sank all the way back, her pelvis jutting against his as he bottomed out. She pressed a hand flat on his chest. “Give me a sec.”

“Take all the time you need.” Shen had a great view of her brown eyelashes and her pink cheeks, and her breasts, her breasts which he’d been ignoring but surely they needed attention too as he swept them into his hands. And her mouth, her mouth was so close and he kept kissing her jaw, then her neck as he rolled his nipples in his fingers, tugging and relishing the way they instantly pebbled up in arousal. 

Mel let out a squeak and her hips jumped up a fraction as she pressed her chest closer to him. Then she wrapped her hand around his neck using it as leverage to pull herself up and off his dick, then sink back down. 

“There we go,” Shen said encouragingly, and brought one of his hands down to her pussy, finding her clit and rubbing in soft circles. “Just like that. Whatever feels good.”

Mel practically purred at his touch, and it soon became clear to him that his cock inside her did not feel particularly good, because it seemed to wrench her out of her arousal whenever she moved too fast or deep. The sting will go away, baby, he wanted to tell her, but couldn’t, because he was so focused on getting her off again, peppering her with praise, making her lean up against his chest and beg him to give her a little more. 

She finally lifted halfway off his dick, rubbing her g-spot and gasping as he kept his attention at her center, and that allowed her to have a small orgasm, a ripple of pleasure as she clenched around him, his cockhead more of a counterweight than anything else and she gasped. “Okay– that’s— yeah.”

“Good girl,” he said as she sank back down, boneless again. “Stay just like that,” he said, seated, he meant, and he pushed against her hips, more of a slow grind as she panted and bit his shoulder in an open mouth kiss. The grinding kept the pressure at her clit, constant contact with his pelvis, and that seemed to keep her mostly occupied as he enjoyed her soft cunt that that fluttered around him, so tight the whole way down his shaft, like he’d barely made any room to fit inside. He only lasted a couple long strokes, but that seemed to suit Mel just fine as she sighed in contentment when he pulled out. 

Shen saw blood on the outside of the condom, which caused him to momentarily freak before he remembered the circumstances. “You okay?” he asked as he got up, because Mel didn’t seem to want to move. 

“Yeah, that was—” Mel sat up and nodded. “Good. Very good.” She wiped her hands across her face. “I feel much better about this now.”

“Satisfactory, then,” Shen said. He wasn’t really sure if he’d done an adequate job but Mel nodded furiously and then seemed to kick back online as she scrambled off the bed and grabbed her clothes. Her face seemed redder than before, and got redder as she redressed. Baby, don’t be embarrassed. 

“You don’t think–” she gestured to the red dots on her arm, like that had been the thing she’d been worried about all along. “It’ll be a big deal when I’m naked?”

“No,” Shen shook his head. “If he says a word you should pelt him in the head with your shoe. I think it’s so cool.”  

“Yeah, okay,” she said, mostly to herself. “That was very nice of you.” She threw her t-shirt on before her bra, and then her lounge pants, no underwear. She grabbed them both and held them awkwardly in her hands. Cotton, she’d worn gray cotton underwear, hardly appetizing but Shen still wanted to pluck them from her and stuff them in his mouth. “I’ll just– uh– my room.”