Excerpts …
Shattered Melody excerpts. PG-13 and Rated R
PG-13 Excerpt
Amelia, age 12
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s my armor?”
“Armor?”
“Like Elsie has music. What’ll protect me?”
The smile on her face was the special one she only gave me, and it made me feel warm inside. She looked at me from head to toe and then nabbed at the high-heeled boots Dad said I was too young to wear, giving them a shake.
“Girl, you’ve got these spiked heels. You don’t need armor when you got weapons on your feet!”
I laughed and held out my leg, modeling the leather boots with four-inch stilettos. My teachers called my parents about them multiple times already, finally giving up when they realized I’d wear them no matter what.
“Hell yeah!”
“Just promise me one thing, Ames?” Her voice got quiet, her eyes locked on me. “No matter how old you get, how stylish your shoes are, no matter how much you rule the world, as we both know you will.” We chuckled again. “Make sure you keep this open,” she said, tapping on my chest. “Let people in—Elsie, Dad, maybe someday a boy who’s a little more than arm candy?” She winked at me, and I groaned, my cheeks burning.
“Oh, em, gee, Mom! Don’t even with me right now.” I slumped back and tried to look angry, but I couldn’t. The thought of walking around with a man on my arm like they were nothing more than a dog on a leash had me cracking up.
The song on the radio changed to something we liked, so Mom turned it up, drumming on the steering wheel. “I may not even right now, but just you wait. You’ll find someone who sings in tune with your heart. And when you do, don’t be afraid to harmonize, even if it’s scary. Love is like a good song—feels good and totally worth singing.”
She started singing to the radio, sounding better than any pop singer on the charts. I joined in, belting out to the chorus, blending my voice with hers in a way unique only to us. When our voices mixed, I felt whole. I doubted I’d ever find a boy who harmonized with my soul more than my mother did. Even my father faded by comparison.
The door to the building opened, and Elsie came shuffling out, her dark hair falling out of its braid, her violin case swinging by her side. Mom waved and then looked back at me.
“Everyone’s got their own melody, honeybee. Yours is gonna shake the world. Mark my words.” She squeezed my hand, her fingers calloused from years of plucking guitar strings. “You can do anything, Amelia. After all, you are a Clarke.”
I nodded, feeling my chest swell with something big. It could be pride. Or love?
“I will, Mom. I promise. I’ll make you proud. After all, I am a Clarke.”
Excerpt Rated R
Warren
“What do you want, Amelia?" I leaned down, letting out a hot breath against her neck. She whined and squirmed.
“I want you to fuck me, War. Make me come.”
My heart sank. She wanted to scratch the itch and kick me to the curb like every other man she'd been with. Sure, I'd done the one-and-done like everyone else, but I couldn't give that to Amelia. With her, it'd be drawn out; the exchange was nothing simple. Did she knew anything beyond the quick crescendo and release?
“You want to come?” I asked, not directly refusing her request for a fuck.
Part of me wanted to rip off her pants and give her what she wanted, but there was no contract, no promise that she’d stay beyond one good dicking.
I needed her head clear so she could think. Leaning down, I kissed her, sucking all the passion from her, dominating her tongue with mine. She groaned and tried to turn to face me, but I pressed my hips against her ass, letting her feel how aroused she made me.
Pulling back, I pressed her chest down against the table and kicked her legs apart. It’d be a good doggy-style quick fuck position, and I was sure that’s where she thought this was going—she eagerly stuck out her ass and grabbed the edges of the table.
“Oh, please. You’ve got me strung out, War.”
I slowly lifted her pleated leather skirt, feeling her soft skin as I went. She looked so amazing today, rocking a plum-colored leather skirt suit. She was the epitome of rock and roll chic.
Under the pleats, she wore a wispy lace thong. Instead of sliding it off her hips, I grabbed the thin fabric and pulled, ripping it from her. She gasped.
"You like that?" I asked, forcing her to focus on me as much as on what she was feeling. I knew that's what she'd do if I let her. She'd fall into the feelings of her body and either pretend I was someone else, or just a tool of her pleasure. I wouldn't have it.
“Yes,” she whined.
“Yes, who?” I demanded.
"Yes, Warren." She cackled. "Or do you want me to call you 'Sir'?"
I didn’t like the sarcasm in her voice. She was trying to scrape back control of the situation by mocking it. I lifted my hand and slapped her ass—harder than before. It wasn’t a pleasure tap.
“The fuck, War! That was hard!”
I leaned down and whispered in her ear. "You'll only call me 'Sir' if I'm your master, Amelia. And you haven't earned that right. Yet."
