An Open Melody: An O.A. Story

"Tell me, what is that tune you're playing," a rippling voice sliced through the current throng of folks. It shot right through to Tiffany Ladden's chest and made her breath catch. Like a caged fire it burned, demanding release�one she couldn't give at the moment.

A huge man parted the small herd of people like a sea as he walked directly to her. Head and shoulders taller than anyone else on the street, the stranger pinned her to the spot. Thick muscles rippled beneath his scarlet cable sweater as he stood, arrow straight in his pressed dress slacks. His black shoes fell silently on the pavement and his movements reminded her of a leopard stalking a herd of gazelles. He didn't have the glassy-eyed stare of those drunken men looking to party and feel up equally, if not more drunk, women. No, this man commanded her complete and utter attention.

Fresh blonde hair hand been pulled into a ponytail that lay low at the base of his thick neck. A square jaw rife with dark blonde stumble caught her eye and she wondered how those whiskers would feel scraping gently across the hardened tips of her breasts. Lips so succulent they should be illegal parted in a smile. The sweater revealed the soft nearly white hair that she knew covered the rest of his chest. Muscular and tall, his hazel eyes sparkled beneath the streetlights. He smelled like something woody and earthy, but at the same time, primal.

Throat dry as the Sahara, she couldn't even drool at the hunk.

"Excuse me?" she managed to croak and held her trumpet over her heart to keep it from escaping her turtleneck.

The surrounding women sighed in unison and stumbled into each other, walking onto each other's heels. Men spilled their drinks and grunted like dogs in heat at the very same women they had finished hollering at a mere five minutes before. The air shifted around the man, but she couldn't look away from him, something about him stirred her inner core and made her clit swell in longing.

He stopped a few feet from her and said, "What's that marvelous tune you're playing?"

Silence rang out at his words, or so it seemed to her. She hadn't heard anything, but him.

"I, I, it's something I made up," she whispered and her throat worked to swallow, but nothing came. He smelled divine, like amber and woods, fresh cut oak and that other thing she couldn't quite place. "It doesn't have a title or anything."

Inside, she cringed at how utterly silly she sounded. The way her body reacted, she was shocked she could've kept her control. Hell, she was damn proud she spoke words at all and not just kissed his mouth and humped his leg.

He released a sarcastic half laugh, like he heard her thoughts.

"Sometimes words aren't needed," he said, and the flash of heat and longing shot out at her. So tangible she could reach out and make love to it, his intention smoldered. His hunger coated her and it sparked a fear inside her. She stumbled back, but bumped against the wall of Jojo's. Her clit beat harder and the moisture saturating her panties forced her to speak.

"I don't know who you are, or, or what you're doin', but I, I am outta here," she warned. Swiftly she bent down and snatched up the money from her baseball cap andput her trumpet into its case with trembling hands.

The group of suddenly horny people had vanished. She'd seen more than her fair share of horror movies and this one took the cake. Where the hell did everyone go to? She tightened her grip on the trumpet's case and slide sideways to the left of the doorway into Jojo's.

"Wait!" he said, and reached for her. Nostrils flaring, he seemed to act like he inhaled her. "Please!"

She shrieked back and took another step. Nutty came fairly often in New Orleans, but this ranked among the ridiculous.

Her breath caught in her chest and stayed there. Coupled with her hardened nipples tightened to diamond points, her throbbing love button pressed to the on position, and soaked panties, Tiffany didn't know which way was up, but she knew one thing for sure, she couldn't stand out here on the streets with this fine ass man begging her to talk to him. Men like him didn't talk to her at all, so her suspicion grew.

Despite her internal logic, all she wanted to do was strip and rub her swollen pussys nether lips until she shrieked in orgasmic delight, but that wasn't the case. She had no idea what had come over her, but all she could think about was separating the hunk from his expensive clothing and making love to him.

"Whoa, look, police are around here like roaches on rancid meat. Don't make me scream," she said, making her tone tougher than she felt. Inside she quaked like a wobbly bowl of gelatin.

"I'd like nothing better," he said, and closed the distance between them in seconds. Towering over her, she inhaled him deeply and like an intoxicating drug, his scent shot through her, turning her raging lust outward. Sweat broke over her face despite the crisp evening air.

"What, what are you?" she asked, frowning at him.

Had he injected her with some date rape drug? She didn't recall it. He hadn't touched her at all, or been close enough to slip her something. Until this moment, he hadn't been within touching distance.

"My name's Ryan," he said, but he didn't extend his hand. "Come with me, please."

She raised her hand to swat it away, even as her mouth watered at the thought of slipping one of his beautiful digits into her mouth and sucking it the way she wanted to with his�

"Please leave me alone," she growled, biting back the desire bubbling inside. "Please."

She couldn't quite fathom what she pleaded for, but she knew it resided south of his nice belt buckle. She gulped down the hard knot of craving in her throat and panted out the passion crawling all over her, for him.

Ryan stepped back and sucked in a steady stream of air. As he did so, the pressure eased around her. How was he doing that? Wait. Was he doing it? She could breathe again, but her desire hummed beneath her flesh.

"What's your name?" he said, laughing. "I didn't mean to freak you out. I just haven't ever heard a trumpet melody like that one."

She gave him a nervous smile. Easy on the eyes and polite, but then so was Ted Bundy.

"Thanks."

"Can I get you a cup of coffee?" he asked, and the soft flush of heat on his face.

It meant more to her than before. Nervous. Like any other male trying to get into her pants.

"I dunno," she said. "I don't talk to strangers."

"Am I so strange?"

"Yes," she whispered, not meeting his eyes. She didn't want to see the raging lust she felt reflected in his eyes. If she did, she might take him up on his unspoken offer to exchange phone numbers.

"I understand," he said and waved her off. "Good evening."

The moment he disappeared from sight, her body relaxed and all things settled back to normal. Trembling from the sudden shift, Tiffany went into Jojo's and ordered a regular coffee, black. Her body shuddered, despite the coffee's heat. The cold feeling rippled across her flesh, except for the triangle between her legs. It burned like a furnace during a winter storm.

And she knew what thick log she wanted put on that fire.