Melt With You Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Alison Tyler

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue: Stop the World

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Dissatisfied with the lack of romance in her life, Dori returns to her hometown with the hopes of healing her wounded heart. But the small town has changed: it is restored to its former beauty. And not only that, much to her chagrin, Dori finds she’s been transported back to the 80s!

  She now has the opportunity to fully make the most of her teenage years. She even ends up dating a young teacher from her local high school. With time on her side, Dori not only has the chance to save her town from ruin, but also her heart . . .

  About the Author

  Alison Tyler is the pseudonym of an outstanding American author of twenty works of erotic fiction, and the author of the best-selling manual, Bondage on a Budget. She is a regular editor of short story anthologies and a contributor to numerous adult magazines.

  Also by Alison Tyler:

  Tiffany Twisted

  With or Without You

  Sweet Thing

  Sticky Fingers

  MELT WITH YOU

  Alison Tyler

  For SAM Always.

  ‘I’d love to change the world.

  But I don’t know what to do.

  So I leave it up to you …’

  – Ten Years After

  Prologue: Stop the World

  Popcorn-scented paradise.

  Dori breathed in deep to savor that fresh melted-butter scent, better than any perfume she could imagine. In heaven, she rocked against the blue velvet seat, same color as a pair of perfectly faded blue jeans. Each forward motion won her the gentle squeak of consternation from the ancient hinges, a noise that echoed from the chairs around her as other people rocked, too. She swiveled to get comfortable, then focused her attention on the stage as the scarlet curtain began to rise. This was always her favorite moment of the movie, right before the red-glossed lips parted and the first song began.

  But Rowan had other ideas.

  As the film flickered into focus, the crackling of the projector audible before Riff-Raff’s first words, he pulled on Dori’s hand. She shot him a curious look, but couldn’t read his expression in the satiny darkness of the theater. Willingly, she let him lead her down from the balcony, through the dimly lit lobby, and out to the alley behind the theater. Even though she loved Rocky Horror, she didn’t protest. She thought about the gang back inside, still watching the film: Violet, Janie, Chelsea, Dameron, Tyler and Clay. Everyone in costume, all staring at the screen with rapt attention, even though they’d spent nearly every Friday and Saturday night here for the past four years.

  In seconds, Rowan had Dori pressed up against the cold concrete wall of the alley, his hands on her shoulders. She gazed at him, into his dark-green eyes, and she waited. Knowing he was going to kiss her. Desperate to feel his lips on hers.

  This alley was where all the kids from Redwood High came to make out or make art – both to kiss and to express themselves creatively. Graffiti adorned every inch of the once stone-gray concrete. Above Rowan’s head, she could see the luscious Rolling Stones lips. Above and to the left was Marvin the Martian, the Looney Tunes alien with the Roman warrior’s helmet, gladiator skirt, and oversized trainers. Someone with a ladder had spray-painted the words SAVE FERRIS in big bold letters many feet up. For Dori, the best part about the graffiti walls was the constant change. New designs overlapped the old every weekend. There were layers upon layers of spray-paint, an archaeologist’s dream of teenage art.

  But right now, she and Rowan were the only couple back here, and that made her boyfriend bold. Gently, he put one hand against the smooth skin exposed in the v-neck of the chemise she was wearing. As usual, Dori was dressed as Frank-N-Furter, her long dark hair curled past her shoulders, her dark-brown eyes done up in dramatic detail, with eye-shadow up to her brows. She had on a silky black slip, classic thigh-high fishnets, and heels so high she felt like a runway model. Rowan was convincingly dressed as Brad, and Dori liked the way he looked in the nerdy black-framed plastic glasses, knowing that underneath his costume, he was well-built from hours of swim team practice. The geeky look was only a façade.

  ‘You’re so pretty in that,’ Rowan whispered, stepping back to take a sweeping look at her from top to bottom.

  Dori blushed as he regarded her, the golden-yellow light from the motion sensor clicking on as it registered their movement. She sighed and leaned back against the cold wall as Rowan now ran his hand over her flat stomach and then back up, to her breasts. Underneath the black satin, she had on her favorite bra – a red that was darker than a Washington apple, almost scarlet. She’d left her feather boa upstairs on the balcony in the seat next to Violet’s, along with her satchel that contained the other extra items she required for the show: rice to toss, newspapers to hold overhead, a flashlight, rubber gloves to snap, toast, playing cards, a party hat, a water gun, and green scrubs and large fake pearls for a costume change.

  Thoughts of the movie slipped from her mind as Rowan ran his fingertips over the silky fabric that hid her body from him. Then he slid his hand underneath, stroking one of her breasts gently, sighing when his own actions made her nipple get hard. He bent his head and licked her through the fabric, and she groaned and pushed against him, surprised at the heat that ran down her spine from that simple motion.

  Oh, if he would only keep doing that, and never stop.

  He kissed her right breast the same way, his mouth wetting the fabric, his hand sliding beneath the silk to tweak her nipple through her bra. She groaned louder this time, and Rowan looked at her, clearly appreciating the sounds she was making. She couldn’t believe she was this turned on. But there was something about both being in costume and making out in the alley that excited her intensely.

  Rowan started to kiss his way down her body, pulling up the chemise as he moved lower down. She felt the cool night air on her naked skin, made cooler when Rowan left a trail of kisses along the hollow of her belly, then on her thighs, before finally pressing his lips exactly where she wanted him to – on the front placket of her black satin panties.

  She sucked in her breath in both surprise and excitement.

  They’d played around like this before, in the den at Rowan’s house and once in Dori’s living room, when her parents and brother had gone out for the night. And they often made out together on a blanket in an open field by the railroad tracks. But for some reason, this was different. The electricity between them seemed to shimmer in the air, and Dori knew Rowan could tell how good he was making her feel.

  His mouth worked harder against that fabric barrier, and as his tongue pressed more firmly into her, she knew her own ju
ices must have seeped through the fabric and into Rowan’s mouth. He could taste her. The thought of the wetness of his mouth meeting the wetness of her pussy through the filmy barrier of her panties felt almost unspeakably naughty, and a fresh set of shivers rippled through her. Rowan responded by gripping her hips, pressing his mouth even more powerfully against her. He whispered, ‘You’re so sweet, Dori,’ and a blush rose to her cheekbones.

  She felt as if she would slip down the wall if he hadn’t been holding her up, felt that she would melt into a pool of sticky sex syrup. But how did Rowan know? How did he know how to touch her just right?

  His tongue made more concentrated circles around her clit through her panties, and she tried to pull away from him. She was about to come. She could feel the orgasm swelling inside of her. Her mind raced as fast as her heartbeat – she’d never come with him before. They’d never gone quite that far.

  ‘Wait,’ she said softly, pushing on his shoulders, but he shook her hands off him.

  ‘Shh, Dori,’ he admonished, pulling his mouth away for a second. ‘Let me.’

  She blinked her eyes and then stared straight ahead, focusing on the graffiti’d wall opposite them, swallowing hard over the lump in her throat.

  If he would keep touching her like that, just like that, then he would get her there. Dori put her hands back on his shoulders, trying to stay steady. She felt dizzy and, in her spiked heels, knew that she had less poise than usual.

  Suddenly, Rowan slid one hand underneath her panties. His fingers touched her nether lips, then finally stroked her naked clit. He seemed to be waiting for her to pull his hand away, waiting for her to stop him, but she didn’t. Usually, she set the pace. She let them go to a certain point, and then pulled back.

  Sometimes, she wondered why. Why were girls the designated police officers of the romantic world? Wasn’t she allowed to feel as hot or hard or wet or ready as he was? Whether she was allowed to or not, she did feel that way. All she wanted was for Rowan to strip off her clothes, to tear her panties down, to push into her. He hadn’t done that before, they hadn’t gone that far – hadn’t gone all the way – but she could imagine what it would be like when they finally got to the point.

  When Rowan felt for himself precisely how wet she was, he sighed. ‘Jesus, Dori. You’re dripping.’ He stood then, and kissed her, his fingers still playing over her clit.

  A new shiver ran through her. She wanted to beg him to let her come, but she’d never said the words aloud before. Didn’t know what he would think of her if she did manage to part her lips and speak all the filthy thoughts that spiraled in her mind on a regular basis. The women at The Beauty Box, the cosmetics store where she worked after school, wouldn’t have been surprised by her dirty mouth.

  But Rowan might be.

  She wanted to say, ‘Fuck me, Rowan. Turn me around and just fuck me,’ because, God, she imagined it all the time. Fantasized, more accurately. In study hall. During Phys-Ed. And late at night, while on the phone to him, when he whispered all of the things that he most wanted to do with her … to her. There were so many times when they almost reached the point, when he had nearly found the courage to try.

  Yet, they weren’t going to get there now. Not tonight.

  Not in an alley.

  That’s what ultimately stopped her. Not the action, but the location.

  Anyone would be able to see. Any of their peers, if one chose to walk out for a quick smoke, or an illicit drink, or a snog of their own. And word would travel around the school so quickly that she’d never live down the gossip. Reluctantly, she pulled his hand away, but she didn’t stop the kiss.

  She never wanted to stop the kiss at all.

  Chapter One

  ‘I’m not going, and you can’t make me.’

  ‘You sound as if you’re six years old,’ Janie said, knowingly. She was a first-grade teacher at PS 137, and so had plenty of experience with truculent six-year-olds.

  ‘I don’t care. I’m not interested.’

  ‘Come on, Dori,’ Violet insisted. ‘We’ll have a blast. It will be like old times.’

  Dori shook her head, long silver-streaked ebony hair swishing past her shoulders. She wasn’t going to be bullied. She wasn’t going to be swayed. The 80s were over for a reason. There was no need to go back.

  Unfortunately, her trio of girlfriends didn’t agree.

  ‘You have to,’ Violet continued, half-commanding, half-begging. ‘Really. You’ll see everyone from school. All your old friends.’

  ‘My old friends are all right here,’ Dori said stubbornly, spreading her arms to indicate the three ladies seated around the table. ‘If I wanted to know what those other people were doing, I would have Googled them by now.’

  ‘You’ll see, Rowan,’ Violet told her, watching carefully over the rim of her neon-green Apple-tini for Dori’s reaction. Violet was Dori’s closest friend out of the three, the one who knew which buttons to push in order to get the right response. But Dori held her face in check. She’d already had this discussion with herself for the past few weeks.

  ‘Why would I want to see Rowan? We broke up –’ she checked the oversized silver man’s watch dangling on her wrist, her exaggerated manner filled with sarcasm ‘–exactly twenty years ago.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to go to your reunion if we’re all going. Did you hate high school that much?’ This was Chelsea. Chelsea who had adored high school. Chelsea who was Violet’s twin sister, and the first to tell everyone that ‘No, thank fucking God, we’re not identical.’ She had been both a cheerleader and the Homecoming Queen of their class, had peaked as a senior and never been truly happy since.

  But they weren’t discussing Chelsea’s personality flaws right now. They were focused on Dori. The women all looked at her, three sets of expectant eyes waiting for Dori’s answer. And, although she’d thought she was tough enough to ride out their repeated requests, she’d had precisely enough alcohol to drink that she spoke the truth.

  ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I loved it that much.’

  And then there was silence until the slim-hipped waiter brought around the next round of fanciful, pastel-hued cocktails, and the foursome had a reason to talk about something else. Anything else. Because Dori’s words had brought a melancholy fog to their gathering. Had high school really been the high point of their lives, like that idiotic movie they’d all been forced to watch in the gymnasium: The Time of Your Life So Far? Had any one of them actually become the person she’d aspired to back as a starry-eyed graduate?

  ‘Do any of you actually remember the 80s?’ Violet said suddenly. ‘You’re worried about how people will think of you now. But can you even remember what it was like then?’

  ‘What was what like?’ Janie asked, playing along.

  ‘God, the hair. Do you remember your hair?’

  Dori grinned ruefully. To her father’s horror, right before graduation, she had chopped off her long dark hair and, with Violet’s help, had dyed what was left of the short fringe a color usually found only on a peacock’s tail – a neon version of the cobalt hue on her favorite pair of Doc Marten boots.

  ‘My dad almost died,’ Dori reminded them.

  ‘I think he wanted to kill me,’ Violet recalled. ‘Our parents sat far away from yours at graduation.’

  ‘You should do it again,’ Janie urged.

  They laughed at the thought. Dori, at thirty-eight, with a punk rock hairstyle. But why not? Of the four of them, she was the one who could most easily pull off something crazy. She was a make-up artist. Nobody expected her to look like a capable human being who could handle thirty screaming children at a time, like Janie. And Chelsea, a stay-home mom, would have horrified the ladies on her architectural preservation committee if she showed up dressed in anything other than Talbot’s with a refined highlighted pageboy in birch blonde. Violet could take some risks – she was an art dealer. But many of her clients were on the conservative side. Blue hair wouldn’t
work for her.

  ‘And remember your glasses?’ Janie teased Dori next. Dori had worn glasses since she was eight and, even though she had chosen decent frames in high school, she still felt the stigma of being called ‘four-eyes.’ The first thing she’d done when she’d gotten a bit of money saved up was have corrective surgery. Now, when she wore glasses, they were Oliver People’s, high-end, dark-tinted sunglasses with rhinestones on the corners.

  ‘It’s better now,’ Dori insisted, as if desperate to prove the point to herself. ‘We didn’t have these in the 80s, did we?’ She waved the new scarlet X-phone from Cherry Computers that the women had given her for her birthday. ‘Remember? We were tethered to landlines.’

  ‘God, yes I remember,’ Violet said. ‘My dad threatened to rip the phone out of the wall once when you and I had one of our marathon conversations. “What could you girls possibly have to talk about?” he demanded. “You just spent all day together.”’ Dori and Violet could still spend all day on the phone together. That’s why Violet had suggested the new high-tech gadget as a gift for her birthday.

  Dori managed a smile at the thought and then the conversation turned to the range of devices that now ruled their worlds, from Blackberrys to the turbo Rabbit vibrator Janie had given Dori as a gag gift.

  ‘We didn’t have these back then,’ Janie said, red-cheeked from the drink as she waved the seven-speed vibrator in the air.

  ‘Dori didn’t need one. She had Rowan,’ Chelsea responded snidely.

  ‘Please, Dori,’ Violet whispered to her while the other two were talking. ‘Say you’ll go. I swear, we’ll have so much fun …’

  What was the real reason she didn’t want to go to the reunion? Dori reflected as she paced uselessly through her living room waiting for Violet to arrive. Her best friend was going to spend the night – a slumber party of two, like the hundreds they’d shared when they were teens. Violet would make her feel better. She always did. But until Violet showed up, Dori’s thoughts ran away with her.