Dark Notes(83)

With my fingers on the backs of her calves, I trail them up her legs, speaking softly yet firmly. “Remove your shoes.”

As she toes them off, her swift obedience builds a hungry pressure in my groin. My hands trace the rise of her ass, and my lips follow the dip of her naval. She gasps and rolls her hips, her fingers plunging into my hair, clinging to me for balance.

Fuck, I want her on my cock, clenching and spasming and giving herself to me in every way.

I kick the sneakers to the side and guide her feet out of the jeans and socks. With featherlight touches, I tickle the serpentine line of her spine and toy with the clasp of her bra while rising up her body and kissing a sensual path between her breasts.

Her head falls back, and her slender frame rocks in my arms. She smells like jasmine soap, sultry with arousal, and exquisitely Ivory.

My cock jerks in my jeans, trapped and demanding. Not yet.

I tease the clasp of the bra, my mouth gliding across her delicate collar bone. Moving higher, I kiss the slender column of her neck and nibble along her jaw.

Our foreheads touch as I unlatch the bra and flatten my palm against her spine. Our breaths rush out, melding together, our lips gravitating closer, closer. When our mouths finally connect, she melts against me.

My hands lift to her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones as I devour her seductive moans. I kiss her aggressively, ordering her without words to trust me. I whip my tongue against hers, a promise of impending pain and ecstasy. Her mouth parts in acceptance, and her hands clutch my waist, pulling me against her.

I break the kiss and let my fingers linger on the straps on her shoulders. My eyes never leaving hers, I gently slip the bra down her arms. Her nipples are so hard the lace catches on them. I slowly ease the material away, exposing her delicious flesh. She exhales sharply as the bra falls to the floor.

Jesus, she’s perfection. I need to bury myself inside her and struggle to think past my raging hard-on.

Taking a step back, I let my gaze roam her long, lean body, worshiping every flexure, twitch, and fragile bone as she regards me with round eyes. Full perky tits rise with her breaths, narrow hips shift with anxiousness, and a wet spot darkens the satin of her pink panties.

Her body loves my touch, but her mind hasn’t forgiven me. If I don’t let her take the next step on her own, she’ll only feel worse afterward.

I nod at the panties. “Take them off or say your word.”

Biting her lip, she hooks her thumbs under the satin, glides it down her legs, and kicks it away. Her gaze never leaves my face, watching me with wariness, curiosity, and undeniable desire.

I prowl around her, reveling in her stunning nudity and the way her breaths stop and start with each of my steps. My finger traces the scrollwork pattern inked from her waist to the opposite shoulder.

She shudders against the sensation, panting and craning her neck to see me.

I press my chest flush with her back, fingers teasing her hipbones. “You’re going to tell me about that tattoo. Not now.” I rest my mouth in the juncture between her neck and shoulder and lick. “Maybe not today or this week.” Sliding my hands around her pelvis, I dip between her legs and slip through her wet folds. “But you’ll tell me soon.”

She releases a heavy sigh and arches her neck, tipping her head to the side to give me easier access.

I set my teeth on her shoulder and bite down. She whimpers and writhes against me, her arms lifting and fingers seeking my hair.

Kissing the hurt, I step back. “Follow me.” I lead her to the Fazioli and point to the ledge above the keyboard. “Sit on the edge. Legs spread. Right foot on the lowest keys, left foot on the highest.”

Her expression pinches with uncertainty, but she climbs into position, filling the silence with random notes.

Nylon straps snake from beneath the piano and over the lid, two on each side and all four connected to leather cuffs. I attach two to her wrists and cinch them behind her with a hard yank. She gasps.

With her arms restrained at her back, her eyes track my movements, lips separated and shoulders lifting. She seems to be fighting her posture, battling the fear that’s pulling her body in on itself.

As I cross in front of her, I caress the backs of my fingers along the inside of her outstretched leg. “What is the word that makes this stop?”

“Scriabin,” she breathes, watching me cautiously.

“Will you use it?”

She nods with a flutter of fear in her eyes. “If I need to.”

“Good girl.”

With the other two cuffs, I lock her ankles against the molding that brackets the keyboard. Then I stand back and absorb the erotic view before me.

Perched on the edge of the lid, thighs spread wide enough to hold the entire keyboard between her feet, and arms restrained behind her, she’s a picture of lust and torment, strength and trust. Her * is open, pink and drenched, begging for my cock. Her tongue peeks out and touches the underside of her bottom lip.

I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. Not just her body. I want her everything. She is the strongest emotion I’ve ever felt.

I adjust the throbbing ache in my jeans. “I’m so f*cking aroused I want to roll over and die.”

“Dead is one way to get rid of that erection.”

The playful glint in her eyes makes me impossibly harder.

“Or.” She bites her lip. “There’s…you know, the other way.”