Dark Notes(85)

In the next breath, he’s on me, hands in my hair and lips chasing the tracks of tears across my cheeks.

“So beautiful when you cry for me.” He sprinkles kisses across my eyes, nose, and mouth as his fingers stroke my hair. “Oh, Ivory. You have no idea what you do to me.”

The rumble of his voice and the tenderness of his touch soothes the fire in my nipples and stokes a new flame deep in my core.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice reedy.

He drops his forehead to mine. “I’ll show you.”

Dragging the piano bench closer, he sits. The position puts his mouth inches from my *. Fingers spread over the keys, he dives into a raucously violent song. Another metal cover, but I can’t place it. I’m lost in the banging notes, shivering against the pain in my breasts, and wondering if those seven orgasms will be his or mine.

I test the bindings on my ankles, my legs twinging in the extended stretch. “What song is this?”

His eyes dart between my lips and my *, his hands pounding the keys. “‘Symphony Of Destruction.’ Megadeth.”

Never heard of it, but sweet hell, it sounds ominous.

He leans forward and presses his mouth against my inner thigh. My entire body stills in anticipation as he slides his lips toward my center. His hands move manically over the keys, and when he reaches the crease in my thigh, he changes direction without a slip in the melody. He licks a path to my knee, nibbling and sucking my skin, then shifts back once again toward my cunt.

With his lips hovering above my clit, the song changes to one I immediately recognize.

I burst into groaning laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He flashes me a grin before he buries his face between my legs. As he curves his tongue through my folds, the piano vibrates to the tune of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana.

The swarming sensations beneath his lips plunge me into a panting mess of desire. He probes deeply with stabbing strokes, and when he finds my clit, it doesn’t take long. I’m already primed with all the touching and kissing, and hell, even the whips on my breasts made me wet.

I come with a loud, gasping moan, rocking my hips against his relentless mouth as my limbs jerk in the restraints.

His hands fumble over the keys, losing the rhythm before picking it back up again.

“That’s one,” he says in a husky voice.

I meet his eyes, panting and shaking. “There’s no way. I—”

Can’t say I can’t. But seriously? Six more? He’s way too diabolical with his punishments. I’m going to die.

He presses a kiss to my clit then attacks it with lips and teeth. I scream through orgasms two and three. After that, I no longer hear the music or feel the vibrations through my limbs or see the room around me. Every sense narrows on the tongue inside me and the deluge of climbing and falling sensations attacking my body.

After the fourth release, I reach a strange floaty kind of catatonic state. My * tingles with over-stimulation, the nerve-endings in my clit stinging against the lightest stroke of his tongue. But he doesn’t stop. Not when I tell him to go to hell or call him a sadistic bastard.

He silences me by clamping his teeth around my bundle of nerves.

He’s not playing the piano anymore, because those talented fingers are inside me, banging me into a torturous hell of pleasure.

“You have to stop.” I sway in the restraints, my spread legs shaking with exhaustion. “Please. I’m done.”

His soaking wet lips burrow in, kissing and licking, his groan thrumming a different kind of song through my core. A moment later, he curls three fingers inside me and wrings another agonizing orgasm from my body.

“Six.” He leans back and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “The last one will be with me.”

“No more.” My head is so heavy my chin drops against my chest as I suck for air. “Please.”

He lifts my chin with his finger, his gaze burning against my lips, his voice a ragged whisper. “I love when you beg.”

He stands, and with a few flicks of his wrists, he releases my hands and legs from the straps.

I slump against him, my muscles like water, pouring out and falling over. But he has me, my limp body held in strong arms and supported against a damn fine chest.

The heat of his forearms disappears from my back, replaced with the hard surface of the piano lid. He lays me face up, feet pointing away from the keyboard, shoulders on the edge where I’d been sitting. My head dangles upside-down, bumping against the keys.

My already hypersensitive skin flushes hotter, and blood rushes to my brain with the pull of gravity. “What are you doing?”

He circles the piano, inspecting my body as if memorizing every inch. His fingers tickle along my skin as he moves, starting at my throat, gliding along my sternum, veering around my belly button, and lingering between my legs.

My pelvis lifts toward his touch, straining to maintain that point of contact. Despite the fact he just finished biting and welting my breasts and torturing me with orgasms, I want more. He must have short-wired my brain.

Locking the cuffs around my ankles and wrists, he effectively pins me like an X on his Fazioli. When he returns to my head, he gives me an upside-down view of the steel rod pushing against his zipper.

He opens his fly. “You know how hard to suck.” Shoving down his jeans, he releases his sizeable cock, the pink skin taut over the wide girth. “You know how fast or slow to move that wicked tongue.”