He does it again, and again, until the motion is smoother. I stand just behind him, secretly inhaling the warmth and Allure scent rising from his skin, and guide him when his fingers curl too flat against the keys.
"Keep your hand rounded, like you’re holding a small ball," I say, shaping my own hand in the air, then gently adjusting his fingers until they match the curve.
We spend a few more minutes like that, him playing, me correcting the smallest movements. The room is quiet except for the soft notes of the piano and the shallow rhythm of his breathing.
Finally, I sit down beside him, close enough that our thighs almost touch.
His scent has grown more intense, sweeter, and soon faint tones of his slick start to add to the mixture. Yeah, it’s straightforward arousal.
I should probably give him more space, but I don’t move. At one moment he slightly leans back with a quiet exhale, hissilver-golden eyes catching mine, and for a heartbeat neither of us looks away.
"Not bad for your first lesson," I say, letting the corner of my mouth tilt upward. I still keep my voice professional.
His lips curve faintly, as if he’s hiding something more.
"I like it," he says softly.
I’m pretty sure he means not only the piano lesson but the two of us here together, close.
I should end the lesson; he’s already learned enough for today, but I don’t tell him to get up, and I stay where I am.
"Let’s try something else," I say, my voice comes out lower than I expect. "Place your hands like before, thumbs on C. We’re going to play at the same time. Together."
I cover his right hand with mine just for a second to guide him into position. "Ready?"
He nods.
We play slowly, both hands moving in parallel, C-D-E-F-G. The notes are soft, colorful, floating in the air as pastel waves, and I feel my focus slipping, my ear catching not just the music but the uneven pattern of his breathing, the faint hitch when my knee brushes his. His slick is now… very intense, ripe in the air. He’s probably soaked through his pants at this point.
I clear my throat, fighting to focus on teaching. "Now let’s try a simple rhythm. Four counts per note. I’ll count for you."
I tap the top of the piano, steady, slow. "One, two, three, four."
His shoulders relax a little as he finds the rhythm.
"Good," I murmur, leaning forward to correct his left hand when his wrist dips too low. "Keep it level." It’s no coincidence that my thumb is skimming over his wrist gland.
His heartbeat stutters under my touch. His aura looks as if it were painted with long, curling brushes of red. His scent is now crazy intense, so sweet it makes me dizzy, my own arousalskyrocketing, my dick painfully hard, and I have to bite back a curse.
"Show me again?" he asks in a hoarse voice.
"You’re distracting yourself," I tell him, half amused, half aware that I’m doing the same thing.
"Maybe," he says and turns his eyes toward me, the space between us charged, electric.
"Let’s finish with something simple. Just the right hand." I play the first bars of Ode to Joy, slow enough for him to follow. E-E-F-G-G-F-E-D…
His fingers stumble. I lean closer, my shoulder brushing his.
"Watch carefully."
This time, when I play, he watches not just my hands but my face. When I glance at him, his pupils are wide, lips parted. The sweetness of his Allure curls around me, calling to me, tugging at instincts I’m desperately trying to control.
And then, suddenly, in one swift move, Summer throws himself forward, his chest over the sheet music stand, his ass right in front of my face. He pulls his pants down in one smooth motion, baring his round mounds.
Between them rests a pink, open entrance, glistening with copious amounts of slick. The scent has the color of raspberries but the taste of raspberry meringue.
Wow. Yeah.
