"Achilles!" I cry out when it still doesn't stop.
His way of playing is hypnotizing. It's nothing like the videos I used to watch as a teen. Every single movement he makes is calculated, and I can hear that. I canfeel it.
I'm a mess, writhing wantonly, tears trailing down my cheeks, and he keeps going, torturing me in the most beautiful way. I barely have any strength to come again, but I do, haunted by the harrowing music. This man's mind is terrifying, and yet it's bringing me to a state of bliss.
I'm lifeless by the time he stops. The sheets under me are damp from my sweat and cum. My cheeks wet from tears. I've lost count of how many times I've orgasmed, but I can feel the ripple effects everywhere.
"Mon trésor," he murmurs in my ear.
I startle. The music's stopped, but I wasn't sure where he was anymore.
His thumb spreads my tears as he cups my face, his mouth hovering over mine.
"Yes?" I croak.
"That's the name of the concerto." The words kiss me with how close he is, lips brushing mine ever-so-lightly.
God. This man has no mercy on my heart. Every minute of every day, he’s redefining love for me, giving it a new meaning, taking my breath away by showing me that no one’s ever cared the way he does. No one’s ever proven that this is what it’s like to be safe.
It feels surreal.
"My treasure.That’s what you are. Rare, extraordinary… I'm desperate to hold your magnificence in the palm of my hand,but you're almost like a dream. Impossible to truly grasp." He presses his lips against mine, and says, "Why, Nyx? Why aren't you giving me an answer about the concerto? Why did you run away from the clinic yesterday?"
There's no strength in me to fight back. I'm still blindfolded, tied up, exhausted.
"Because I don't deserve all of this," I whisper hopelessly.
Another kiss, more savage this time.
"For someone who’s loved people unconditionally when they certainly didn't deserve it, you have this very strange idea that anything that is done for you has to be deserved. As if you have to work hard to be treated right." His deep voice resonates within my being.
He soothes me with another kiss before he continues. "That's not how it works. Everything I do for you has nothing to do with whether you deserve it or not. I'm the one who decides which pieces of myself I give to the woman I love. You don't have to deserve my love, baby. You just have to welcome it. So, let me love you."
There's a long silence as a wave of emotions takes over me. I'm too gone for this, my mind too distorted by everything that just happened. And yet his words put me at peace. As if that was the one thing I was waiting for all my life. My mother didn't love me enough to stay, and I thought I didn't deserve her love. My father didn't love me enough to get help. Chase didn't love me enough not to use me or blackmail me. And Achilles? I don't deserve his love. In fact, the relationship we’ve had until now, the perverted games and power dynamics were exactly what he should’ve continued. Now he's in love with me…and I want it. I want it like I've never wanted anything else before. It screams and claws inside me, pushes me to him so I never let go. It's visceral, demonic. I love him, and I want that love in return.
"Play it," I murmur, my voice barely audible.
The blindfold disappears, and his gray eyes are on mine, somehow so much warmer than they usually are. My heart is racing, my mind vulnerable.
"I love you, Nyx," he repeats.
I lick my lips, eyes full of tears. "I love you too."
"Now don’t move," he says as he reaches for a condom on the side of the bed. "I want to fuck the woman I love before I present my work."
And just like that, I know my body can take more of his brand of torture.
—
I would’ve bet my life that we were meeting the people from the New York Philharmonic in a music hall. At the David Geffen Hall, to be precise, since that's their home. Instead, here I am, in an Upper East Side penthouse, sitting on the couch of the CEO of the New York Philharmonic with Achilles by my side. Facing us, on another couch, are the CEO, the president of artistic planning, and the current music director.
That is alotof important people.
They're talking like old friends while I sip on sparkling water. Achilles's violin is on the couch next to him, and on the table between them and us, there's the masterpiece. They're all pretending like it's not right there, calling our names, and I'm practically scratching my veins wanting to read it again. Better even, I want to hear Achilles play. There's nothing like when he plays.
"It's so nice to have you here again, Achilles," the CEO, Mark, says. "We missed you, truly." His eyes dart to the papers on the table. "Now, tell me. What did you bring us? Our next season, I hope?"
Achilles tilts his head, his smile as arrogant as it gets. "What else?"
