What are you?I want to ask him that, but it feels like the wrong question, and I’m not sure that it really matters to me. All I care about is the skill and passion with which he pounds and rattles the keys. The vibration of his music flows through my body as I sit atop the instrument.
Emboldened by the tumultuous melody, I place one of my feet on each of his shoulders. They look so small against those mountains of bone and muscle. As he moves his arms to play, I can feel the shift of sinew beneath my toes.
In this position, my center is open to him, nothing but a bit of thin material hiding me from his sight. He’s looking there, between my legs, with so much lustful violence in his eyes that I can’t breathe. I turn coward and remove my leg from his left shoulder, hooking it over my knee instead.
He keeps playing, ducks his head to kiss the side of my knee. “Have some wine.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” I tug the cork out of the bottle and take a sip. It’s delicious, so I drink deeply.
“Selfish girl,” says Beresford. “I want some.” But he doesn’t stop playing, only leans forward and opens his mouth.
“Your shirt,” I object. “The wine might spill and soil it.”
“I intend to be an absolute mess by the end of the night,” he says. “Help me get started, won’t you?”
He tips his head up, his fingers still manipulating the keys. With a low laugh, I pour a little of the wine into his mouth.
He swallows and shoots me a daring look. “More, and messier.”
“You asked for it.” I pour the wine sloppily, letting some of it splash into his mouth while the rest of it trails through his beard, runs down his throat, and trickles over his broad chest. The lines of red wine glittering on his skin are the most erotic thing I have ever seen.
I dump more wine into my own mouth, then into his again. He keeps playing, while some of the guests gather around us, dancing, laughing, drinking. The first man who danced with me at the dinner party comes to the piano and offers me a strawberry dipped in chocolate. After taking a bite, I lift his hand to my mouth and lick the traces of chocolate from his fingers. His pupils dilate, and the other guests are raucous in their approval.
The attention pleases me. Wine-warm and blissful from the music, I push the sleeves of my dress off my shoulders, baring them, and I tug my neckline lower, until my nipples are barely concealed. I stroke Beresford’s beard with my toes while he plays, then push against his beautiful mouth with my foot. He watches me with the devouring hunger of a bear, a lion, a wolf—some mighty untamed creature of the forest.
I’ve had enough wine to be perfectly at ease without losing my faculties, so I don’t drink any more, but I dole drinks out toothers, pouring crimson, gold, and amber liquid into the mouths of lovely women and handsome men. I watch it trickle over perfect breasts, glorious chests, and bare bellies as clothing begins to leave bodies, piece by piece.
I set an empty bottle beside me on top of the piano, and one of the girls hands a fresh bottle up to me. As I’m taking it, I notice a tall young lord pulling down his trousers, baring his cock for the woman kneeling in front of him. The next second, her mouth sheathes it from my view.
Reality snaps into focus. I knew where all this teasing and drinking was headed, but it’s actually happening now, right in front of my eyes. Things I’ve pieced together from my mother’s instruction, from brief mentions in books, or from stray conversations—they’re unfolding in this barn, among Beresford’s guests. Two girls are kissing each other on a couch, hands cupping each other’s breasts. A woman leans back against pillows, letting a man climb on top of her. I watch her legs bend on either side of his hips while his naked ass quivers and surges. He’s thrusting. He’sinsideher.
The rum bottle almost slips from my hand, and some of its contents splash onto my leg. My dance partner, who is still standing next to the piano, bends down and strokes my bare skin with his tongue, lapping up the amber liquid. I inhale, shocked by how good it feels. Impulsively, I touch the man’s tight black curls.
Beresford strikes a discordant clash of notes, and I look at him, startled.
“I think I’m tired of playing. Do you play?” he asks the man who licked me.
“I do, but not well.”
“Excellent. Take over.” Beresford lunges off the bench and hauls the man into his place despite his faint protest. Then Beresford scoops me off the top of the piano with one giant arm. I yelp in shock, still clutching the rum bottle.
“Beresford!” I gasp, writhing a little as he carries me through the room, toward a heavy crimson curtain. He sweeps it aside, revealing three half-naked people. When he barks, “Out,” they scatter, and Beresford tumbles me onto the deep sofa they vacated.
Then he storms out again, and the curtain falls into place behind him.
What just happened?
I look around the cozy space. I think it was formerly a stall, but there are so many blankets, tapestries, and beaded rugs that I can’t be sure. Stained-glass lanterns dangle from brass chains overhead, casting shards of multicolored light. The sofa smells like roses and jasmine, the perfume of a previous occupant.
Setting the rum bottle down on the floor at the end of the sofa, I recline with my brow furrowed.
Is Beresford coming back? Did I anger him by touching the other man’s hair? Or did he notice the expression on my face when I saw the couples fucking? Does he think I’m too much of a dainty little prude for his lascivious party? After all the time he spent exchanging glances with me and playing that piano the way he did, is he out there kissing and touching someone else?
The more I think about it, the angrier I get, until I push myself off the sofa and pull my dress over my head. I stand there in my panties and corset, my breasts nearly surging over the corset’s edge with each furious inhale.
He invited me tonight. Focused solely on me. Talked about mysoul, for gods’ sake. Made me feel special, only to tote me back here and deposit me like a toy he was finished playing with.
Fuck that.
