I grin as he brings me to the room I had glimpsed earlier. Vases of dahlias scatter around the sparsely decorated room with a bar, a fireplace and a solitary Cheshire leather armchair.
I blink, glancing from the black Steinway in the middle of the space to him. That cost a fortune. It’s one of a kind.
I turn to him, not understanding.
He stretches out his arm toward the piano, the longing in his voice obvious. “Play for me.”
On shaky legs, I move to the piano, letting my fingers trail over the smooth surface.
“How long have you had this?” I whisper, emotions overwhelming me.
“Play for me, please,” he says, his tone edged in tenderness.
I take a seat on the leather bench. Brushing my hair back, I open the lid. “Any preference?”
“Moonlight Sonata.”
I nod, letting my fingers fly over the keyboard. This piano produces crystal-clear notes, making it a delight to play. Closing my eyes, the music takes over. When I’m playing, time ceases to exist. I am lost in the music for minutes, for hours.
I always thought pain was responsible for my becoming the prodigious pianist the classical world loves to call me. But as I play for him, I realize love is the catalyst, the strongest of emotions. It drives me to give my all—the broken pieces, the unwavering hope, and everlasting dreams.
Finishing, I search for him.
He sits in the leather armchair, completely engrossed in me. Legs spread open and head cocked to the side, his elbow rests on the armchair as his index and middle finger dig into his cheek. The first two buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing a patch of skin that makes me salivate instantly. His other arm hangs over the side of the armchair with a tumbler of clear liquid in his hand. In this moment, he truly looks like a dark king on his throne.
“Thank you, baby girl. I could listen to you play for eternity and it wouldn’t be enough,” he says, voice scratching at his throat.
I could picture vividly how we’d spend a quiet night at home like this. Me playing for him.
A tear slides down my face, and I quickly dab it away.
Enjoy the reality for a while longer. You can dream the impossible for the rest of your life.
Eyes locked, he swirls the drink in his hand before emptying it in one go. He places it on the small, black and gold table by his side.
Long minutes pass quickly, slipping through my fingers like a shadow. I can’t hold on to time, damn it. The knowledge wrecks me while his gaze unravels me to my soul.
His brows furrow, features drawn in deep thought. “Strange.”
“What is strange?” I fidget with my fingers in my lap.
I feel the safest with him, but he also makes me nervous. The power he has over me is thrilling yet terrifying.
“I want nothing more than to wrap you in silk, keep you safe, worship every inch of you. Hide you from the world so you’re just mine—my precious treasure, but at the same time, I want to dirty you up, fuck the living soul out of you.”
I suck in a breath, my heart rate tripling, the beats chasing each other in a wild race that leaves me stuttering. “I’m good with that.”
He chuckles. “So, you say.”
Standing, he approaches me. Every step drips with a predatory grace that makes me want to run. But I am rooted in place, hypnotized by those piercing silver eyes.
“Let’s play a game, malishka.”
Please let it be how many times he can make me come.
“What kind of game?” I murmur, the excitement lacing my words, betraying my desire.
He sits next to me on the cushioned bench and brushes his fingers down my sides, owning my attention.
