My answer is to grab his ass and pull him forward.
He slides home in one thrust.
We both go still.
I feel him everywhere. Filling me completely. The stretch is uncomfortable but not painful, not with how aroused I am, not with how much I want this.
His exhale is ragged against my neck. His hands shake where they grip my hips.
"Move," I whisper.
He moves.
Long, languid strokes that hit deep inside me. That make my toes curl and my back arch. He pulls almost all the way out, then slides back in, setting a rhythm that builds pressure with every thrust.
I'm amazed by how good it feels. How right. Like my body was made for this, for him, for the particular way he moves inside me.
His rhythm intensifies. Harder. Faster. The piano keys crash beneath us in chaotic symphony.
When he pinches my clit, I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me with devastating force. I cry out his name, and he follows me over the edge, burying himself deep as he comes with a groan that sounds like it's torn from somewhere primal.
We stay frozen together, both gasping for air.
Then he steps back.
His expression shifts. Confusion replacing pleasure. Uncertainty flickering in his eyes.
I watch him reach between my thighs. Watch his finger touch the piano key where I was sitting.
He lifts his hand between us.
There's a smear of blood on his fingertip.
Horror floods through me. Confusion. Understanding arriving half a second too late.
He stares at the faint smear as if it's a wound he caused.
When his eyes lift to mine, everything breaks open between us. Fear, longing, rage, betrayal, all tangled together in an expression I'll never forget.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispers.
And I realize, with sharp, devastating clarity, that nothing between us will ever be the same again.
20
MAKSIM
The blood on my fingertip looks black in the moonlight.
I stare at it. Then at Victoria. Watch emotions cross her face in rapid succession. Confusion first, her brow furrowing as she tries to understand what she's seeing. Then comprehension, her mind working through the evidence. Then panic.
Pure, undiluted panic that makes her whole body tense like a trapped animal preparing to flee.
She makes a motion to slide down from the piano, and I know with absolute certainty that if I let her leave this room, I will lose her.
I hold her in place. Gentle but firm. My hands on her hips, keeping her seated on the keys that still carry the evidence of what we just did.
