“Is that what it takes to get you to be nice to me?” An almost-kiss pressed to my cheek. “Because I'll do this all day and all night.” His fingers curl again, slow and devastating, and I'm trembling now, my whole body wound so tight I can barely breathe. “I'll keep your sweet cunt full of my fingers and my tongue and my cock, if that's what it takes to make you happy.”
The words land like a match to tinder.
My eyes flutter closed.
The pleasure crests. Builds. It’s rolling through me in waves, and I clench down hard on his fingers and stop breathing entirely for one long suspended moment as the orgasm sneaks up on me.
His other hand clamps gently over my mouth, muffling my moan as sensation slams through me, intense and relentless, unlike anything I've ever given myself in the privacy of my own room.
Because it's Walker’s hands. His voice. His chest solid against my back. His mouth pressed to my temple murmuring soft things I can barely hear over the rushing in my ears.
Because he gave it to me.
I sag back against him, boneless. His fingers stay,gentle now, easing me down, and his other hand strokes up and down my arm in long slow passes. His lips rest against my hair.
We sit like that for I don't know how long.
The distant sounds of the outside world filter back in slowly. Laughter, a horse’s whinny, voices carrying from somewhere outside.
He's holding me like he doesn't want to let go. Like what just happened was as much for him as it was for me.
I become slowly, hazily aware of how much I want to give him something back. How much I want to turn around in his lap and get my hands on him. How much I want to learn him the way he just learned me.
How much I want all of it. Everything he described in the pool. Everything he's been holding back.
I want it all and I want it now and I want it from him, this gruff, careful, devastating man who’s done nothing but take care of me in every possible way.
In this moment, it feels like he’s finally let his guard down.
Maybe this is a turning point. Maybe the fact that we’re sitting at the piano means he’s ready to play music again.
He needs that more than he needs my hands on his body.
“Walker,” I say softly.
“Mm.” His lips move against my hair.
“Will you…”
I lose my nerve. The words dissolve somewhere between my chest and my mouth.
“Will I what, Sadie?” Low and gentle. His lips nearly grazing my ear.
I close my eyes.
“Will you play me one of your songs?”
Every muscle in his body goes rigid at once. I feel it. The walls going back up, brick by brick, right underneath me.
And then he's lifting me off his lap, smooth and gentle, not meeting my eyes, setting me aside like something burning him.
He stands. Straightens.
“Not tonight,” he says.
His voice has lost its warmth. His green eyes are shuttered. But he holds out a hand to me anyway.
I shake my head. “I need a minute.”
