Bea yelped, stabilizing herself on his pecs, legs clamping instinctively around his waist. “What are you doing?”
“It should be obvious,” he said, already walking.
They made it half a dozen steps before Alice rounded the corner, pausing so fast the tray she held tilted. “Mr. Griffin. Mrs. Griffin. Is there anything else tonight?”
Bea buried her face in his shoulder, not making eye contact. Rafael filed away a single thought: the staff schedule needs adjusting.
“No, thank you, Alice,” he replied.
“Just letting you know,” she added, “Teresa’s in the room closest to yours fitting the new drawers that were delivered this afternoon. She’ll be about thirty minutes more.”
“Appreciate it.”
As Alice disappeared, Bea whispered urgently, “Put me down.”
“No.”
“We can’t—” she hissed. “They’reright there.”
His only response was to change direction.
“Where are we going?”
Past the formal living room, through the arched hallway, to the curved wall with the brass-handled door. He shouldered it open and carried her into the music room.
Moonlight streaked the floor in pale silver slashes. The baby grand gleamed in the corner, the room otherwise still unfurnished.
“Far enough?” he asked, pausing just inside as the door clicked closed.
Bea nodded. “Yeah, but…there’s no bed.”
Rafael kissed her, hard. “Let me worry about that. You worry about getting naked.”
He lowered her until she landed on her feet. Her shirt was already sliding off her; she let it drop. The bra followed,unclasped and forgotten to the floor. His wife was just as eager as he was tonight. Good.
Rafael crowded her against the side of the piano and bent his head. His mouth closed over her, pulling a sound that she couldn’t soften. He drew hard, tongue moving in patient circles before he switched to the other side. He cupped what he wasn’t tasting, and dragged her hand down to his hardness so she felt exactly what she was doing to him.
He hooked his fingers into her waistband and she offered no resistance as he stripped everything away in one smooth pull. He lifted one of her legs up until her foot braced on the black-cushioned piano bench, opening her to his fingers. The first stroke made her jolt.
“Already,” he murmured, darkly pleased, lifting his finger up to show how they glistened.
“Yes,” she whispered. “For you.”
His hand worked with intent now. Her breathing grew shorter and more desperate.
“Louder,” he said. “No one can hear you but me.”
He pushed his trousers down and kicked them away, freeing himself. He dragged once through her slickness and watched as she shivered. Then he set her on the keys, a discordant chord exploding beneath her.
“Baby,” she breathed, half laugh, half panic. “We’re going to break it.”
“I don’t care,” he said as the instrument protested beneath her.
He widened his stance and drew her closer to the edge of the keys, one hand firm at her lower back as he tilted her toward him and pushed in.
“Look at me,” he ordered. She did, but her lashes dropped drunkenly when he filled her completely. The low whimper of satisfaction she made ignited his blood.
He moved. At first, she clutched him, arms tight behind his neck as he thrust into her, deep and steady. Her grip loosened as the rhythm claimed her, until they dropped to either side of her, striking keys, turning pleasure into a cacophony. Her head fell back, and the sounds he drew from her throat justified the room entirely.
