My cheeks heat at the memory. My whole damn body heats. Killian hasn’t touched me sexually since that night when we were alone, only kissing and caressing me, not even insinuating anything sexual. I haven’t been able to think sexual thoughts about him either, too afraid of where my mind would take me. But it’s notthatnight I’m thinking about right now. I can’t even bring my mind there. All I can think about is that bench—the wooden phallus rooting me to the spot, Killian’s body all around me, playing my piece. Together.
“What piece?” Ian repeats, and when I can’t take my attention off Killian’s suggestive smirk, Ian rounds the table and grabs my chin. “What piece?” he demands, fixing me with a sharp stare.
“Oh God,” I whisper, my mind suddenly swimming, my body softening into the seat, opening up to their dominance. “It’s just…” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “This piece that I wrote.”
“She wrote a piece?” Ian asks Killian.
“She did. It’s a winner. Beautiful and well-composed. I’ll add these Liszt-like figures to make it a duet and we’ll take home the trophy.”
Ian fixes me with his stare again. “Why didn’t I know you wrote a piece?”
“Um, I’m sorry. I—” I can barely find the words anymore, my brain already shutting off, sinking into a daze. “I was embarrassed, I guess.”
Ian considers for a moment, then tells Killian, “I think this calls for a punishment.”
My breath catches. It’s not just Killian who has held back. Ian has been careful with me too, like he was all those months ago after I panicked on the piano bench. Unlike that time, I’ve needed it lately. But suddenly, the need for more flares alive with a vengeance.
“I agree,” Killian says. “We should punish her.”
“What?” I gasp. But Ian is not looking at me anymore. Neither of them watches me as they start discussing my punishment.
“Do you think she’s ready for the cane?” Ian asks.
“Nah. Too harsh.”
“You’re right. No pain.”
“How about the bench?”
“Orgasm denial?”
“Or forced orgasms.”
“Is it still upstairs?”
“Sure is.”
Stuck in Ian’s grip, I try to look back and forth between them. I try to say something—to protest—but I’m too overcome by the sudden whirl of their power. It’s all around me, figuratively and literally. It shuts down my brain, and it’s only when Ian releases me that I manage a few words.
“What are you—” I squeal, but my words are cut off when they each grab one of my arms and lift me off the chair. “Oh God,” I gasp as they steer me through the living room like a prisoner. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”
“There’s no God here,” Killian admonishes.
“Killian,” I gasp instead, my feet shuffling, struggling to keep up with their long strides. I almost trip several times when they steer me up the stairs, but their grips are firm, refusing to let me fall, refusing to let me stall.
When they finally push me inside the music room, releasing me, I feel like I’ve been spinning on a wild carousel for several minutes. I just stand here, baffled, while Ian moves things around and Killian goes to grab various items that he lays on the piano, out of my sight.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a breathy voice when Ian bends me over his thigh and flips up my dress.
Killian comes up behind me, cuts my panties, and spreads my ass cheeks. It all happens so fast I can barely process. Next, cold lube is dripping onto my narrow opening and Killian is pushing two latex-covered fingers inside.
Pleasure sparks, hot and livid, a need so strong it knocks the air from my lungs. Small, choked sounds stutter in my throat as Killian works his fingers in and out, twisting and turning, setting fire to all those nerve-endings that haven’t been touched for weeks.
“Please,” I finally manage.
“Please what?” Ian demands, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck, pinning me further.
“Please… more. I need to come.”
