She swallows hard when she opens the folder and sees the sheet music inside. Then her expression twists with disbelief. “Is this some kind of cruel joke?”
“I need to win the duo category in Rome in September. I can’t find a good match. My dad suggested you, so here I am.”
“I don’t play anymore, remember.”
I scoff. “Don’t lie to me, princess. I saw the digital piano through your window.”
Her fingers tighten around the sheet music, crumbling it slightly. “I only ever play at home. You never told me I couldn’t do that.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. Which is a good thing. Otherwise, you’d be useless to me. You might still be, but Dad will be the judge of that.”
She stares down at the sheet music and heaves a heavy sigh, undoubtedly imagining playing the music. It’s one of her favorite pieces. Smetana’s “Die Moldau” transcribed for piano, four hands. Jenna has always wanted to play it. As much as I ignored her when we were in school together, I would often stay close and listen in on her conversations with her friends, knowing she was my biggest competition.Keep your enemies closeand all that.
“Why would I do this for you? Are you gonna blackmail me again? You know, if you post that video, you’re distributing child pornography. I was sixteen.”
I trail my eyes demonstratively down her uniform. “I don’t think I have to. You’re desperate. You have nothing to live for. Nothing to lose.”
Hurt fills her eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”
I shrug. “Am I wrong?”
“I have a plan,” she says, her jaw hardening.
“Yeah? Does that plan involve playing again?”
She doesn’t answer, so I cut to the chase, offering her the only shot she’ll ever get at returning to the path of fulfilling her lifelong dream of becoming a concert pianist.
“Think about it, but don’t take too long. You have two weeks to learn the first three pages. There’s a date, time, and address at the back of the first page. Be there on time and convince my dad that you can do this, and he’ll spend the next eight months teaching you intensively. He’ll even cover all the costs of the competition.”
Her rosy lips part slightly, glittering from the gloss she has applied. At that moment, she looks exactly like that sixteen-year-old girl who stood in my music room, thinking the boy she had crushed on for years wanted her, having no idea about the perverted things I was about to do to her.
My cock stirs. As much as I’ve been thinking about her and replaying that night in my head—rewatching the video until I turned eighteen—I thought it was just because she was my first kinky experience. But as I watch her now, I’m gripped by a sudden urge to throw her over the table, rip her clothes off, and give her the same degrading treatment I did that night.
“Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the time.” She drops the sheet music onto the table. “I have work.”
“Call in sick.”
She gives a repeated shake of her head. “I need the money.”
“That’s not my problem.” I grab my bag and get up, closing the distance between us. As I’m about to pass her, I lean down and say in a low voice, “Tell me, sweet Jenna, how many times have you fantasized about that night? How many times have you come to the thought of me stuffing that plug inside your ass?”
She pulls away with a jerk. “Never.”
I grab her jaw and deepen my voice. “Tell me the truth.”
Her jaw hardens as she stares up at me. She doesn’t reply, and she doesn’t have to. The answer is bright and clear in the shame that washes over her face.
I smile and tap her cheek. “That’s what I thought.”
Then I walk away with an aching hard-on and a new and better plan brewing in my mind.
Jenna won’t just be my piano partner. She’ll bemine.
3
The Decision
Jenna
