“What was that piece you were playing the other night when Dad was out?”
It takes a moment for my brain to crank back into gear and realize what he’s talking about.My own piece.“Oh, that. Nothing.”
“What was it?” he insists.
“I was just playing around.” The need to protect myself surfaces, and I steady my legs against the floor and straighten my head.
“No, you weren’t. I’ve heard you playing it before.” Reaching over me, he plays a piece of the melody.
My cheeks heat at the sound of the melody I created. When playing it myself, I like it, but hearing Killian play it, it feels stupid. I know he won’t care for it. I can’t believe he’s heard it. Ithought I was careful, making sure no one was near whenever I played it.
“What is it?” he repeats, uncompromising as ever.
“Nothing. I was just playing around a little,” I repeat, refusing to say more.
Grabbing my face between his long fingers, he turns my head toward him. “You came up with that yourself?” His eyes are sharp with something that I think is mockery as he scans my face.
More embarrassment washes over me. I try to look away, but he won’t let me, so I turn the emotion into anger—just like he always seems to do. “It was just a silly little thing I came up with, okay? Nothing worth talking about.”
“I want to hear it.”
“No,” I say sharply.
“It’s not a question.”
“It’s private. I’m not playing it for you.”
“Silly little girl. You really think you have the right to keep it from me? Have you already forgotten? You’re mine.” Jerking his hips, he jostles me against the wooden dildo.
The desire that had settled into a bearable hum spikes with a vengeance. Suddenly, I’m feeling hot and flustered all over again, a thrumming desire coalescing deep in my belly.
Tightening his thighs around me, he starts rocking and reaches down between my legs. When I try to squeeze my thighs shut, he gives me a stern warning that instantly has my legs softening again.
“You’re mine, Jenna.” With the sheer force of his magnetic gaze, he forces the message into me. It hits straight into that empty place that craves to belong—and not just anywhere. To him and his dad.
“You don’t get to hide. Not anything. Your body is mine”—he rubs my clit, making me buck with wild bursts of sensation—“your mind is mine”—he gives my head a shake, then leans dangerously close—“and your goddamn music is mine. So stopstalling and play the piece.”
“No, Killian,” I gasp, overcome by the enormity of it all—the pleasure once again rolling through my body like I haven’t already come, the whir of emotion building by the second.
“Yes, Jenna. Play, or you won’t get to come.” With an abrupt motion, he pulls his hand from my clit, leaving me reeling right at the edge.
“Play,” he demands with that sharp tone that spears straight into my submissive instincts.
I draw a shuddery breath. Then I lift my hands to the piano and reveal my music to him—a secret much more intimate and vulnerable than my deepest darkest deficiencies. It’s terrifying, yet also freeing, like finally opening up and letting him have the real me. I desperately hope he will receive it with care, because I don’t think I can bear it if he tears this apart.
47
The Piano Piece
Killian
Jenna’s music is hypnotizing. I can’t believe she wrote that. Once again, I’ve committed the crime of underestimating her—severely.
The first time I overheard this piece, coming home early, I halted in my tracks, wanting to hear more. The second time, I lingered as well, for almost twenty minutes. But hearing it now, without barriers, the sound flowing freely into the room and resonating with the emotion she imbues it with, is like nothing I’ve ever heard.
It’s a sweet melody. Beautiful in all its simplicity. But beneath it, a subtle web of intricate harmonies and rhythms unfurls, breathing life and longing and so much depth into what appears to be a straightforward piece of music at first sound.
There’s no mistaking that this is Jenna. It presents her sweet, innocent nature to the untrained listener, but anyone who looks deeper will find a whole other world full of hurt, longing, and so much life that begs to be unleashed—like the wings of a butterfly that have been trapped in a cocoon for too long.
