Gaia
Itook a deep breath, closing my eyes. My hands hovered over the piano keys, feeling the song in my soul before I played it. My shoulders were squared but relaxed, my feet firmly on the floor. I remembered the first time I ever played. I’d been just a child then, and music became my escape, my comfort. The one thing that was entirely mine. When I played, it was not for the world, but for me. I poured all of my pain into those keys along with the anger, the disappointment, and the need.
I’d been at the top of my class in school and earned a place at Julliard, where I later graduated from. Those years away from home were terrific, but there was always one thing at the back of mind: Gabriel. So, when I was offered a permanent teaching position, I declined knowing I needed to be close to Gabriel.
I had taught my students one thing: That the moment they sat in front of those keys was theirs, it was their very own superpower. They could be invincible, be anything they wanted to be.
I touched my fingers to the keys, but as I played today, I did not see the same picture I always visualized, me alone on a stage, lights overhead. With every new chord, as the melody built before me, I realized that this time, I was playing for Arthur. He wasn’t in the room, but I could imagine his eyes fixed on me, as if we were the only two people in the world. I played All I Ask of You from Phantom of the Opera,one of my favorite pieces, which somehow held new meaning.
“That’s beautiful,” He said, and I turned around smiling.
“I didn’t know you were there.”
He sat on the bench beside me, looking out at the lake. “My mother used to play,” he told me. “It is one of my earliest memories of her. She’d play, and I’d sit beside her on the bench listening to what I believed then to be the music of angels.”
I looked at his profile, a small smile tugging at his lips at the memory.
“She always wanted me to play, and I did for a while, not enough to show off. My father never approved. It wasn’t a Calthorpe thing. We were gunslingers, not musicians.” He laughed and turned to me, bending to place a kiss on my lips.
“Play for me, Gaia.” He said, and I did as he closed his eyes and listened.
When the song ended, I climbed into his lap. I loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt, and pressed my lips to his. He picked me up and placed me on the closed piano top. He hitched up my dress and buried his face between my legs, his tongue torturing me until I moaned my release, gripping my hands through hair.
After, he pulled me on his lap and kissed me, my back pressing against the piano.
“I have to be somewhere, principessa.”
I nodded and kissed his lips once more, suddenly realizing that I never wanted to leave him. Not today or any day. I wanted to look into those sad eyes and see the flicker of something akin to peace when he looked at me. I wanted to know him, all of him, and I didn’t care what that meant. This was a life I grew up in, but for the first time in my life, I felt safe. Here in the arms of a man that was known for his brutality. This was what it was like to give in to the dark.
Arthur never forced it on me, I walked into this willingly. I smiled as I watched him straighten up.
* * *
He was quiet at dinner, and I felt that something was wrong. I walked over to the old LP player, put on some music, and walked over to him, holding a hand out.
“I don’t dance, little bird.”
“Neither do I.”
He set aside his napkin and stood. I loved the way he looked at me with a hint of fascination and frustration. I also loved the way he grabbed my waist and pulled me close to him. His eyes never left mine as we swayed in time to Frank Sinatra’s Fly me to the Moon, one of my favorites. Gabe always said I was an old soul. I liked old music and old movies. Looking up at Arthur, I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
I blushed. “Just thinking about my fascination with old things.”
He tried to hold back a laugh, but he couldn’t. It was a beautiful sound, and it warmed me up inside. He spun me around, his nose buried in the space between my neck and shoulder.
“I’ve shown you old before, but I guess you need another lesson.”
He laughed then flung plates, cutlery, and food off the table and pushed me onto it. “Arthur, not here, anyone could come in.”
My stomach was pressed to the table, excitement coursing through my veins. I wanted him. Here. Now. He lifted my dress and pulled down my thong.
“This pretty ass needs to learn a lesson.”
The first smack is always the hardest with him, and then he builds a rhythm, making sure my pussy feels the pressure too. He kissed my ass cheeks and opened my legs wide, the coolness in the room, sending shivers to my core. I heard a zipper and started to wiggle. He pushed into me slowly, letting me adjust to him. He gripped my hips and pulled me closer to him, sinking deeper into me.
He wrapped my loose hair around his hands and tugged my head gently back. It hurt but not as much as I thought it would. It thrilled me more than pained me. He was out of control as he fucked me harder than ever before, pulling on my hair until my first orgasm tore through me. He let go of my hair, yet he continued to pound into me. He was angry, I could feel it in every thrust. He gripped my boobs, pulling me upward, squeezing them hard in his hands. I arched my back but stood upright.
“Who do you belong to, Gaia?”
His movements were erratic to the point that it hurt. “Say my fucking name.”
“Arthur!” I called out.
As he found his release, he thrust even harder into me. I turned, and his eyes were on fire. He rubbed his hands down his face and walked away.
“Stay.” It was a command, and I obeyed. I knew he was battling with himself over something. I just didn’t know what.
