“Please, Emeric.” She bends her neck to see me, her eyes half-mast and clouded in a fog of agony and pleasure.
Her pleading look and the hungry rush of her breaths jolts a primal current through me. I love fucking her, but nothing compares to this moment as she begs with a hooded expression, her fingers curling against the shackles, and her arousal leaking down her thighs.
I grip the rope at her back and tighten the harness over her nipples, stimulating her until she releases a husky moan. Then I flog her again, harder, faster, relishing the bond in our eye contact.
She’s mine, and her gaze tells me she knows this, her body trembling for me to take her and push her. To punish her so painfully she cries only for me, knowing I’ll keep her safe from anyone who wishes to harm her.
When the tears finally come, she slumps over the keyboard and drops her head on the piano lid. Her skin flushes and shudders, her hips rolling with mindless need. She’s so fucking captivating I drop the belt, unable to slow my urgent frenzy to remove my jeans.
I wrestle the denim down my legs and off my feet. Then I launch at her, dipping fingers inside her tight wet cunt and spreading her open. She moans and grinds against my hand, making me so goddamn hard I don’t have the patience to slow this down.
I fist my cock with shaking fingers, line up our bodies, and bury myself in one, long thrust. We groan in concert, our hips crashing together and deepening the connection. Christ, she feels so fucking good. I drive harder, sinking and retreating, obsessed and enthralled with the snug clasp of her *.
Sliding my hands over her arms, I hook my thumbs beneath the shackles and lace our fingers together. She clutches at my grip and clamps down around my cock, her breaths a musical motif of desire.
Her reactions, her emotions, every movement she makes belongs to me. Entirely under my command to bend at my will. She possesses me, as well, in all the same ways. I’m hers.
Leaning over her back, I show her through the twitching heat of my body that she owns me. As I pound inside her, lost in her warmth, she rests her cheek on the piano and gasps with her eyes closed. Her soft mouth, the feel of her body against mine, and the bliss of her clenching muscles around me propel me toward release.
“We’re going to come, Ivory.” I kick my hips and tighten my fingers around hers as the pressure in my cock builds, threatening to burst. “Now.”
With her mind and body under my charge, she leaps off the cliff with me, moaning and panting as we plunge together into an exploding, body-trembling harmony of pleasure.
I slide my lips over her spine, coating her skin with the heave of my breaths. She’s so sensitive, shivering against my touch. Fuck, I love that, almost as much as the way she strains in the restraints to arch into the brush of my mouth. I stay there, holding her in sated relief, mesmerized by the lyrical language of our heartbeats.
Eventually, we pull ourselves from the state of exhausted bliss. After I untie her, we eat breakfast and return to bed in an entwined knot of limbs. There, I make love to her without fight or urgency. My hips rock lazily between her thighs, her ankles cross at my back, and my mind revels in the erogenous sensation of tenderness. I can fuck her gently or violently, missionary or upside down. Doesn’t matter as long as I’m inside her, with her, connected to her on every level.
Too soon, the sun slants through the window and dips behind the horizon. I don’t want to leave the cocoon of her body, but it’s time to get ready.
Showered, shaved, and groomed, I stand at the dresser in my tux, fucking with the bow tie around my neck. The sound of her footsteps exiting the closet brings my head around.
The first glimpse stops my heart. As I absorb the view, my pulse restarts, ticking higher, faster, and striking the chime of complete and utter adoration.
Ushered in ivory lace, the Louis Vuitton gown sheathes her knockout figure from the bateau neckline to the crystal pumps on her feet. I bought the dress after the first time I heard her play, knowing without a doubt she would wear it for tonight’s performance in a sold-out theater.
“Turn—” My voice cracks. I cough behind my fist. “Turn around.”
A coy smile lifts her lips as she pivots. Her long dark hair wraps in an elegantly messy knot on the back of her head, with wayward tendrils trailing down her neck. Slim ivory straps loop around her shoulders, leaving the expanse of her back on gorgeous display.
Black curlicues of ink draw a graceful, meandering vine from her waist to her nape, swirling flourishes over her spine and around her shoulder blades. She’s so damn arresting, my chest burns with the reminder to breathe.
Crossing the room until I’m right up on her, I brush my lips along her shoulder. “So beautiful I’m shaking.”
I let her feel the tremors in my fingers as I trace the delicate artwork on her spine.
She hums softly, her head tipping. “The tat was my first arrangement.”