I hear the smile in her voice and shrug off my jacket, draping it over her shoulders.
She burrows into the wool, keeping her steps in pace with mine. “When I sat behind that piano, I imagined what it would be like learning from an instructor, a mentor, who isn’t you. Then I played the song that fit me instead of the requirements. A song that expresses passion and voice, something I’ve never felt through the textbook pieces. The judges didn’t approve, and that’s when I knew.” She stops and blinks up at me. “If I enrolled here, I would be forced to conform under the instruction of someone who doesn’t know me while practicing music that doesn’t touch me.”
Tendrils of warmth spread through my chest, but I wonder if she’s considered all the ramifications. “You won’t receive a degree under my tutelage. If you’re still aiming for that seat in the symphony, you won’t have the pedigree and prestige to put you there.”
She shrugs. “A symphony, a theater, a stadium…the where isn’t important. I want the lights, the audience, and the music. I guess I have a lot to figure out, and if it turns out that the degree is necessary, I’ll get it.” She holds up the business card and smiles.
“That’s why you played Islamey.”
“Backup plans are good to have. You never know. My current instructor might set his eyes on another student.” She smirks. “High school teachers have a way of falling fast and ignorantly in love.”
My hand flexes, burning to slam against her ass. “You amaze me.”
She grins. “I try.”
As we meander into the next building, I give her a proper tour. Her interest in the campus focuses on where I spent my time rather than how the facilities would help her if she ever changed her mind. She seems well and truly at peace with her decision.
Since it’s the weekend, the halls are dark and vacant. Still, we maintain a professional distance, walking side by side as I point out my favorite stomping grounds and share memories about the people I hung out with.
“I don’t get it.” She follows me into a dead-end hallway. “I’ve known you for eight months, and I’ve only ever heard you play old-guy rock on the piano.”
“Old-guy rock?”
“Guns N’ Roses, Megadeth, AC/DC… I mean, that’s your jam, so how did you handle the classical training here if you’re not into it?”
“I was just about to show you.”
At the end of the empty hall, I wiggle the handle on the last door. It opens, and I herd her inside, shutting and locking it behind me.
My hand hits the light switch in reflexive memory, and the overhead fluorescent buzzes to life.
The spartan, soundproofed practice room is big enough to hold the upright piano and two people. She glances around and gives me a confused look.
I lean against the upright. “I spent every day in here, practicing the songs I enjoyed without the rigid instruction of my mentors. I sat right there with my headphones on and my playlist on repeat. This is where I fell in love with metal on the piano.”
She runs a hand along the covered keyboard, inching toward me. “Every day? On this piano?”
“Yes.”
Slipping off the jacket, she drapes it over the bench. “Alone?”
“Of course.”
She stops just out of arm’s reach. “Did you ever bring a girl in here?”
“Just one.” My cock twitches. “Her panties are in danger of being ripped off.”
“I’m not wearing panties.”
Fuck, I’m hard. How did I miss her bare * when she was straddling me in the limo?
I glance at the door and remember I locked it.
A wicked grin twists her lips. “Did you jack off in here?”
I cough through a laugh.
She steps in front of me and grips my tie. “You did.”
I totally did.
She glances down at the piano, nibbling on her smile. “I bet you squirted on the keys. I wonder if there’s still—”
“You want to see my come?” I grip her wrist and hold her palm against my erection, desperate for relief. “You can watch it drip out of your cunt.”
My other hand goes to her hair, tangling in the thick strands as I pull her mouth to mine.
The kiss slips past gentle and plunges straight into hard, aggressive strokes. Her fingers squeeze me through the slacks, spurring my hips into motion, rocking against her hand as my tongue lashes and licks in her mouth. I bite down hard on her bottom lip and holy fucking hell, her nails dig into my balls.
I spin her toward the carpeted wall, chest to chest, and pin her arms above her head. She gazes up at me, her lips pouty, sensual, and swollen with lust. It’s that sexy-as-hell look she always gives me after I’ve kissed her into a daze. The kind of kiss that makes her entire body heavy and limp with desire.
Grinding my cock against her *, I trail my tongue along her neck. “Remember the first time we were in this position?”
She arches her neck for my mouth. “In the hall on the first day of school. Not quite the same position.”
“I wanted to restrain you just like this and bite your smart mouth.” I sink my teeth into her bottom lip, mercilessly, and release her.
Her breaths quicken. “You scared the shit out of me that day.”