“You were a girl when you wanted him,” he said, lowering his hand to cup one of her small, firm breasts. “You’re very much a woman now. So, no, I’m not jealous of Pierre.” Much.
Her fingers began to move on the keys again. He caught the rhythm—a stranger’s rhythm—and gently massaged her nipple to keep time. After a moment she jerked her hands from the keyboard and released a shuddering sigh. “You shouldn’t do that while I play my set list,” she said. “If I start to equate Chopin with your touch, I’ll end up embarrassing myself with a rather large puddle on my bench.”
He chuckled softly, still tormenting the hardened peak at the tip of her breast. “Then maybe you should play something sexier. Something of yours.”
“I need to practice,” she said, but he didn’t think she was saying it to him.
Her hands shifted down the keyboard to a lower register. From the first note of “Blue.” he felt her. Not only the soft breast in his hand or her back brushing against his rapidly rising cock when she moved, but the embodiment of her soul rising up and reaching out from her composition. It tangled around him like an invisible rope, binding him to her in a connection he knew he’d never escape. He never wanted to escape. His hand circled her long throat, fingertips finding the rapid pulse. Could this song possibly affect her as intensely as it affected him? He was torn between the unmistakable need to possess her body, to forge a deep physical connection between them, and his unquenchable thirst to hear this melody.
Maybe there was a way he could have both.
Tugging upward on her throat and breast, he urged her to stand. He shoved the bench aside with his leg and shifted his hand from her breast to her skirt. The song sounded different without her feet operating the pedals, but it was close enough. He could still hear its usual perfection in his head. When he sank into her hot, soft center, they both gasped. She fumbled over a few notes, but soon found enough focus to continue playing.
He was lost in her—her body, her music, her heat. Still holding her neck with one hand, his other found her clit and he played her just as fiercely as she pounded out the rising crescendo of “Blue.” Higher they moved together. Higher and higher. Until the final note rang out and they touched the stars.
Chapter Twelve
Dawn squeezed her eyes shut against the glare of the intrusive sun. Tucked along Kellen’s side, her back squished into the back of the sofa, she was too comfortable, too content, too fulfilled to want her day to begin just yet. Even her sudden urge to work on the new melody tugging at her subconscious wasn’t enough motivation to move from her current perfect, close-to-Kellen position.
Kellen’s deep and even breathing grew slightly more rapid and shallow. He covered his eyes with one hand and turned his face toward her.
“Don’t move,” she murmured. “I just want to lie here like this all day.”
“Can I move enough to kiss you good morning?”
The sleepy rasp of his voice played along her spine, making her shiver with delight.
“Maybe in an hour or two,” she whispered.
Her time with him was magic. She wasn’t ready for his spell to be broken just yet. Yet when his toe brushed the instep of her foot, she started to think maybe a little movement would be even more delightful.
“Did you know you hum in your sleep?” Kellen asked.
She’d been told that a time or two. “Only when I’m particularly inspired,” she said.
“Is my dick inspiring you again?”
She laughed, enjoying the new happiness spell he cast over her almost as much as she’d loved his previous contentment spell. “Your dick is incredibly inspirational.”
He took her hand and wrapped her fingers around her rapidly hardening muse. “How about a little morning inspiration?” he murmured before nibbling on a sensitive spot just beneath her ear.
Her toes curled, sending a spark of pain up her ankle and calf where the jellyfish had stung her, but that was easy enough to ignore.
“Not sure if I’m ready for inspiration quite yet,” she said, shifting so she could press her mouth—her hidden grin—into his throat.
“That’s unfortunate. I’m really in the mood to inspire this morning.”
“Perhaps that talented mouth of yours could put me in the mood.”
“It’s worth a shot,” he said, slipping from the sofa and spreading her thighs. She slid her fingers into his long, silky hair and held on tight as he licked and sucked her pussy until she was begging for her muse.
By the time they headed up for a shower, she’d been so thoroughly inspired that she had trouble climbing the stairs on her wobbly legs. She soon learned that while she hummed in her sleep, Kellen sang in the shower. He even pulled her back against his front and used her arm as a fret board and strummed her belly like a guitar until she was laughing so hard from his ticklish serenade, she had to cling to his thigh to remain standing.
“I can’t remember the last time I was this happy,” he said as he dried himself. She stood there in her towel, watching, her mouth hanging open. The only finer eye candy than wet, shirtless Kellen Jamison was wet, entirely naked Kellen Jamison. No sea god could be any more enticing than he was.
She sucked the drool back into her mouth and said, “Me neither.” And she meant that. Being with him had her giddy with happiness.
“How about you practice your set list while I make breakfast?” he offered.
That sounded spectacular, but she said, “I figured you’d want French toast.”
“I’ve watched you make it enough times now. I think I’ve got the gist of it.”
“You realize that’s my grandmother’s secret recipe and you can’t be allowed to escape with that knowledge.”
His smile made her heart flutter. “I’m not planning to escape. Not ever.”
Her breath caught, and she struggled to find words, to tell him that she wanted to be with him too, but he dropped his towel on the edge of the tub, leaving every inch of himself as a feast for her eyes, and she forgot how to speak. She remembered how to walk, though, and she followed his perfect naked ass into the bedroom.
He lifted a pair of boxers out of his open overnight bag and caught her gaping. “You, Miss O’Reilly, have a staring problem.”
“No problem from my perspective,” she said, waggling her brows and grinning.
She somehow found clothes and allowed him to get dressed as well. Downstairs, she righted her piano bench, thoughts of their pre-dawn romp making her crave more inspiration. Dear lord, how could she be horny again? Oh yes, naked Kellen would cause that condition. Newly inspired, she sat down to play through her set list again.
“I think you’re going to have to settle for eggs, no toast,” he called to her from the kitchen area of the large open room. “Every bit of this bread is culturing an antibiotic.”
She’d forgotten she was going to make fresh bread, probably because she wasn’t stressed enough to have the urge to bake.
“That’s fine.”
“There’s a bit of bacon left too, but not much else.”