Текст книги "Tie Me"

Автор книги: Olivia Cunning

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He closed his eyes and swallowed. How could he turn down her offer? It wasn’t that women never propositioned him. They did it all the time—rubbed up against him, shoved their hands down his pants, whispered suggestions into his ear—but he hadn’t been interested. Sara’s memory had given him the strength to say no. Hell, when he was alone with a woman, he found forwardness downright repulsive, but he was alone with Dawn and her words didn’t have the usual effect on him. He wanted her. God, he fucking wanted her.

Promise you’ll never make love to another woman, Kellen. Sara’s words echoed through his head. They were like a slap to the face.

“It’s been five years,” he said.

“You haven’t done anything in five years?”

“I didn’t say I hadn’t done anything. I just haven’t been inside a woman in that long.”

“Oh,” she said.

He could hear the disappointment in her voice. This time he was glad it was dark so he didn’t have to see it on her face.

“What kinds of things have you done?” she asked unexpectedly.

“Alone or with Owen?”

She gasped. “With Owen? Are you gay?”

“I’m not gay, Dawn. A bit confused maybe.” He rubbed at his eyebrow with two fingertips while he gathered his thoughts. “Can I talk to you about something? Something I haven’t even talked to Owen about? Something I need to tell him but am so worried about how he’ll react that every time I try to bring it up, I can’t form the words.”

What was it about the darkness that allowed him to open up? Or maybe it wasn’t the darkness at all. Maybe it was the kindred spirit within the woman beside him that made him feel he could tell Dawn anything.

“I’ll listen,” she said. “I probably won’t say the right thing though.”

He doubted there was a right thing to say. “Soon after Sara died, Owen started going to sex clubs and guilting me into going with him.”

“What’s a sex club? Is it like a whorehouse?”

He smiled and couldn’t resist running a hand along the base of her spine. Oh the naughty things he could introduce her to, Miss Sweet and Vanilla.

“No, you pay for a certain service at a whorehouse and that’s what you get. Sex clubs are where people of certain sexual tastes congregate and hook up.” He turned his face to whisper in her ear, and the tickle of her hair against his nose set off nerve endings that sent waves of pleasure to his groin and triggered alarm bells in his head—alarm bells he chose to ignore. “What are your sexual tastes, Dawn? I can tell you where there’s a club for it.”

“I wouldn’t be comfortable hooking up with some stranger in a club,” she said. The muscles of her back were taut beneath his palm.

No matter how much he enjoyed it, he needed to stop touching her. This thing between them wasn’t going to happen. “I wouldn’t want you to hook up with a stranger,” he said, which was the truth, but he had no business saying that to her. And he really did need to talk about what was going on with Owen. Maybe someone outside their relationship could make sense of it. “So one night while I was waiting for Owen to finish up spanking and screwing some chick he’d just met, I caught the eye of a man named Toshi.”

Dawn shifted beside him, squirming slightly.

“I didn’t have sex with Toshi,” he said.

“It’s none of my business if you did.”

“Do you want me to not talk about this? I can tell it’s making you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, uncomfortable,” she whispered. “We’ll go with that.”

“Toshi is a master in the Japanese art of Shibari.”

“Does that involve swords and disembowelment?”

“No, ropes and release. Toshi spoke of tying knots as if it were a high art form—the way an inspired painter or a poet or a musician talks of his work. I was intrigued. I guess I’m a sucker for an artist. I let him show me a few techniques on one arm. He taught me to tie a couple of knots and then when Owen came to collect me, Toshi told me to keep the rope and if I wanted to learn more, where I could find him.”

“So I guess you found him.”

“I did a lot of research about Shibari on the Internet, even read a few books, but ultimately I did seek him out, because nothing compares to being taught one-on-one by a master.”

“That’s true.”

“He has a studio in San Francisco,” Kellen said. “He binds people with ropes and then he photographs them. For the first year after Sara died, nothing excited me—emotionally or physically. But as I walked through his gallery, admiring his work—flesh against intricate designs in colored rope—I’m not going to lie, I was aroused. The guilt almost made me leave.”

“Why did you feel guilty? It sounds erotic to me. Aren’t we supposed to get excited by things we find erotic?”

He didn’t want to go into that, so he pressed forward in his story. “Yeah, well, I asked Toshi to teach me to be an artist like him, to show me how to tie the ropes into designs that accentuated every line of the human form. He said in order to understand the art form, I first had to be a subject. He told me to strip off my clothes and allow him to bind me.”

Dawn squirmed again. When her hand lightly touched his bare knee, he gasped. He should have skipped this part of the story, he realized too late. That first experience with bondage had been one of the most intense emotional and sexual experiences of his life.

“Did you go through with it?” she asked.

“Yeah. I was scared to death. With each knot Toshi tied, I became more tense, more afraid, more aroused. When he was finished, I was aware of every inch of my body. I was completely helpless. I thought he might force me to have sex—thought I’d be okay with it even though I’d promised Sara. But once he had me bound, he whispered, ‘Now, you are free, my student,’ and then he sat beside me with one hand between my shoulder blades while I fought the rope. Not physically. I couldn’t move if I’d wanted to. But mentally I raged against my restraints for a really long time.”

“What did he mean you are free?”

“I didn’t understand until I stopped fighting against the bonds. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually I gave the ropes control, and then I understood what he meant. By giving up control, I became free.”

“That doesn’t make sense at all,” she said.

“It won’t unless you experience it for yourself.”

“Do you do the rope thing now? What did you call it?”

“Shibari. I haven’t been practicing much recently. For about three years, it was an outlet for me. I enjoyed tying women, but I only did it when Owen was with me. I’m not sure I trusted myself to be alone with a woman. They tend to beg for sex after I tie them, and I wasn’t willing to take it that far. Owen had no problem with that aspect. He’d have sex with them if they wanted it and eventually he started helping with the bondage too.”

“So you and Owen tied women up and then he had sex with them?”

“Not always. We left that decision to the woman.”

“But you didn’t do anything sexual with them?”

He took a deep breath. “I would usually…” He coughed. Wow, was he really going to tell her this? “…perform oral sex on them.”

Her breath caught, and she squirmed again.

“But I never penetrated them, never allowed them to touch my cock in any way. No blow jobs. Nothing.”

“You had to have been miserable.”

“I would have been, but Owen helped me out.” His stomach clenched. What must this woman think of him?

“How?” she asked.

“Hand jobs.”

“Oh, but no sex?”

“Isn’t it all sex?” he said. “That’s why I’m so confused. Sara was gone before I was introduced to Shibari, so somehow I convinced myself that it was okay. She didn’t like oral sex—”

“I like it,” Dawn blurted.

A long silence hung awkwardly between them, and he prayed for a bolt of lightning to light her features so he could see her expression.

“I mean if the guy knows what he’s doing,” she said. “Maybe she didn’t like it because you’re not good at it.”

Kellen chuckled. “Trust me, I’m good at it. She was a bit timid in bed.” Kellen rubbed the back of his neck. “That kind of deep intimacy embarrassed her, so she didn’t want me making out with her pussy for hours on end.”

“Dear lord,” Dawn whispered.

“So I convinced myself that oral sex didn’t go against my oath to her.”

“Thank God.”

Kellen chuckled at Dawn’s little asides. “And though I told her I’d never let a woman touch my cock, I never said anything about a man touching it. So I used Owen to get me off because I felt comfortable enough with him to let him touch me. The thought of any other man anywhere near my cock makes me ill, but Owen is different for some reason, and that’s the part I don’t understand. Why am I okay with him touching me?”

“Do you love him?”

“He’s my best friend.”

“So, yeah, you love him.”

It wasn’t as simple as that. “But not romantically.”

“Are you sexually attracted to him or not?” Neither judgmental nor accusatory, her tone was simply inquisitive.

Kellen tried to sort through the jumbled feelings he had for Owen. He was so glad that Dawn was letting him air his filthy laundry without judgment. He’d needed to talk to someone about this for years. He couldn’t discuss it with Owen when he really didn’t understand what was going on in his head, and he obviously didn’t want the rest of the band to know what went on between him and Owen behind closed doors, so he couldn’t talk to Jacob or Gabe or Adam either. Dawn couldn’t possibly understand how much she was doing for him by just listening and forcing him to face reality.

“I don’t look at him and think, damn, I want to fuck him unconscious. It’s more like, please, will someone touch me there? I can’t stand this anymore. So Owen’s handy. Literally.” Kellen’s stomach sank as realization hit him. “Shit, I’m just using him, aren’t I?” His elbows hit the piano keys as he dropped his face into his hands. “How could I do that to him? He must be as confused about this as I am.”

“Do you look at me and think, damn, I want to fuck her unconscious?” Dawn said.

Kellen’s back stiffened, drawing him away from the keyboard as he thought about the way she looked in that loose, shapeless white dress. How she smelled of honeysuckle and the sea. The sound of her voice and the music she so easily drew from the piano before him. He knew he was in trouble when he imagined how she’d taste—as delicious as her sweet, vanilla French toast—and how her supple flesh would feel beneath his hands. Warm. Soft. Smooth. He could almost feel her writhing beneath him as he claimed her with slow, deep thrusts. His cock throbbed and his balls ached with an unbearable fullness. What he wouldn’t give to be able to bury himself inside her. But he couldn’t.

He took a shaky breath and held it deep in his lungs, willing his lust to dissipate.

Torture. This was fucking torture.

“Yes,” he groaned. “That’s exactly what I think when I look at you.” He clenched both fists and rested them on either knee to keep himself from reaching for her. “But I can’t.”

The storm seemed to grow louder as their conversation lulled. He’d never been more tempted to go back on his promises to Sara. He had to leave this house. His convictions were strong, but his flesh grew weaker each moment he was in Dawn’s company.

“Could you tie me?” she asked quietly.

He tensed and scrambled from the bench, stubbing his toe on the piano leg. Pain shot up his foot and shin, and he welcomed the diversion. She was already a work of art. How beautiful would she look with knots and ropes drawing attention to her graceful lines and soft curves?

Kellen licked his lips and swallowed hard despite the sudden dryness in his mouth.

“I’m going to go,” Kellen said.

Lightning flashed in quick succession. Thunder made the house shudder. The wind howled, slashing the torrential rain against the windows in sheets.

“You can’t go out in that,” Dawn said. So matter of fact. So Dawn.

A gentle ping sounded on the piano as she found the keys in the darkness and began to play his song. Funny how he thought of it as his song. He wished Dawn could be his too.

He pressed the hard ridge of his cock against his thigh with one hand and closed his eyes, completely giving himself to the melody, even if he wasn’t quite ready to give himself over to the woman.

Chapter Six

Dawn tried to get lost in her music. Tried, but failed. She was so aware of Kellen standing in the dark several feet behind her right shoulder that he might as well have been plastered to her back. She wanted to feel that enormous bulge in his shorts pressing into her spine as he stood behind her. She’d give anything for those strong, masculine hands to reach around her to cup her breasts. For his thumbs to rub the unbearable ache from her stiff nipples. She squirmed on the bench, trying to alleviate some of the matching ache in the swollen flesh between her thighs.

Now that she knew the pieces of the entire song, Dawn needed to write it down so she could scan it and fax it to her agent in the morning. Unfortunately, it was too dark to see score paper and if the lights came on, she feared Kellen would find a good excuse to leave. Even if he refused to give in to her lame attempts at seduction, she didn't want him to go. She found his company inspiring. His interactions with his friend Owen seemed a little odd, but the way he described Shibari—which she'd never heard of before—had her squirming on the bench again. She was squirming so often that Kellen probably thought she had to pee. But her urgency was caused by something else entirely.

As she progressed through the music, she reached the second stanza, the one that had taken on the cadence of the ocean. Of sex.

Kellen released a sensual sigh, and it took every shred of willpower she possessed not to tackle him to the ground, straddle him, and show him the rhythm of her body. She'd never been with a musician before. She'd lusted after Pierre and imagined him making love to her—taking her virginity—but nothing had ever come of that infatuation. Not one of her few lovers had possessed the soul of an artist. Was that why she was so uncharacteristically fast around Kellen? Was it the spiritual connection between the musical part of their beings that made her want him at any cost, or was it just because he was so damned easy on the eyes?

No, it had to be more than that. She felt him. Even in the dark, she was under his spell, so it couldn't be only his looks.

So how did she get him to move beyond the dead woman who'd been lucky enough to win his heart? She didn't care if Kellen broke his vow to what’s-her-name; his fidelity ran so deep it was a liability. But she did care if her come-ons hurt him. She didn't want to hurt him. She wanted to get lost in him. She wanted him to show her his rope-tying art and how letting go of her control to him could be freeing. She wanted to know all of him—good and bad, spiritual and physical. She wanted him.

So if she had to squirm around on this bench unfulfilled all night, she'd do it. The worst he could do was leave her here alone.

When she reached the end of the piece, she allowed the last note to ring. This was her best work, she decided. Like the melody that had won the Grammy, this composition rang true, as if the notes had always been inside her and had just been looking for an outlet. Kellen had drawn them from her subconscious. She didn't know if he realized his influence.

"Thanks for helping me with the song," she said quietly.

“Is it finished?”

“Mostly.” A bit of that old anxiety twisted in the pit of her stomach. Maybe it wasn’t as good as she thought it was. “Does it sound incomplete?”

"It's perfect," he said breathlessly.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Perfect. That’s what she’d been going for. "I don't think I could have done it without you. Do you want me to give you credit as cowriter?"

"No," he said. "I didn't do anything but listen."

And apparently that was exactly what she’d needed. His presence had helped. The undeniable sexual attraction she felt for him had reached deep inside her and unleashed a daring and incredibly sensual force within her—one she had never recognized existed, but welcomed.

"Dawn," Kellen whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Do you have any rope? Something soft that won't damage your skin."

The surge of moisture between her legs was accompanied by a soft moan. Was he really going to tie her?

"There's a decorative rope along the banister around the upstairs loft," she said. "It has seashells and little red starfish hanging from it, but they’ll come off easily. Will that work?"

"It will have to."

Dawn stumbled as she rose from the piano bench. "I'll get some candles. You get the rope. My bedroom is at the top of the stairs on the right. I’ll meet you there."

"Not on your bed," he said. "On the piano."

Dawn’s womb clenched and her mouth dropped open. A piano didn't sound like the most comfortable place to be tied up or tied down—she still wasn't positive what tying entailed—but it sounded sexy as hell. She bit her lip and nodded, not sure if he could see the gesture in the dark, but if she spoke, she was certain any words would come out as one long moan of longing. Days spent imagining her piano teacher making love to her on the lid of her daddy’s baby grand hadn’t prepared her for the impact of those three words—on the piano—spoken from Kellen’s lips. Like every woman, she’d lusted after men, but not like this. Not with body and mind. Not to this degree. This was completely new for her, and the strength of it made her quiver in places she didn’t know could move on their own accord.

She bumped into him as she attempted to find the kitchen. He caught—and held—her loosely by both arms. She felt his body heat, but he didn’t drag her against him the way she wished he would. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t grab her ass to crush her mound against his erection. Oh God, why wasn’t he doing any of those things? All of those things?

Oh, please, Kellen.

“Are you sure about this?” he said, close to her ear.

If he hadn’t been holding her arms, she probably would have sunk to the floor.

“Does it hurt?” she heard herself ask. Did she care? Some part of her did, apparently, but the primal part of her that he’d awakened didn’t give a fig if she felt discomfort.

“Not at all,” he said. “Being bound is a physical experience, but it affects most people psychologically as well. Being helpless will probably push you out of your comfort zone. If you’re not sure you want to do this, you need to say so now. If you back out once I get started, I’m not sure I’ll survive. I need to see my work finished. This has become a spiritual ritual for me. It’s… it’s hard to explain. I will stop if you make me, but I’d rather not start if you have reservations.”

She wanted to understand his words by experiencing his spiritual ritual for herself. “I’m sure. I don’t have reservations.”

He drew her against him at long last and gave her a friendly hug. “Thank you,” he whispered.

She melted against him, pressing her palms against his back to draw him closer. She wanted more than a friendly embrace. She wanted some heat. Passion. She sensed it in him. How did she unleash it? She turned her face into his neck and couldn’t resist rubbing her lips against his flesh.

He dropped his arms and pulled away. “I’ll go find that rope,” he said. A brief flash of lightning showed his retreating back and then he was gone again.

Was she really throwing herself so willingly at this guy?

A side table scraped against the floor several feet away. “Damn it,” Kellen cursed. “I’m not sure if my toes are going to make it through the night.”

Yeah, she was totally throwing herself at this guy. She hoped to God that he planned to catch her.

She smiled and turned to shuffle carefully in the direction of the kitchen for those candles. Maybe they’d save Kellen’s toes from utter destruction.

Dawn located several pillar candles and the lighter for the grill and hurried back to the family room. She set the candles on a nearby side table—probably the same one that Kellen’s toe had become acquainted with—and lit all three candles. She placed the nearby lamp on the floor and glanced up at the banister that ran the periphery of the second floor loft. The whimsical rope garland that had charmed her the first time she’d glimpsed it now made her shudder with longing. The candles gave off just enough light for her to see Kellen’s hands freeing the long lengths of blue and tan rope. He was none too gentle with the seashells that had hung from the ropes. Several of them rained down from above.

“Almost got it,” he said after a moment.

She couldn’t see him well, but she imagined he had a perfect view of her standing below the loft, gawking up at him. She was so anxious to get started that a cadence of hurry, hurry, hurry began to sound in her head. Not wanting to appear as desperate as she felt, she grabbed a sheet of score paper and sat at the piano to write down the notes of the now completed composition. Her current favorite because it so reminded her of Kellen and all the things she wished he would do to her. If not tonight, then sometime in the near future.

Using a pencil, she marked the notes quickly, the melody filtering through her head as surely as if she’d been playing it aloud. She’d make the piece look pretty before she sent it off, but she had to get it down. The familiar task calmed her and ate away the time that she’d have spent pacing while she waited for Kellen.

She didn’t realize he was standing behind her until she heard a clink against the floor. She glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her with a look somewhere between fascination and terror.

She tossed her pencil aside and collected the score sheets into a haphazard pile. He seemed to be having second thoughts, but she wasn’t going to let him change his mind. She should have gone up to help him with the rope so he didn’t have time to think of that other woman—Sara.

“Sorry, I interrupted,” he said. “If you need to work, I’ll—”

“No.” She cut him off before he could say leave. She knew that’s what he was going to say, and she wouldn’t let him. “I was just passing the time while I waited for you.”

She stood from the piano bench and leaned over to remove the prop that held the baby grand’s lid open. She carefully lowered the lid and slid her hands over the smooth surface. Her heart was thudding like a jackhammer, but she wasn’t going to chicken out. She always worried about doing the wrong thing, about appearances, about disappointing someone, but tonight she was doing what she wanted to do. For once, she’d forget about the pressures of the outside world and allow this man to set her free by binding her body. She still wasn’t sure what that meant, but she trusted that he was going to show her.

She again turned to him and found him clutching the long coils of rope in front of his crotch. She hoped that meant he was hiding another erection, though he couldn’t possibly be as aroused by her as she was by him.

“Will those ropes work?” she asked, nodding toward his crotch.

“They’re surprisingly soft and supple. Exactly the kind of rope I’d have selected for your first time. It’s almost like…”

“Destiny,” she said.

He smiled and leaned back against the piano for support. “Except I would have chosen a green rope instead of blue, to match the pretty flecks in your hazel eyes.”

He’d noticed her eye color? She loved that he’d been paying that much attention to detail. It meant he was interested. Didn’t it?

“Blue for the ocean,” she said. “Like our song.” She stiffened suddenly. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?”

“The name of our song. Blue. I’ll call it Blue.”

“Doesn’t blue usually mean sad?” he said. “That song is joyous, not blue. It made me feel happier than I’ve felt in five years.”

Her breath caught, and she felt a strange prickling behind her eyes. Her work had touched him that deeply? “It did?”

He nodded.

“What would you call it?” she asked him.

“Dawn.”

“Yes?”

“No, that’s what I’d call it. Dawn.”

She grinned. “Kind of narcissistic to name a song after yourself, isn’t it?”

“But it’s like dawn. A beautiful departure from darkness. The end of the inky night sky. The awakening of light that turns the sky blue again. The beginning of a new day.”

Though her tummy was a jumble of butterflies, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. She knew he wasn’t just saying strings of pretty words to woo her—though they were quite effective in that regard—but that he really felt what he was saying. And she realized he felt that way about her. She was his dawn. The end of his darkness.

Or maybe she was just wishful thinking.

“Take off your dress,” he said.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. So maybe he wasn’t as romantic as she thought.

“I mean, if you’re ready to begin,” he said.

She was. She just had whiplash from the speed at which he changed gears.

Dawn unfastened the wide belt at her waist, letting the strap of leather fall to the floor.

She grabbed the skirt of the loose dress and took a deep breath before tugging the entire garment over her head. She tossed it aside, standing before him in her white lace bra and panties.

The heat of his gaze made her blush, and a powerful shame drew her hands to cover herself as much as possible.

“Don’t hide,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

She didn’t feel beautiful. She felt awkward. She’d always hated that she was so tall, that her hips were too narrow, her breasts too small, her shoulders too wide.

“Beautiful,” he said again. “I’ve never bound a woman as tall and slender as you,” he said.

She stared at her dress on the floor, willing it to rise up from its puddle and cover her again. She was certain he’d much rather use a more feminine form for his bondage sculpture. Why had she agreed to this?

His legs entered her line of sight, and the rope he’d been holding landed in a tangle on the floor. She choked back a sob when his hand cupped her shoulder and then slowly slid down the length of her arm. She was sorry she was a disappointment. That she wasn’t an ideal specimen for his art. That she wasn’t pretty enough. Wasn’t perfect.

“Can I see your back?” he asked.

She spun around. Annoyed with him. Annoyed with herself. His fingertips traced eight slow paths down her back.

“Your lines are amazing,” he said.

Yeah, her flat as a board, straight as a stick lines.

“So graceful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more perfect body for this.”

Her brow furrowed. Perfect? But didn’t he prefer curves? “Do you think so?” She lowered her hands and looked down at her too white belly and those stupid freckles that decorated her chest.

“Can I start? I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

She nodded, feeling almost proud of her body. How weird was that?

“Just take off your bra and panties and sit up here on the piano for me?”

Whoa. Too fast. “I’d rather leave them on,” she said.

His fingertip traced the top elastic of her panties along her lower back. “I guess I can work them into the design,” he said. “If you’re more comfortable with that.”

She nodded and was surprised when he moved to the side table and blew out all three of the candles.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to do this by feel.”

“By feel?” she squeaked.

“I don’t want to get distracted by your beauty.”

She chuckled. “Okay. That was just cheesy.”

“Just stating facts.”

“You already have me in my underwear and willing to be tied and at your mercy. You can lay off the pick-up lines.”

She felt him move to stand just behind her. His palms slid over her rib cage and down her quivering belly toward her small scrap of lace modesty.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said. “It’s probably a good idea to leave them on. Your exposed pussy would be far too tempting to resist.”

He cupped her mound and gently squeezed. Her breath stalled as she involuntarily arched against his palm.

“I can feel your heat,” he whispered into her ear. “This doesn’t have to be a sexual experience, you know.”

With Kellen in charge, yes, it did.

“I can’t help it,” she said. “Just being in the same room as you turns me on. How do you expect me to react when you touch me in the dark?”

“Just as long as you realize I’m not going to make love to you. Not because I don’t want to or because you aren’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever touched, but because I made a promise I’ll never break.”

Dawn scowled. That fucking dead girl again.

“If you want, I will make you come, though,” he whispered. “Give you more orgasms than you can stand.”

So maybe his inability to break a promise wasn’t really a burden after all.

“Do you want that, Dawn? Do you want to come?”

“Y-y-yes.”

His hand slipped into her panties. When his middle finger slipped over her fully engorged clit, her legs buckled. He drew her back against him until his hard cock was prodding her in the ass. She squirmed against him, wanting that big thick shaft buried deep inside her already.

He bit her ear and eased her around the piano until she faced the keyboard.

“Play my song while I make you come for the first time,” he demanded quietly.

As if she could argue with that request.

She fumbled with the keys and didn’t start at the beginning. She started with the second stanza. The one that rose and fell like the waves, like a lover possessing what was hot and achy and swollen and wet just for him.

Kellen stroked her clit with the cadence of the song, rocking slightly against her with each soft and sensual caress. He wasn’t rubbing her to get her off—he was increasing her need to a feverish level. When she reached the final crescendo, he sent her flying. Song forgotten, she clung to the keyboard and cried out with release as her pussy clenched hard on the emptiness between her legs.

Needing more, much more, Dawn bent forward so that the stiff cock that had been scarcely rubbing against her ass was lodged firmly in her cleft. The only thing separating his hard flesh from her slick heat was a pair of lace panties and a thin pair of boxer shorts.

He jerked his hand out of her panties and stepped back, sending the piano bench tumbling backward with a crash.

In the silence that followed, she was only aware of her ragged breathing and his. The intense pleasure began to recede as she slowly regained her bearings. Her release had been fantastic, but hardly satisfying. She wanted more of him. All of him. Inside her.