Текст книги "Push"

Автор книги: Olivia R. Keane

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

He released her hair, massaging her prickling scalp before he even realized he was doing it. Declan rested his weight on his forearm between her shoulder blades, feeling relief and regret at the same time. Relief from the unquenchable fire of lust, yet regret that it was over so soon.

Charlotte’s orgasm as a result of the flogging was intense and she panted almost as heavily as he did.

I love this woman. More than life itself.

Declan needed to release her from her bindings immediately. It was as though it was an emergency. He focused all his energy on it. He wanted to see Charlotte’s face. He needed to feel her tender, warm lips on his and her arms reaching around his neck. He wanted her soft breasts pressing against his chest.

He wanted to hold this precious gift in his arms and let her know how much her submission meant to him. How much she meant to him.

Chapter Thirteen

“How I love hurting you, Charlotte.”

His words had hissed past his lips, infecting her like a toxin. Immediately her mind had begun reeling. She had become overwhelmed with emotion when he had told her his decision.

“You know how much I love your hair. How dare you cut it without my permission.”

“But, Sir, I only had her take off three inches.”

“Three or thirty … It doesn’t matter. You defied my wishes.”

Charlie had fought back tears and she knew Sir knew she was fighting them back. Her hair had been part of who she was since she was just a little girl, and he was going to remove it, painfully shedding her from how she saw herself, who she was.

The snapping of the scissors had echoed through her ears. The chill upon her bare neck had evoked a near crippling sense of loss. She had known it pleased him. Still, cutting it short was not enough. Not for him.

“You know I am not finished just yet. No, I am going to shave you. I am going to expose your scalp. I want my toy bald. I want your head to be as naked as the rest of you.”

She had cried immediately when he pressed the steel against her head. Charlie had fought the emotional submission, but the vibrations, the desecration of her last mask broke the dam, leaving her a sobbing, uncontrolled mess.

“Shh. I know it hurts, but it’s a gift to you really. In time you will see this punishment as freeing, and you’ll thank me for it.”

***

Charlie woke to a sadness so full and terrible and pressing she could hardly breathe. She found everything polluted with the specters of the past. It was a weight on her chest, suffocating her tightly in its grip.

“What is it, Charlotte? What’s the matter?” Declan bolted up from sleeping as if the nightmare had reached inside his mind from hers.

“A dream,” she managed. “A dream about the past.” It was not until she heard herself speak the words that she started to cry.

Charlie tried to gain control of herself, to rein in the terror, to push it back to the place she kept it locked away, hidden. But the dream stayed, the past no longer far enough away. She grasped her hair still woven in a braid. Just a dream, she thought. Nothing more.

There was no hiding from Declan. He saw everything. Declan knew her thoughts, her fantasies and apparently even what terrified her.

“Charlotte, you need to let me in.” He shifted so he sat in front of her on the bed.

Charlie wondered if he would punish her for not being forthcoming with all the details of her past. Of course, it didn’t matter before. Before Griffin had existed only in the recesses of her mind. But now, now that she’d seen him again, it mattered more than she wanted it to.

Declan’s gaze narrowed as he continued to study her. “What the hell is going through your head right now? Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

Charlie pursed her lips, doing her best to keep the word “nothing” prisoner. It would be futile to deny that things weren’t bothering her. It would be pointless to deny him. When he wanted something, he got it. She was proof of that, and this quest would be no different. He’d given her time. And now she had to give him what he wanted, full access to everything about her, including her demons.

Declan remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“It was the fall semester of my second year. He was a teaching assistant in the history course I was taking. He was intelligent, handsome, and intense. Every girl in that section wanted to go out with him. When he asked me out, I could hardly believe he was serious. I was a mousy, shy, Catholic school girl who’d never been kissed let alone tied to a bedpost and whipped.”

How can I tell him how stupid and naïve I’d been? I didn’t know the first thing about dating or BDSM for that matter.

“He opened a whole new world up to me. It was intoxicating and hypnotic. I was under his spell and willing to do anything he asked. Until the lines blurred and the domination turned into disturbing, abusive behavior. I was his prisoner trapped in a world I didn’t want to be in.” This time Charlie couldn’t swallow the tears. They fell freely down her face. “I tried to break free. So many times.”

Declan dropped her hand and sat back. His jaw clenched as he raked his fingers through his hair. The separation from his touch pained Charlotte. Her body ached for the physical contact he now withheld. She craved his touch, somehow believing it was an affirmation that his feelings for her wouldn’t change.

A sickness twisted inside her as she choked down her worst fears, continuing her confession. “I was finally able to get away.” She blew out a breath, swallowing hard before spurting out the horror of that night. “Everything had happened so fast. One minute I was fast asleep and the next screaming against the unforgiving tape forced over my lips. He covered my head, obliterating my ability to see anything. I knew he placed me inside some sort of a cargo van because I had a great deal of room to be tossed around as the vehicle turned through the streets. Eventually the noises of living in town gave way to the quiet silence of somewhere rural.

“I figured he was simply pushing my buttons, invoking an element of fear in our play. He wanted me scared, confused, and aroused. I was calm at first.” Charlie wrung her hands as she relayed the events of that night. “My captor hadn’t spoken a word of instruction nor allowed his body to touch mine. Even when he tore the pajama top from my body, cut my bra, and used it to bind my wrists against the rough bark of a tree, could I feel his skin. The heavy sack covering my head eliminated any scent of the cologne he usually wore, so I couldn’t tell if it was him or some stranger. There was nothing, no indication that the man who pulled me from my bed and plunged me into darkness was someone I knew.

“And suddenly nothing was okay. I heard several different male voices. I knew one of them was Griffin’s. Panic bloomed in me. We had an audience. At first I thought there was no way he would let them touch what was his, but then I became unsure. It didn’t matter. I’d learned well at his hands. My will was his will. I had no say, no voice, in what was to be done. I was to sit back and take it, be grateful to be driven to the heights of ecstasy no matter how objectionable the means.”

If only she had paid better attention. If only she had known the tears had just begun. If she knew that by the time the moon had given way to dawn she would be a crumpled, bloodied, and bruised mess, and still unaware of where she was or what would happen next. It had been such a long day for her, such an evil day.

Charlie bristled at the memory. “It ended when they dropped me on the doorstep of the campus clinic the morning of my birthday. It was his present to me.”

There was a spark of rage in Declan’s eyes that made Charlotte wary. Darkness tracked over his face, and her heart filled with regret for telling him everything. She sobbed uncontrollably. She wished Griffin had remained a painful scar instead of the disease that was now infecting her relationship with Declan.

He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her, and she looked up at him. He didn’t seem angry with her, and relief washed over her. It was hard enough navigating their relationship before. It was so new. She didn’t want to screw it up. She was already in love with Declan.

Declan’s hands slid over her body and back up her arms, before giving her another gentle squeeze. “Is this why you are always running from me? Are you afraid things will take a turn for the worse like they did with him?” Declan traced a finger down her cheek, stroking gently. “Charlotte, I’m not going to punish you like that. That would require a level of assholery that I’m not even bastard enough to pull off. I don’t want to be that guy with you. Ever. Because it would make me no better than that sick son of a bitch.”

Charlie nodded, some of the tension dissipating.

Declan’s voice lowered until it was soft, his gaze finding hers, warm and tender. “I need you to understand something, Charlotte. Your relationship with him was not good. It was some kind of fucked up, even by kink standards. Safe, sane, and consensual should be the rules for any relationship. You had no understanding between you of limitations and acceptable behavior. I am a demanding jerk. You and I both know that. But I am not so egotistical as to get my rocks off on something I would only enjoy. If there’s something you don’t like, then all you have to do is tell me. We’ll talk about it. And we will find a way to work around it.”

***

After Charlotte had set her demons free, he drew her into his chest. He stroked her hair, unable to keep his hands from her. With a sigh of contentment, she turned and put her head against his heart, and within minutes she fell asleep. For Declan, sleep didn’t come as easily. Instead, the words she relayed crashed down and tormented him.

A dog collar? A fucking dog collar? Griffin had marched her in to PetSmart and made her pick out her own. Wide black leather with lots of chrome and spikes and a matching chrome leash. Adding insult to injury, he had refused a bag when the cashier offered it. Instead, he had subjected Charlotte to public submission and humiliation by fastening it around her neck right there and then clipping the leash to it. He had led her out the door like a damned dog.

It was obvious her previous owner thought the collar was a reflection of himself, which was both arrogant and idiotic. A collar should represent care of his submissive, how in touch he was with her, and it should fit the woman wearing it. It should be a piece that fit her personality. It should be made especially for her. A gift to make her feel special, not like an animal to be caged and kept and punished.

Declan came to the realization he needed to make Charlotte feel loved, cherished, and protected.

Chapter Fourteen

Six weeks before Christmas, Declan waited patiently in the back room of Owen’s tattoo shop. He thought about the style of collar he wanted for Charlotte. He wanted something she could wear out in public. Something that reflected her personality. It had to be understated yet vibrant. Not some random piece of jewelry chosen on a whim.

It was perfect timing. Declan hadn’t felt as though Charlotte was ready for this step, or that he could take it with her until he could get to the bottom of her fears. Her past demons would be dealt with tonight, and then he could focus solely on Charlotte. Griffin would no longer be a threat.

When Owen had called him informing him he’d located Griffin, he’d been careful to arrange things precisely. Declan hadn’t explained to Charlotte why he’d been so adamant with his expectations for the week. He could hardly tell her that he needed the week to take care of that asshole who’d put his hands on her. Declan didn’t want to take any chances that Griffin would be lying in wait for her. He had her phone number, so he was almost certain to know where she lived as well. Declan hadn’t wanted her to go anywhere except to work and home, his home. It was easy enough to convince her. Her sister was driving her mad, and she needed some space away from the berserk bride.

The door opened. “Declan, you’re all set. Here’s the address of the club. Everything’s all-set. Lila double-checked the appointment time. He’s there every Friday at seven.”

Declan nodded. “Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

“You really should keep your hands clean on this. If you’re found out, you’ll be risking everything.”

Declan’s lips tightened. “I need my point made. I need him to know whom he’s dealing with. I want him to fear me. He needs to know I can destroy him if he ever so much as breathes Charlotte’s name again.”

Owen smiled ruefully. “I see your point. I have to admit if some motherfucker messed with Lila like that; I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“You understand me then.”

Owen nodded. “Yeah, I get it. I don’t like that you have to do it on your own, but I get why you have to. I’m just concerned it will come back to bite you in the ass.”

“I’ve got it covered. I’ve made certain no one in our circle can tie me to what I am about to do.”

“All right. So nothing new from the Wicked ‘Switch’ of the East?”

“Not after her little stunt the other day. But knowing Katherine, I don’t expect the calm to last.”

***

Later that night, the stream of people entering Halo ebbed and flowed. Declan wasn’t into the whole dungeon scene per se, but he could see how it could draw one in. The main room wasn’t a large one, and yet so much seemed to happen there—the tumult of people, the punishments, the creativity, the spectacle. The “B” film version of cold damp, slimed walls and rats scurrying with their nails clicking on damp cobblestones couldn’t have been further from the truth. No, Lila’s club oozed sumptuousness. The main room was dark, warm, and womb-like. The tangy smell of leather emanated from the furniture, heightening the senses. All the pieces were massive leather except for two enormous thrones, which elsewhere may have looked kitsch but here reigned with suitable aplomb.

Declan scanned the scene unfolding as he made his way back to the private rooms. An occupied grope box, the submissive’s Mistress inviting people all around to poke and prod her naughty plaything. With gusto, people pushed fingers and entire hands through all the holes. The St. Andrews Cross was no less an object of interest. A rather burly male adorned the heavy wooden frame with his hands and legs locked by ropes woven through “O” rings. The man’s naked backside faced the audience while he awaited his punishment. A violet wand tormented a blonde on the suspension swing. Heavy silver weights hung like Christmas decorations from her nipple and clit rings. Her Master wielded the electric wand as deftly as a magician; violet electric lines danced over her pale skin. Declan stopped, momentarily caught up in their spell. The electric lines both caressed and tortured her with their exacting demand of self.

Pulling himself out of the mesmerizing scene, he found the door where Lila said he could observe Griffin’s punishment. Lila was going to mete out his punishment herself, and when she was done with him, Declan could say his peace. Lila took orders from no one except for Owen, so Declan’s specific desires were, of course, mere suggestions. Owen had said being with Lila was akin to whiplash. Owen had never considered himself in a submissive role, but Lila had changed all that. He allowed her to beat him, but only for pleasure and not for punishment. He had informed her in exacting terms that they could continue to play together as long as she understood the rules were flexible and she could only be his Mistress when he said she could.

Declan smiled at that thought, knocked lightly on the door, and it opened slowly. Inside, the room smelled like sweat. It was a cold room with one light overhead and a rough-hewn wooden table in its center. Thick leather straps, the kind that cut into flesh, bound Griffin to its unforgiving surface. A ball gag rested in his mouth, and his legs were spread open and secured to a titanium spreader bar, which rendered him immobile. A hulk of a man had the skin of Griffin’s forehead pulled taught as he pressed the tattoo needle into his flesh.

“Good evening,” Lila spoke warmly to Declan. “Our Mr. Cohen is just putting the finishing touches on the tattoo for poor Mr. Griffin here.”

“It is a rather nice evening. I knew you provided excellent entertainment here, but I had no idea of your meticulous attention to detail until just now.” Declan moved closer to the table, inspecting the tattooist’s handiwork.

“Yes. Mr. Cohen is highly skilled when it comes to such delicate and discrete work.” Lila set one high-heeled leather boot atop Griffin’s thigh and dug in with the six-inch spike, making him groan as the point pierced his flesh, drawing blood. “Now, Mr. Griffin you must hold still, you wouldn’t want Mr. Cohen here to accidentally slip and hit your eye with that tattoo gun, would you? That might smart a bit, don’t you think?”

Declan stared as Griffin blinked as if in agreement. Whatever had gone on in this room in the past hour had obviously won him over to Lila’s unique methods for acquiescing.

“What do you think? Shall we have him pierced while Mr. Cohen is here?”

Declan gripped Griffin’s arm tightly as the talented Mr. Cohen carefully displayed a piece of cork, a rather interesting looking needle, and a rather painful looking receiving tube. “What do you think, Griffin? Do you think we should show you mercy and allow Mr. Cohen to pack up?”

Lila chimed in. “You certainly don’t show any of your submissives any mercy, do you, Mr. Griffin? I’m quite surprised it’s taken this long for anyone to exact revenge on you.”

Declan removed the ball gag from Griffin’s mouth. “You fucking whore, where the hell are you going to pierce me?” Griffin spat out.

“Now, now, Mr. Griffin, is that any way to speak to someone who holds your rather painful future in the palm of her hands?”

Declan replaced the gag as Lila held up a thick gauged silver ring and Griffin’s eyes grew wide. “Time to remove those oh so attractive boxers, Mr. Griffin.”

Griffin writhed in panic the best he could against his restraints as Mr. Cohen placed a meaty hand on his thigh.

“On second thought, I think we should be merciful this evening.” Declan released his grip on Griffin’s arm and extended his hand to shake Mr. Cohen’s. “Thank you for your fine work, Mr. Cohen. We will call you shall we require your services in the future.” The linebacker sized artist nodded and packed up his things.

Declan assisted Lila in removing Griffin’s gag, and then his restraints, sitting him up while Lila held a mirror out so Griffin could see the ink embedded in his forehead. Permanently front and center were the words “Punish Me” in a heavy, thick font.

“You forget you ever knew Charlotte Flynn. Do I make myself clear?”

Griffin nodded, spitting saliva from the side of his mouth. “Fuck, fine! Yes!”

“I protect what’s mine. Charlotte belongs to me. If you even so much as think of contacting the authorities about this, like she should have when you tortured her, I’ll fucking destroy you.”

Griffin nodded again, fear blazing in his eyes. Declan released his grip on him, rapping on the door to signal to Lila’s security team so they could remove Griffin.

Declan slipped into the back of the vehicle where Owen was waiting. There was a long silent moment before Owen broke it. “Any trouble?”

Declan shook his head. “Nope. Everything went as planned. The piece of shit is dealt with, and he’ll have to deal with the physical side effects of his haircut longer than Charlotte had to. Your Lila is something else.”

“That she is. And I’m ready to get home to her. I’m sure you’re more than ready to head home to Charlotte as well.”

Declan relaxed as the car crept out of the alley and into the night.

Chapter Fifteen

Who in their right mind goes running the week of Thanksgiving? Emerson, that’s who. It was freezing out. Charlie cursed him out as she glanced over the text message again. Not only did he insist she go running with him this morning, he instructed they meet in front of her favorite bakery. The hot and cold torture ate away at her. The arctic air burned her face and lashed at her legs through the fabric of her running pants while the smell of freshly baked pastry and hot espresso taunted her.

Charlie started to open the door to the bakery when she caught a glimpse of Emerson walking toward her.

“Charlie!”

“Morning.” She walked to meet him, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“So six miles this morning?” Emerson smiled down at her.

Charlie moved back and smacked her brother on the shoulder. She hated when he was in town visiting. He always cajoled her into running with him. “You’re a sadist, aren’t you?” She laughed. “Why can’t we just go warm up with some espresso instead?”

“Running is good for you. It releases all the toxins from your body and mind. Besides, we both know you couldn’t manage yoga like Mikki. You’d fall flat on your ass.”

Emerson had a point.

***

“You do this every day?” Charlie panted. She could feel a trickle of sweat from her forehead coursing down her neck.

Emerson nodded, looking like he was just out enjoying a brisk walk. Charlie felt like she was going to die.

“How much farther?”

He looked over at her, smirking. “Three-quarters of a mile.”

She straightened up. I can do this. “Great.” Her lungs seemed to have filled with lead, and she could only take shallow, gasping breaths. “Feels amazing.”

“So, not cold any longer?”

“Not a bit.” Charlie could hear the blood surging through her veins. Their feet pounded on the trail, and no, she definitely wasn’t freezing anymore.

“So, how is your boyfriend?” Emerson asked, his breathing not even the least bit labored. “Are you bringing him to Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Umm … he’s not exactly my boyfriend,” she gasped. “Besides, I don’t know if he’ll be back in time.” It was the truth after all, they weren’t exactly dating, and she worried that Mikki would confront him about the bruising. Moreover, she had a good excuse not to invite Declan; he was in Toronto working on finalizing some new distribution contract.

“Okay, completely your call. No pressure.”

Charlie collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

“It will get easier,” Emerson insisted, looking down at where Charlie sat, slumped over in a complaining heap on the ground. “Be patient.”

“Which, the whole Master/sub thing or the running?” She pulled a few blades of crunchy grass from the frost, mumbling. It was early, the sky was dull and gray, and she was sore in places she didn’t even know she owned.

“Both.” He stopped for a moment before adding, “And stop being so bratty.”

“What did you say?”

“Get your ass up here. Let’s go get an espresso and warm up.”

***

The door closed behind them, the soft snick echoing into the darkness as the latch caught.

His hand released hers without comment as she sidestepped into the bathroom, half-closing the door behind her. He made his way into the suite, flicking on the lamp, a subtle glow illuminating the room.

She heard the distant clink of glasses and the subtle pop of a cork easing from the confines of a bottle, as she prepared for the night.

She released her hair from the French braid she had so carefully wound only hours earlier for dinner, the pins dropping into the sink, one after another, allowing her thick dark locks to curl about her shoulders. She wiped the slick of red gloss from her full lips but left the traces of scent her perfume had imprinted on her skin. It wasn’t expensive—she’d picked it up at the counter on impulse when shopping for stockings at a local department store. He had liked it, and so it became her signature scent, replacing the more costly Chanel she was so fond of wearing.

They had spent a long time getting to know one another over the course of the summer, there had been no rush, no hurry, no pressure. She stared at her reflection in the mirror wondering how it was that she felt so safe with him, so tethered to him.

As she walked back into the bedroom, he moved to stand behind her, lacing his fingers through hers and wrapping her in both their arms. She relaxed into his embrace, dropping her head forward. He reached up and brushed her hair to one side, kissing her neck. She reveled in the pressure of his lips and the warmth of his breath as he murmured something.

She kept her eyes closed, and her head bowed, enjoying the pleasure of his mouth against her skin. She moved with him, offering no resistance to his direction. Holding her just a little tighter, his stubble brushed against her earlobe as he whispered, “Open your eyes, Emma.”

Emma lifted her head, taking in the room around her. The moment her gaze focused on the bed, she froze in his arms.

“Oh! I, umm, no … Please, not …” she choked out.

“Emma.” He spun her to face him, looking intently at her.

“Yes …”

“What do you think is going to happen? I’m not going to touch you unless you ask me to … ”

She watched him, struggling to regain her composure. His stare danced across her, and he inhaled slightly. Her mind searched to explain her own physical reaction, dismissing the dampness between her thighs as a consequence of his kisses, but knowing it wasn’t quite true.

An open cello case rested on the bed, nestling a beautiful dark cello within its plush velvet lining. It was just like the one in the picture she had sent him.

He smiled softly, taking both her hands in his own. “If you do ask me, then I shall play our own private concerto. I shall play you, Emma, just like in the picture.” He looked at her intently. “And if you don’t, I will pack the instrument away and we shall do whatever you choose for the rest of the evening … ”

“I don’t … I don’t know.” She stared at the cello and then back at him.

He walked slowly to the bench at the bottom of the bed and sat down, spreading his knees. He beckoned her with his stare.

She shuddered at the realization that she wanted this.

He smiled at her, picking a bow from the case behind it. He held it up to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Rosin,” he said nonchalantly. “Almost my favorite scent.”

She exhaled deeply and with trembling hands, fumbled with the little buttons on the front of her dress, turning away to ease the material from her shoulders and drop the dress on the bed. Emma stood in just panties and stockings, focusing on the wall in front of her, trying to ignore the sensation of his gaze trailing across her flesh. Her panties joined her dress on the bed and she turned to face him, wrapping her arms across her nakedness.

“Please, will you play me?” she requested in a hushed tone.

“Yes,” he spoke softly, “but on one condition. You have to let go. Let the tears flow and don’t try to hold back or wipe your eyes. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl, now kneel and ask me again properly.” He untucked his shirt from his pants and unbuttoned it.

“Please, Sir,” she pleaded, kneeling between his spread legs, her hands on his thighs, fingers lingering near his crotch. “Please,” she looked up at him. “Will you make me your instrument, Sir? Will you play me, please?”

Wordlessly, he reached around her neck, sliding her hair forward over each shoulder as he placed a light kiss on her forehead. His hand moved up to take a firm but gentle grasp of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.

The bow began its pass, back and forth over her spine, in what she recognized as four-four time. She looked up quizzically at him, and he smiled, closing his eyes and rocking slightly with the motion of the bow as though he was losing himself in the unheard music.

Emma opened her mouth to speak but then thought better of it, giving herself over to the hypnotic movement of the bow as she floated into the sensations.

He paused a moment, tracing her spine with one hand. She heard a dull click as he released the second bow from the case. His fingers were gentle, whispering over her skin as he hummed.

The bow returned to her skin, but it felt different. She felt a scratch, but first dismissed it as fantasy, and then the itch burned. The sensation went cold, then warm, and then began to sting as she tensed and relaxed. She tried recapturing the trance, but it evaded containment, her pulse racing. The bow continued its passage back and forth across her back, increasing in pressure until a sharp bite caused her to tense again. It bit and cut over and over, her eyes brimming with tears.

He knew her pain. He restrung the spare bow with wire himself and cut his finger in the process. He marveled at her calm acceptance of this exquisite torture. Her maestro leaned down and kissed her cheek, fueling their mutual ardor.

She felt the warmth of her blood trickle down her back as he continued the same pattern of strokes across her spine.

Over and over …

Deeper and deeper …

He continued showering her with light kisses on her hair as she wept and shuddered. He played her as though he owned her, and for now he did. As her weeping turned to sobs, he set the bow aside and cradled her in his arms, brushing her hair out of her face, and holding her tightly. There is time for an interlude, and there will be more, so much more.

“Holy fuck!” Charlie’s hand clamped her mouth immediately after the words escaped her lips. She looked around to see if anyone heard her unintended outburst, laughing when she remembered she had the house to herself tonight. Mikki, Aaron, and Emerson were at the movies and Declan was out of town on business. There were no witnesses to her reaction.

She contemplated how to best research this portion of the book for a moment, and then decided perhaps she would find a cello concerto to listen to. Could something like a cello bring about such a hypnotic state of mind? She turned on her laptop, opened up Spotify and typed in “hypnotic cello concerto.” A long list of items appeared, so she scrolled until she found a composer whose name she recognized, Schuman, and selected the first movement from Fantasiestucke. Closing her eyes, she immersed herself in the fluid, rich sounds of the concerto. The lush swell of the notes sucked her under a wave of passion and emotion, and her thoughts traveled to Declan.