Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1) - Page 84

Noise came from the other rooms as they drank and played cards all night.

I stayed in my suite that evening and watched Eden practice Debussy’s Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun.

After buying the Belladonna Symphony, I hired the city’s noted socialite Oliver Strong to keep the purchase in his name as well execute my orders. I told Oliver to have the symphony’s maestro present Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun for their upcoming Fall Season. I also made it clear that Eden would be playing first position for the song.

On the screen, she wore a bright blue elephant onesie and sat in her chair by the window, playing a perfect rendition of Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun. The heater had broken. Her roommate was trying to get in touch with the landlord to fix it. I’d already had Louie send a person over.

They’ll think he’s from the landlord and not question it.

Regardless, she looked so fucking adorable as she slipped the bow delicately along the strings. Every note she hit with precision.

Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun was a difficult song, but when many thought of erotic classical music, it topped most lists. I knew it would test her. Help her grow. Obstacles made one stronger. Fear taught lessons.

As she played, her talent rose and soared.

It was a slow melody with layered orchestration. And with every flirtatious, silky note, the listener went on a sensual journey. It was supposed to evoke the eroticism of French poet Stéphane Mallarmé’s work called The Afternoon of a Faun.

The poem showed a faun who, while playing his pan flute in the woods, became aroused by two passing nymphs. The poor faun pursued them with no success. He becomes unsure of if they’re real or fragments of a dream. But had he ever been awake? And were the nymphs part of a waking dream? Accepting failure, he went to sleep and dreamed about those beautiful nymphs.

I’d seen a controversial ballet of the piece in Paris. During part of the melody, the choreography showed the faun masturbating.

I touched the LCD screen, feeling just like that sex-crazed faun, yearning to catch his nymph. My laptop’s screen cooled against my fingertips. If I could go through it, I would. I would dig my fingers through the pixels and liquid crystals of carbon-based material. My touch would go beyond the laws of magnetic properties and time and space and reality.

One touch. That’s all I want.

If I could, I would do it.

Fuck the fiber optic glass. I would shatter it to get closer to Eden. Fuck the fluorescent light containing mercury gas. Though toxic, I would take the risk. Fuck the circuit boards and heavy metals. Lead. Cadmium. Copper.

Am I in a waking dream? Surely, I’m crazy for wanting her so much. Perhaps this obsession has become darker than I’ve intended.

As she played, I slipped my fingers along the outline of her face and imagined touching her.

How far will I go?

There needed to be a point where I decided the limits. Would I give up? Would I let her aunt win this battle for Eden’s time and attention?

Am I not a faun, unsure of if I’m awake? Maybe I’m still in that theater where I saw Eden playing the first night. Perhaps, I’ve fallen asleep and she’s playing this song right in front of me.

I fell asleep to Eden’s playing.

That night I dreamed of her.

Barefoot, I walked in an enchanted forest at night. The trees held eyes, but no mouths. The sky swirled over and over in clouds of black. Still, bright white moonlight bathed my path.

And there I saw Eden laying along a pile of flowers—pink and white roses and pale blue hydrangeas. She wore a blood red gown sleeping and a tree hovered over her. This one had no eyes, but the branches spread over her like a roof.

Arousal rushed through me.

I kneeled before Eden, scared to frighten her. Still, my movement woke her, and she fluttered those long lashes open to see me.

“Are you hungry?” she whispered.

Suddenly, I was starved. “Yes.”

“Then, eat.” Slowly, she slipped up that long red gown and showed me the precious space between her thighs.

Without hesitation, I dove between those thighs, licking and tenderly nibbling. Her moans lured creatures out of the shadows of the forest.

They watched me taste her sweet nectar.

A male screamed off in the distant, “Jean-Pierre!”

Ignoring whoever it was, I explored Eden’s body more, lifting that gown up and caressing those full breasts.

The man roared, “Jean-Pierre, wake up!”

And the dream disappeared.

I opened my eyes.

And most of my men stood in the room with worried expressions on their faces.

It didn’t matter that the sheets were off my bed and my hand had been gripping my erect cock. If they were all in here, then something had happened.

Tags: Kenya Wright Butcher and Violinist Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net
readsnovelonline.net Copyright 2016 - 2024