Sonata (North Security 3)

He looked half-feral most of the days in the small town, a few days’ growth on his jaw, his hair mussed by the ocean breeze. Now he looks smooth. Polished. His square jaw freshly shaven. His hair ruthlessly styled so it will fit in with the crowd. He probably thinks he’s anonymous as he walks through the ballroom. As if every woman doesn’t turn her head to watch him from behind.

“You own me,” he says, his voice low. It carries on the wind. Green eyes flash—not with guilt or regret. They flash with a kind of resignation.

It isn’t a pleasure, this possession I have of him. But it’s real.

“Alexander,” I say, not loud enough to really reach the ballroom. I pretend to call for some other lover. Someone who will finish what Liam started.

A real laugh then, and it’s worth it. Whatever happens next, whatever sin he visits on my body will be worth it to see the genuine way he throws back his head. “Quiet now, Ms. Brooks. Let’s see if we can put that pretty mouth to better use.”

CHAPTER TEN

Sonatas were at first written mainly for the violin. Over time a binary form emerged, with most modern sonatas featuring both a violin and a piano.

Liam

Folded over, my tux jacket provides little support from the marble floor. Her dress will probably shield her better. Regardless, she may end up with bruises on her knees. She may be the one filled with regret at the end of the night, but I won’t deny her. I can’t deny her. I wasn’t lying before—she owns me.

“There was something else,” I say, helping her kneel, every movement overly courteous, as if I’m being the consummate gentleman instead of a bastard. “Something else you didn’t want me to use.”

Her eyes shine with anticipation as she looks up at me. And fear. Not too much of it, but enough. I have never been interested in Fransisco’s kinky games, but I understand the edge of uncertainty and how it can sharpen lust to a spear. “Restraint.”

“That was it. Restraint. You don’t want me to use any?”

She’s trembling, whether from the fear or the cold I don’t know.

God help me, I don’t even care. Desire beats a tribal chant in my head. To take her. To claim her. To stretch her with my body so she always remembers who was inside her.

Her lids drop to her cheeks. “Maybe a little bit of restraint.”

“Don’t back down now.” I brush my knuckles against her cheek. “Not when you’re being so brave. Isn’t that what you want? Something rough to remember me by?”

She looks up, her eyes flashing. There’s no demure young woman now. Even on her knees she looks powerful. “That’s what it would take, is that it? Any woman would have to be brave to accept who you really are? Fine, then. Call me brave.”

I don’t know what she means about any woman. I only want her. My dick doesn’t care what she’s talking about. It likes her brave and powerful. It likes her on her knees.

From this position I can see the crown of her head and the silhouette of her face. I can see her breasts in their glory, framed by a wide spill of red silk around her. It’s the sight a man needs for a complete life. I could die having known this pleasure, even before her mouth touches me.

I open my pants with unsteady hands. Relief. It’s short-lived relief. Even freed from my briefs my cock throbs in hungry pulses. The night air might as well be sandpaper. Anything but her body will be painful. Part of me still expects her to turn her face away. It’s an ugly sight, the red, veined cock. An intimidating one, especially considering her hands are still tied behind her back. She’s completely at my mercy. If I shove too far, too fast, if I push down her throat, she can’t stop me.

No restraint.

Maybe a little bit of restraint.

She’s smart to temper the command. I’ll try to find a little bit of restraint. Though it will be hard when her lips are so full, so plump. Her tongue flicks out, a flash of pink, before it retreats.

I press my cock to her lips. She doesn’t open for me. No, she wants me to work for it. To fight her. That only makes me harder, and I grasp her neck, tilting back her head. She opens on a gasp, and I use the opportunity to press inside. Wetness. Heat. Velvet. It takes herculean effort to continue standing under the onslaught of her mouth. Christ. I push inside her, a little too far, a little too fast—exactly what she was asking for, begging for. She wants to be a little afraid tonight.

Her tongue rolls around the head, and I curse under my breath. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Samantha. So fucking perfect. I’ll never forget you like this.”

The flash of anger again. She wants me to believe she’ll stay by my side forever. I might as well believe in fairies and dragons and magic. There isn’t forever for us. A graze of her teeth to the underside of my cock. My balls tighten in instinctive warning. That’s her punishment for my lack of faith. It should be terrible, but instead I laugh towards the moon. Sex has been a form of physical relief for so long. Like running twenty miles until I collapse. The euphoria comes because it’s over. It’s always been different with her. More meaningful. More sweet. Only now has sh

e learned to make it… fun. Playful. It’s a game where the stakes are more than her body. More than her heart. They might even be her future.

From somewhere in the house a large grandfather clock chimes ten times.

Ten o’clock. Have the guests noticed she’s missing from the ballroom? It’s large enough that they may not. Between the dance floor and the refreshments there’s enough places she could be not to think she left completely. There are even private sitting rooms for those who want smaller groups. Or parties of two. The doors can be closed. Locked.

The equivalent of a sock on the knob.