As quietly as I could, I rolled over, got out of bed, and slipped from the room. I closed the door behind me with a gentle click and made my way to the piano. I didn’t want to wake Ryder, but I also just needed to play. I didn’t know why it had been so crucial to me since everything blew up, but it had.
I pressed the pedal to soften the sound, my fingers gentle on the keys as well. I started with “Für Elise,” then went to “River Flows in You,” and finally let my fingers lead me into “Moonlight Sonata.” I let my emotions bleed from my hands into the notes drifting from the instrument. “Moonlight Sonata” had always been my favorite composition to play. There was so much feeling in the piece.
I didn’t know how much time passed, but I knew it was over an hour—melody after melody flowing out of me, memories of recitals as a kid and the look of pride when Dad told my grandfather how good I was, that I played like my grandma had.
The one thing my dad had always loved about me was how I played, because it reminded him of his mother, and it had reminded my grandfather of her too. She passed away when my father was a teenager, but they’d both revered her. That was clear even though neither of them had spoken about her much.
I’d quit playing to get back at my dad, or hell, to show him I didn’t need or care about him, but Christ, I did.
All that pent-up anger and pain was released in every note I played, in every press of my fingers against the keys, and eventually, I wasn’t doing this for him anymore, just for me.
I didn’t flinch at Ryder’s soft touch on my naked shoulder. I’d sensed him there before he approached, before our skin met. I didn’t stop playing, though, and he didn’t ask me to, and soon, he was bent forward, his lips against me, kissing a path from one side of my back to the other, along my neck. Eventually, he lowered himself to the floor, kept kissing down my spine, before traveling up again. He kissed my bicep, stood, and let his hands travel down my arms, his fingers circling my wrists, but still I didn’t stop playing. Keys were fumbled, but that didn’t matter.
I turned my head toward him, and he took my mouth, let his tongue push between my lips to claim me. I’d never wanted to belong to anyone the way I did with him.
I growled when he broke the kiss. Ryder smirked before kneeling behind me again, his lips skimming my back, my arms, my sides, while his hands caressed me.
When he nudged me to stand, I did.
Somehow, he knew exactly what I needed—this moment, to play and to have him and for him to lead it, for him to take me. Handing over control wasn’t my favorite thing, but I liked it with him. He didn’t even have to fight me for it this time.
Ryder slid my underwear down. My cock was hard, tall, and leaking. When he tugged my boxer briefs to my feet, I stepped out of them.
The bench tumbled over when Ryder shoved it out of the way, and then his hands went to the globes of my ass, kneaded them, spread me apart. I hit a wrong key, then another, and another. Ryder chuckled from behind me.
“Shut up,” I gritted out, trying to focus on playing. When his tongue took its first swipe over my hole, my knees buckled, almost gave out on me. Ryder snickered again, his breath in my crack, before he tasted me again.
Pleasure washed over me, made my skin tingle. My fingers slowed, then stopped, and as soon as they did, Ryder pulled back. “Get your face back in there,” I ordered.
“No. This is my game. I make the rules tonight…and I think you need that. If you want my tongue in this pretty hole, you’re going to have to play for me.” He rubbed circles over my rim with his finger.
“Ryder…” Fuck, I’d nearly whimpered his name. I took a few deep breaths, tried to concentrate so I could play “Moonlight Sonata” again. As soon as the music began, he was there again, gentle lashes with his tongue, before he stiffened it and pushed, trying to work his way inside.
I should have been embarrassed, bent over the piano, ass out shamelessly while I silently begged him to eat me out. I needed him in a way I’d never needed anyone or anything else, wanted him inside me or against me or fucking me until I believed he wouldn’t walk away.
“Christ, you’re hungry for it, aren’t you?”
“Fuck you,” I replied, but with a smile on my lips.