The Wolf and His Wife (Wolf 2)

“It’s just sex…”

Any other guy would have the same thought. It didn’t matter if she stabbed me in the back; she was still so damn fuckable. It was just meaningless sex, sweaty and dirty fucking. It shouldn’t matter to me. But for whatever reason, it did. “I get sex all the time, so I don’t need this.” I turned around and headed up the stairs, adding to the harsh words I said to her as I blew her off. “I don’t need you.”

I didn’t see Arwen the next day.

I got up early, worked out, and then went to the office. I kept busy, working on orders and making sure my important clients got exactly what they wanted. Some of them spent ten thousand dollars on a single wheel of cheese because it’d been aged for almost two decades. Those had to be handled with the highest care.

At the end of the day, I sat in my office and looked out the window, watching the sun go down. It was the end of summer, so the sun set a little earlier than usual. I liked to watch the colors change from blue to pink and purple. With a glass of scotch in my hand, I found it the most relaxing part of my day.

When night had completely fallen, I left my office and drove back to the house. I wasn’t necessarily avoiding Arwen, but I didn’t look forward to seeing her. I hadn’t blown her off because I was uncomfortable with her reaction. I just didn’t feel like talking about it.

Abigail had dinner waiting for me downstairs, so I ate before I went up to the third floor. The second I was at the top of the stairs, I heard the most beautiful voice.

“Seasons change, plants come back to life, but you’re gone forever…and I’ve already said goodbye.” Piano keys were being played lightly by master fingertips. The music was soft and quiet, completely opposite from the burst of song she produced in the auditorium. This was intimate and sexy, just her and the piano.

I walked down the hallway, passing the door where the piano stood behind the closed door.

“My heart withers with broken strings, while you’ve gotten your wings…”

I stopped outside the door, listening to the beautiful way she hit her notes without even trying. She wasn’t just an excellent singer, but a master of her craft. I didn’t recognize the song, and I wondered if she’d written it herself…because it reminded me of her father.

I kept going, the sound of her voice growing quieter as I entered my bedroom. Even when I shut the door behind me, I could still hear her voice, hear the melancholy she conveyed so well.

Instead of hopping in the shower or pouring myself a drink after the long day I’d had, I continued to stand there and listen, my ears straining to hear the beautiful lyrics that resonated with my soul.

Just as always happened when she sang in front of everyone at the party, I was hard. I was hard anytime I heard her sing, both times I’d watched her sing at the opera. Something about her voice pulled at my desire. Now my dick didn’t think twice before expanding in my pants. All I needed was the melody of her voice, and I was ready to go.

Ready to fuck.

I tried to ignore the lovely music, but I couldn’t. I hummed to myself as the song instantly got stuck in my head. Images of her on the piano flooded my mind, her legs open as I thrust into her, our tangled bodies playing the keys with our passion.

I rejected her last night—but now I wanted her more than ever.

I left my bedroom and returned down the hallway, approaching the drawing room where the grand piano stood in the corner. I’d never played the instrument myself, nor did I have a particular love of music. It was simply an elegant piece to decorate this mansion.

I cracked the door and peered inside. Her chin was down and her eyes were focused on the keys, so absorbed in her music that she didn’t even notice me. Her lithe fingers moved across the keyboard, gently stroking the black keys then the white. She wasn’t reading music, playing something from memory.

I inched farther into the room, seeing the way a few strands had come loose from her bun. They hung in front of her face, the dark locks matching the color of the piano. She was in a halter top dress, deep blue and short. Her rounded shoulders looked elegant as she held herself with perfect poise. She was a musician practicing her craft, a professional that understood the notes and keys better than most people.

I grew more mesmerized by the second, entranced by her beautiful mouth and the breathtaking sounds she made. Now I was a dog just like the rest of the guys, trapped under her gorgeous spell.