Torrid (Sordid 2)

The song was quiet, slow, and eerie. My gaze followed every gentle movement of her hands as they worked up and down the piano, producing the hypnotic rhythm. I didn’t listen to classical music. My phone was full of rock and rap music. I liked driving bass, hooks, and aggressive lyrics. Yet, this song, I didn’t hate. Maybe she was right and the piano was out of tune, but its discord added to the unsettling music.

The chilling song seeped into the dark space around us. I hadn’t turned on the light in the room, and it had to be hard for her to read her notes, but she probably knew it well enough, and I was glad I hadn’t bothered with a lamp. This music wasn’t made for the light.

Her brow furrowed as she peered at the book, and her chest rose and fell like she was out of breath. Why did it look like playing this song was draining her? It was fucking beautiful. My heart thudded a little faster, even as I stood like a statue beside the piano.

She flipped the page and kept playing.

Who knew black and white keys could make something so evil and perfect? I pulled my mouth into a twisted smile. The song was so different from the other shit she’d tried to play. The piano chords were still vibrating with the last note of the song when I spoke. Curiosity overrode my intent to be patronizing. “What’s that one called?”

Oksana had gone back to not looking at me. She stared vacantly at her hands still resting on the keys, acting like she was recovering from trauma. “It doesn’t have a name.”

“You should call it, like, The Villain or something.” Shit, was I high? How good was the weed in that joint I’d smoked hours ago? “It sounds like a bad motherfucker’s theme song.”

She winced as if she’d swallowed broken glass.

“What?” I demanded.

She opened her mouth to say something, but words failed her for several heartbeats. “I’ve never played it for anyone.”

Dark satisfaction bubbled in my veins. Another first I’d taken from her. Maybe it could be my theme song. “Play it again.”

“You liked it?” Her voice was coated in horror.

I paced behind her and gathered her long hair in my hands, coiling it into a rope, and leaned down so my lips were beside the shell of her ear. “Again.”

She shivered and reached forward, turning back to the previous page in the book.

When she started over, I trailed the tip of my nose up the long slope of her neck, following it with the edge of my tongue. She sipped air through her parted lips, and swallowed thickly. Was it hard for her to keep playing as I sucked on her neck? Her hands didn’t falter when I sat beside her on the bench, facing the other direction. She’d focus on the music, while I focused on her.

“Don’t stop,” I said, placing a hand on the exposed skin of her heaving chest, and slipped my fingers beneath the edge of the robe. I explored further, watching her as my fingertips found and circled the hard knot of her nipple.

The song was darker this time. Unapologetic. Was it the practice or my distraction? I pushed the side of the robe open, baring her naked breast. The sight of me pinching her pink nipple and rolling it between my fingers gave me a surge of lust.

I wanted to fuck her. No, I needed to.

Right here on this bench.

8

Wait, the practical side of me fired back. Not yet. I’d been with Oksana five hours and already felt a strange pull. What if I got inside her, body and head, and didn’t want to leave? I’d never let a girl have that kind of power.

She was panting for breath when I slid my hand up her inner thigh. Her frantic gaze darted to mine, just for a moment, before returning to the notes that climbed all over the lines in her book.

“Open your legs,” I said over the music.

She whimpered as her perfect posture cracked. Her knees eased apart. I pressed my fingers against her pussy, feeling like I’d been doused with gasoline and set on fire.

“Fuck,” I said, thrilled. “You’re wet.”

She murmured something in Russian, and I had no idea if she was cursing me or begging me to keep going. My fingertips grazed over her clit, but she kept on playing. Sheer concentration pushed her forward, and for someone who cared so much about her book, she carelessly turned the page now. Like the taped-together paper was indestructible.

Her moan mingled with the sinister melody, and I burned so fucking hot, I was feverish. Half out of my mind with delusions. Touching her this way wasn’t enough, and as much as I liked her villainous song, I wanted to disrupt and control. When my hand was on her, she should be thinking about me and nothing else. Not even her music.