Opaque Melodies (Coveting Delirium 1)

“That’s a bold and rather intense statement.”

“It’s also true.”

I lost the internal battle and grinned, failing to hide.

“See,” he intoned. “Do you feel better?”

I knew what he was asking without directly putting me on the spot. It was just as he’d done before, and just like then, I appreciated it more than he could ever know.

“About continually embarrassing myself in front of you? Never. Compared to how I felt thirty-minutes ago, yes,” I admitted honestly.

“Know how you can make it up to me?”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Do I want to know?”

“Play for me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He stood, grabbing my hand to make me stand with him.

Practically carrying me over to the piano he moved the bench with his foot and then sat down.

He planted me directly on his lap, wrapping one arm around my middle to keep me in place.

“Play,” he commanded, his voice taking on the deliciously sinister tone I was growing fond of.

Without asking what he wanted to hear, I swallowed and eyed the keys. Going down a darker path, I flexed my wrists and positioned my hands in a way that enabled me to play freely while on his lap.

I started slow, but the notes came easier this time, the melody rapidly hijacking my brain until it was all that mattered.

“Musica Ricercata,” Alaric mused. “Good choice.”

I couldn’t respond. There was something about the low vibrations and dark chords that felt so heavenly, seeping right through my skin.

I faltered when his lips pressed to the back of my neck.

“Keep going,” he demanded, his voice low.

I did as he said, trying to concentrate as his hand roamed to between my legs, pressing against what was sore.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured in my ear, slipping his palm beneath the waistband of my shorts.

My breath hitched, a wrong note jarring through the air as deft fingers began to trace my slit. Ignoring the soreness from whatever I had done to myself, I parted my legs, allowing him better access.

He eased his pointer and index finger into my pussy, twisting so his palm pressed against my clit.

My own digits slammed the keys harder, faster.

I matched the tempo in which he began to pump in and out of me. When I couldn’t do anything other than moan and press myself against him the arm around my middle lifted to takeover where I left off.

Playing with one hand and finger-fucking me with his other, he didn’t miss a single cord. His teeth nipped my neck, eliciting a whimper from my chest. I was going to come. The abruptness of it caught me off guard. My pussy squeezed his fingers, the juices running down my inner thighs and soaking the fabric of my shorts.

I moaned his name, rolling my hips to add a semblance of the pain I needed, heightening the soreness. He stood abruptly, knocking the bench onto its side.

He brought his come drenched hand up to my mouth. “Suck.”

I didn’t need to be told twice, I grasped his wrist and wrapped my lips around his fingers, suckling and swirling my tongue, the taste of my own pussy only making me wetter.

He took hold of my hand and pulled it off him, removing his digits slowly. He searched my eyes with a butterfly inducing softness within his own. My heartbeat against its cage with a nerve fraying strength.

I wasn’t sure what to make of him. Alaric was cocky, enigmatic, and he’d openly admitted to being insane. All these things should have been red flags, but my fixation was stubborn and had already dug itself into my brain. I wanted him.

“You play almost as beautifully as you come.” He leaned in to kiss me, I made no attempts to stop him.

His hands came up to grasp either side of my face, angling my mouth so he had better access. His body continued to move into mine, forcing me to bow back.

A screech of chords ruptured the air, digging into me through the fabric of my shirt. I spread my legs apart, allowing him to settle between them. I ran my hands over his shoulders and down his back, silently cursing him for wearing a shirt.

His cock pressed into my apex, eliciting a soft moan to fall from my mouth as a pinch of pain and pleasure mixed. My pussy throbbed, my internal temperature rising higher as he applied more pressure between my thighs.

“Alaric,” I breathed.

His lips moved from my mouth to the crook of my neck, trailing delicate kisses over heated skin.

“I know what you want,” he murmured, gently nipping my lower lobe. “But I’m not going to give it to you.”

“Why not?” I didn’t bother trying to keep the sexual tension from my tone. I wanted him to fuck me exactly as he’d done in my very lucid fantasy, but harder. Rougher.

He drew back and stared down at me with a simpered grin. “When I fuck you again it will be in my bed. You can plan on not being able to get out of it the next day.”