Dark Notes

“That’s one,” he says in a husky voice.

I meet his eyes, panting and shaking. “There’s no way. I—”

Can’t say I can’t. But seriously? Six more? He’s way too diabolical with his punishments. I’m going to die.

He presses a kiss to my clit then attacks it with lips and teeth. I scream through orgasms two and three. After that, I no longer hear the music or feel the vibrations through my limbs or see the room around me. Every sense narrows on the tongue inside me and the deluge of climbing and falling sensations attacking my body.

After the fourth release, I reach a strange floaty kind of catatonic state. My pussy tingles with over-stimulation, the nerve-endings in my clit stinging against the lightest stroke of his tongue. But he doesn’t stop. Not when I tell him to go to hell or call him a sadistic bastard.

He silences me by clamping his teeth around my bundle of nerves.

He’s not playing the piano anymore, because those talented fingers are inside me, banging me into a torturous hell of pleasure.

“You have to stop.” I sway in the restraints, my spread legs shaking with exhaustion. “Please. I’m done.”

His soaking wet lips burrow in, kissing and licking, his groan thrumming a different kind of song through my core. A moment later, he curls three fingers inside me and wrings another agonizing orgasm from my body.

“Six.” He leans back and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “The last one will be with me.”

“No more.” My head is so heavy my chin drops against my chest as I suck for air. “Please.”

He lifts my chin with his finger, his gaze burning against my lips, his voice a ragged whisper. “I love when you beg.”

He stands, and with a few flicks of his wrists, he releases my hands and legs from the straps.

I slump against him, my muscles like water, pouring out and falling over. But he has me, my limp body held in strong arms and supported against a damn fine chest.

The heat of his forearms disappears from my back, replaced with the hard surface of the piano lid. He lays me face up, feet pointing away from the keyboard, shoulders on the edge where I’d been sitting. My head dangles upside-down, bumping against the keys.

My already hypersensitive skin flushes hotter, and blood rushes to my brain with the pull of gravity. “What are you doing?”

He circles the piano, inspecting my body as if memorizing every inch. His fingers tickle along my skin as he moves, starting at my throat, gliding along my sternum, veering around my belly button, and lingering between my legs.

My pelvis lifts toward his touch, straining to maintain that point of contact. Despite the fact he just finished biting and welting my breasts and torturing me with orgasms, I want more. He must have short-wired my brain.

Locking the cuffs around my ankles and wrists, he effectively pins me like an X on his Fazioli. When he returns to my head, he gives me an upside-down view of the steel rod pushing against his zipper.

He opens his fly. “You know how hard to suck.” Shoving down his jeans, he releases his sizeable cock, the pink skin taut over the wide girth. “You know how fast or slow to move that wicked tongue.”

Heat pools and throbs between my thighs with every word.

Touching the crown to my inverted mouth, he fists his length and smears salty pre-come across my lips. “Tap your right hand against the piano if you want this to stop. Tell me you understand.”

“I—” My pussy clenches, empty and needy. Such a foreign feeling to experience. “I’ll tap if I need to.”

He wraps a hand beneath my dangling head, his fingers serving as a buffer between my skull and the wood casing. With his eyes half-mast and steadily watching mine, he grips his erection, rubs the shaft across my cheeks, and thumps the tip against my lips.

I open my mouth, instinctively, eagerly. Do it already.

His gaze flicks down the length of my body as he presses himself against my tongue. His exhale shudders out, and he thrusts.

He doesn’t ease in. He ruthlessly and repeatedly plows. Over and over, he stabs his cock past my lips, fucking my mouth as if he were plunging between my legs.

His thighs flex against my forehead as he clamps his fingers against my scalp, tangling in my hair, and holding my head immovable. I can only lie there, hands and legs tied down, throat relaxed, and jaw stretched for his pleasure.

Bending over my chest, he squeezes my breast with his free hand, pinching the nipple and tormenting it with his hot mouth.

I surrender in drugged wonderment as his length drives deeper against my throat, his hips grinding and rolling with his urgency. This is what he would look like if he was filling my pussy. The strain of his muscles, flex of his ass, and ram of his cock compose a seductive dance of intensity. He gives as much as he takes, his hunger spreading over my skin, garbling my moans around his pounding length, overtaking me.