He laughs, lifts me all the way off of his cock, and slams his hand against my ass. With a yelp, I fall forward and catch myself on the piano, fingers splayed over the keys.
The man knows exactly how to get what he wants.
He pulls me back down, shoving inside me with a force that brings tears to my eyes. It’s blissful, overpowering pain, the kind that stimulates the mind, arouses the body, and trembles the soul.
He heightens the sensation by rolling into tender thrusting, ensuring I feel every thick inch of him dragging along my sensitive walls.
“Play the song, Ivory.” He nips at my shoulder, his hand lifting to knead my breast.
With focused strokes, I launch into the parts I remember, mentally looping through chords and letting my fingers follow along.
He kisses my neck, tasting my skin, our bodies rocking and shuddering together as the music coaxes us into a languorous dance. He fucks me slowly, sensually. The motion of our hips wave in sync with my fingers on the keys as the sounds of our love-making hum a passionate rhythm.
We are the ultimate love song.
The tip of his tongue circles my earlobe. “Come.”
My body obeys instantly, and I moan through the vigorous ripple of pleasure, clenching around his length, my fingers depressing aimless keys.
“Ivory.” He groans, holding my hips against him as the hot pulse of his cock swells inside me, marking me, claiming me.
I twist my neck to watch him in the throes of his pleasure.
The air rushes from my lungs at the sight of his dilated pupils encircled by intensely beautiful swirls of blue fire. I used to hate his eyes, unable to imagine gentleness or safety in those crystalline depths. I was so very wrong. This is the only view I want, when I wake, when I go to sleep, and all the seconds in between.
I rise off of him and quickly spin to straddle his lap, sliding back onto his cock. The kiss that follows is a mutual seeking of lips, met in the space between us and prompted by a shared need to connect in every way.
He’s it for me. The zenith of my happiness. All roads, however perilous and winding, lead to this man, my teacher, the music of my soul.
I want to go to Leopold to learn from the best of the best, yet here I am, sitting on the cock of one of their most brilliant alumni. Whether it’s dumb luck or some kind of magical destiny that brought me here, I won’t squander it.
Leaning back, I frame his sculpted face with my hands. “Teach me how to play.”
“Miss Westbrook.” His lips form a firm line. “I am teaching—”
“No.” I kiss that hard mouth, because seriously, it’s too sexy to ignore. “Teach me the way you did tonight. Without classical music theory and technical books. I want to play…whatever I want to play.”
A very male smile breaches his lips, his cock jerking inside me. “Turn around. Hands on the keys.”
And so it goes. For the next few weeks, he teaches me how to play whatever rock or pop song that suits my mood while holding, touching, kissing, and fucking me.
Some songs are harder than others. All of them challenge me. I don’t use music sheets, but I don’t need them. Not with his fingers beneath mine, showing me, and his voice at my ear, instructing me.
Mastering modern music won’t help me get into Leopold, but man oh man, it exposes me to a whole world of composers outside of classrooms and textbooks. I discover a passion for blending classical masterpieces with top forty hits. There’s something about the originality and distinction in putting my own twist on the music. It strikes a glowing, breathing note inside me.
Of course, Emeric’s enthusiasm in teaching and disciplining me isn’t a surprise. He gets off on it, especially when I slip up. God, that man loves to spank my ass. But it’s his endless encouragement that reminds me why I’m so fiercely, deeply, crazy in love with him.
My eighteenth birthday falls on the last Friday in April. That morning, I wake with him straddling my hips, hands planted on either side of my head, and blue eyes filling my horizon. Perfect.
He puts his face in mine, his expression serious. “I’m going to ask you some questions, but before you answer… Take me out of the equation. I go where you go. We stay together no matter what.”
Okaaay. I nod.
He searches my face. “Do you want to go to Leopold?”
“Of course.” I raise my eyebrows. “What else would I do with my life?”
“Anything you want.” He kisses me, his voice a silken tempo of notes. “What does Ivory Westbrook want?”
Well, that’s easy. “I want to play piano, with you at center stage beside me.”
He grins, evidently liking that answer. “How will you get there?”