“Hush. You’ll come as many times as I want.”
That was probably true. At this point, she figured he could make her do anything, and she’d hold her mouth open, panting for more. She closed her eyes a few moments, daydreaming about more.
When she opened them, Jonathan held a violin. It wasn’t the one he played with the quartet. As he tuned it, she noticed it had a grittier sound, a more visceral tonal quality. Wow, she thought. He has a violin he uses just for kink.
As she lay at his feet and watched, he started to play the Rachmaninoff she’d messed up during rehearsal. He stared down, watching her, playing her part instead of his own, going back over the measures where she’d lagged.
“I get it. You’re a better violinist than me.”
“That’s not the point. The point is you could do better. Just listen.”
He began the piece again, interspersing his parts and hers when the fancy struck him. That was the fun of being a musical genius; you could play anything and make it sound effortless and awesome.
For the rest of her life, whenever she played this piece, it would bring her right back here to this moment, lying exhausted and sexually satiated on Jonathan’s dungeon floor. The wood was hard and uncomfortable, and her ass still ached, but she’d happily come back to this memory every time this work was played. That was probably why he was doing this.
“You got it?” he asked her when he finished, like they were in rehearsal, and not in the midst of an intense sexual encounter. Like his broad chest and thick, limp cock weren’t hanging out in the open to rile her up.
“I’ve got it.”
He nodded and watched her a moment, then played a couple other pieces, ones he knew from past experience that she liked. Even here, naked and horny, his playing was meticulous and free of mistakes. Her nipples hardened and started to throb again. She rubbed her fingertips over a couple of the strap welts on her ass cheeks.
“Was it too much?” he asked.
She’d thought she was being subtle, horny-touching her kink welts. “No, it wasn’t too much,” she told him. “It was just right.”
“I’m going to do more to you in a minute. I’m going to fuck you some more.”
Did he expect her to take umbrage with that? Her clit, dead and numb from so many orgasms, flared to life at the dominant tone in his husky voice. He put the violin away, and she could tell by the way he moved that he knew in exact detail everything he was about to do to her body, as well as her mind.
“Let’s get you up off the floor,” he said. He undid the clip holding the cuffs behind her back, but he didn’t take them off. “Stand up and do a good stretch, Ruby. And think about if you really want more, because this will be your last chance to get away for a while.”
She tried not to smile, couldn’t quite help it. While she stretched her arms, Jonathan gathered more gear, setting it all on the bed. She didn’t look at what he collected; it would only make her nervous. Instead she studied the dark wood of the bed frame, which rose in four solid posts and had a lattice of beams across the top. A romantic might use those beams as a trellis, add flowers and ivy.
A kinky person would add eye hooks and chains.
“Ready?” he asked.
He took her hands and led her to the bed with crisp authority. She hadn’t felt her nakedness in a while, but she felt it now, with his tall, muscular body beside hers. He positioned her facing the side of the bed.
“Hands up,” he ordered, and he produced a pair of chains with hooks, finely wrought, silver and strong, with carabiners on each end. Soon he had the rings on her cuffs hooked to the beam over her head, using attachment points that pulled her arms wide. Her back was to the room, her nakedness on display for him.
She tensed her arms, brimming with erotic energy. Had she claimed she couldn’t come again? That was a lie. When he told her to spread her legs, and bent to cuff her ankles, she almost came right then and there. Arms spread, legs spread, chained open in spread-eagle position with her back to him so she couldn’t see the expression on his face… He had all the power in the world, and she had none, only a safe word she had no intention of using.
He was silent a moment. The room was so silent, when there was usually either music or chatter between them, Steve, Ethan, Rachmaninoff, Stravinsky, but now there was only his silent stillness and her squirming impatience as she waited for him to do something to her.