I attempt to loosen his hold on me, but it’s weak and half-hearted because I’m not sure I want to get free. My ears ring with the need to come undone. Every part of me is hot and tightly coiled. He walks me slowly towards a large shape in a corner, and as we near it, the lines and curves of a piano appear.
He bends me over. My breasts meet the cold dark wood, exposing my arse to him and the cool air.
Releasing his hold on my mouth, he says, “Don’t do anything stupid, baby. Don’t make too much noise. Let me fix this problem for you.” When he moves his hand away all together, I instinctively want to scream.
But I don’t.
I break my promises to Perry and myself in that one act of compliance.
Don’t do this, Bronson.
Don’t let him.
I press my cheek against the piano and breathe heavily, allowing him to slide my knickers down to my ankles. He grabs my arms, twisting them behind my back, pinning me down to the cool wood, leaving no room for me to move.
His total domination washes over me, leaving me a trembling mess, begging for release, making me forget the bad things left between us. We were so beautiful together. So intense. He knew my body. Knew when I wanted him. I try to forget about the man in the corner, although I can hear his breath tumbling out.
Forget about Perry.
As Bronson strokes my wet folds, he groans with desire. “Beautiful little pussy. You’re so sexy. Sweet. The perfect combination of both. Why are you so wound up? Dr Clean not look after you?”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
Arching my back slightly, I lift further into his touch, hoping he’ll take that gentle invitation and give me what I’m desperate for. Guilt floods me; I don’t want to cheat on Perry.
But I do. . .wantthis.
My pulse is rampant in my ears. My neck.
Excitement and fear pounds in equal measure.
“Alright, baby.” He pushes two fingers inside me and then draws them out at an excruciatingly slow pace, activating every muscle that is already firing and twitching for something more. I moan against the wood as he works my body with those unhurried, meaningful thrusts. Each one deeper than the last. Both fingers circle to massage every inch of flesh enveloping them.
“Bronson.”
He growls. The fingers inside me, the hand pinning my arms behind my back, they twitch and tighten with unease. Then his fingers pick up pace.
I roll around to the onslaught of them fucking me hard.
“Remember that name tonight, baby,” he growls from deep within his chest, and I’m so attuned to the sound, I can tell he is clenching his teeth. “When you spread your legs for him again, I dare you not to close your eyes and see mine staring down at you. Dare you not to feel my fingers working your cunt hard and fast just. Like. This.” His rhythm becomes beautifully brutal, not giving up, stimulating the perfect spot to the point of near pain. I whimper. “Dare you not to pretend his cock is mine when he thrusts inside you. Dare you not to scream my name in your head when your muscles start to shake.”
I grit my teeth as pleasure pounds down on me, beating against me in punishingly sweet waves that hurt and relieve and twist me inside out. I scream his name and he bites out, “I dare you not to think about me.”
He slows his pace as I quiver on the piano, having come completely apart, my entire body set free from the coiled state it’s been in for eleven years. I pant against the wood, time meaningless for a few euphoric moments.
My breath is the only sound in this room.
As his fingers slowly slide from inside me, his hand releases its tight grip on my arms.
I slowly stand. My hair cascades wild around my shoulders and back. My underwear rest tight around my ankles. His tall, shadowed body is all I can see in the dark. His steel-like pose has me shuffling nervously in place. My legs, weak from that orgasm and the intensity of that moment, give out, but he catches me. Bringing my head to his chest, he feeds his hands through my hair, holding me close for a moment as if he’s genuinely afraid I’ll dissolve within his grasp. I can hear his heart racing on the other side of flesh and bone, betraying his chillingly quiet demeanour. Unsure what else to do now, I choose not to fight it anymore. Wrapping my arms around his middle, I fist his shirt behind his back.Bronson.
I’m so sorry, nutcase.
I’m sorry.
His spine stiffens, and he drops his hands. Slowly pulling my arms from around him, he lifts them between our bodies to inspect.
I can’t see his eyes in the dim light, but I can feel a dangerous shift in him. When he runs his thumb slowly over the diamond on my ring finger, I freeze. A chill sweeps around us, provoking my nervous system to attention. He presses his lips to my hand, then kisses each finger, and I want to cry. I refuse to, biting back soft helpless sobs from the sixteen-year-old version of myself who loved him so immensely, that the love swallowed her whole.