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The sight of his dark leather glove curling around his swollen shaft is so dangerously erotic I can’t stand it. My breath rips in and out of my lungs, and my fingers dig in to his shoulders when he strokes a glistening bead of moisture from his tip. Why am I still holding on to him?
“I didn’t bring you here for this, you know,” he grits out, sliding his fist up and down his cock. “I really did just bring you here to play for me. But you’re so fucking disobedient. And so fucking pretty when you do obey.”
His words are like a physical caress, and I can’t escape them. So fucking pretty when you obey.
“My good, bad little Songbird,” he groans. “Do you see how fucking hard you make me?”
Of course I do. It would be impossible not to. Something in me shivers with satisfaction that I’m the one who did this to him. I may not have any control over this situation, or even my own body, but at least I have some control over his.
His voice lowers an entire dangerous octave. “You’re not supposed to make me so hard I can’t see straight.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” I whisper. “Why did you choose me? Is it just about the debt? Because I…” I hesitate, as if I’m not supposed to ask. But it’s not like he was hiding them. The CDs were right there on a shelf in the open. “I found the CDs. Recordings of all my performances from the past year and a half.”
Elio breathes out, long and hot, a stirring motion over my bared breasts.
The movement of his hand slows.
“Let me tell you a story,” he says. “The story of the songbird, the monster, and the man.” His hand stops moving altogether. “One hot summer day, the man begged a monster for money. But the monster knew it was a bad deal. He was just in the process of turning the man down flat when he heard something.”
“Heard what?”
“A song. A song that got inside him, a song he couldn’t shake. He needed to find out what it was and who the hell could play like that. So, he looked up. And there was the prettiest little songbird he ever did see.” His hand isn’t moving now, but his hips are, grinding slowly and sensuously up into his leather fist. A new roughness enters his voice as he continues. “In that instant, the monster knew he’d lend the man the money as long as it meant that he could get that songbird for himself. He’d wait, bide his time until the term ran out. But by that point, he was already hopelessly fucking addicted.”
His hips buck, fucking his fist faster. I can’t tear my gaze away from the way his slick head appears then disappears into the leather.
“So the monster watched the songbird every chance he got. Took her music home, too, to try to get another hit of her, even though it wasn’t anywhere near enough.”
His words are so rough now, almost slurred.
“And then, one cold winter morning, the first of the new year and the day that songbird turned twenty, time ran out for the man. The monster returned. And this time-” His breath catches, making the words jagged, “the monster took the songbird for himself. And he killed anyone who got in his fucking way.”
A creamy jet spurts from Elio’s tip, followed by another, and another. Rope after rope of come, raining down on his pants and his glove. Some of it even reaches my naked chest, wet and glistening and staining me. As his come sinks in, so does the story he’s just told me. Understanding explodes in my head like a bomb.
He didn’t just take me because of my father’s debt. He lent my father the money, created that debt in the first fucking place, specifically so that he could have me. I remember something he said before, something I hadn’t understood. Until now.
From the very beginning, I didn’t consider this a loan, but an investment.
The investment was in me.
Having me wasn’t a byproduct of a deal gone bad. It was the whole fucking point. The only reason the deal existed in the first place.
“You weren’t even going to lend my dad the money until you saw me,” I say tightly, my mind spinning. “You engineered this entire situation just so you could have access to me! You created the debt just to trap me with it!”
He drags a finger through the come dripping between my breasts.
“Technically, your father created the debt,” Elio says coolly. “He was so deep in the hole by that point that he had no choice but to come begging to Peter in order pay Paul. But otherwise, yes, you are correct. I would never have lent your father that money if I hadn’t seen you and heard you play that day.” He tucks himself back into his pants and stands, looking down at me with unrepentant eyes. “I lent him that money precisely because I knew I’d never get it back. Because I knew that I’d get you in the end.”
It infuriates me how easily he admits it. That he doesn’t even care enough about what I think of him to deny what he’s done.
“I hate you,” I whisper thickly. Tears are building at the backs of my eyes, tightening my throat.
“You’re free to do so,” Elio says calmly. Almost cavalierly. He swipes his finger through the come on my skin again, dragging it over to my nipple and rubbing it into the agonizingly sensitive peak as he leans down.
“Enjoy it, Deirdre. Enjoy hating me,” he whispers against my ear, teasing my nipple into a taut and aching point. “Because it’s one of the only freedoms you have left.”
I stumble backwards and away from him, reeling.
I spin, seeing the doorless entry into the other bedroom.
