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The melody is soft and slow, heartbreaking in its simple sad sound.
My fingers play gently, and I mess up on one of the notes, so I start again, playing the song through again, then again.
It’s like I’m hoping if I play it enough, I’ll leave my sorrow there on the keys. Tears blur my vision every now and then, but I never cry.
The door of the drawing room opens, but I don’t bother looking over my shoulder as I continue to play. I recognize his footsteps after he closes the door and his height as he steps into my periphery. He hovers at a distance, listening to me playing. I finish the song again and start anew, scared to stop.
“You must be in quite a dark mood,” he murmurs.
“Why do you say that?”
“That song you’re playing. What’s it called?”
“‘The Departure’.”
He steps closer, coming up behind the piano bench and tugging my blanket down far enough that he can cup his hand on the back of my bare neck.
“I hope you’re not intending I read into that. You aren’t leaving us, are you?”
My heart sinks at the thought.
“Eventually. I’ve probably outstayed my welcome. You of all people would agree.”
His hand flinches. “You have it wrong.”
A flicker of a smile spreads across my lips before I shake my head and continue playing. “Be careful or I might mistake your sleepy mood for something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like actual kindness.”
“I’ve been kind to you, haven’t I?” he asks, starting to skim his hand up and down my neck, beneath my hair. I tilt my head to the side to give him easier access. “In recent weeks.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure what word best describes your behavior lately. Kindness might not be it.”
“It’s not in my nature to open up to many people,” he admits, his fingers sliding up higher into my hair.
“I’ve seen that firsthand. You’ve been a puzzle I can’t solve…an egg I can’t crack.”
“Have you tried?”
I laugh under my breath. “Desperately, and yet I can’t seem to give up—can’t give you up. You’ve changed me.”
“And how do you think you’ve changed me?”
“Me?”
“Yes, can’t you see?” he asks, bending to pull the blanket off my shoulders completely so it pools around my hips on the bench. “Haven’t you managed to discover the truth? I live by your breath.”
His mouth touches my neck and my fingers still on the piano. The song cuts off abruptly, leaving us in silence. His lips move confidently down to my shoulder then his fingers trace along the strap of my tank top, shifting it millimeter by millimeter until it falls down my arm. The material pools, barely covering my chest, and my eyes squeeze shut as I let him continue. His hand brushes my arm, moving to cup my breast through the silky fabric, then he tugs it down farther and teasingly exposes another few inches of my skin. My head tips back and I lean into him, giving him every advantage as he continues working the material lower, baring my skin to the quiet room.
I’m uncovered from the waist up while I still sit on the piano bench with him standing behind me. His hands grasp and tease my breasts and I tremble, keeping my eyes closed. He bends low and tips my chin up so he can kiss me, but it’s brief and my eyes flick open in annoyance when he pulls away. He looks down at me with dark eyes, drinking me in with a drugged gaze. His emotions are so carefully tucked away, if not for his eyes, I wouldn’t think he was affected by me at all.
His hand skims lower as our eyes stay locked, and I reach to grab his forearm in consent. He plays with my breasts again, teasing them until I don’t think I can bear another second of his touch. Only then does he move lower. He slides his hand under the bunched material of my shirt and then, slowly, beneath the waistband of my shorts. I keep my grip on his forearm, pushing him down farther as I part my legs. When he slides his fingers underneath my panties, my stomach squeezes tight.
His touch stays suspended there for a moment. He doesn’t move at first, but then my legs part even more and his fingers brush gently at the center of my thighs. I shudder. He stands over me, perfectly composed as he repeats the gesture, prolonging the agony as he touches me there, drawing a moan from my lips as he swirls his middle finger again and again just in the spot where I need him most.
His eyes are on mine and I want to look away, but his other hand hooks under my chin and he keeps me there, staring up at him.
His thumb brushes my mouth and my lips part at the precise moment he slides the middle finger of his other hand inside me. My back arches as he presses in deeper, then he draws back out and in again, parting me and seducing me so that I spread my thighs farther, inviting him to feel every inch of me.
