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“Fuck, yes,” he growled.
Was this his fantasy—fucking me over his piano? Was I the first? I hoped I was that special. That Magda, and whomever else he had entertained, were never treated to such a display of his sexual powers.
He pinched a hand about my neck, holding me steady, and my scalp prickled with excitement. Our grunts and groans filled the air. Occasionally, he knocked a key, sending a solitary note across the room. His pace slowed. I sighed, content to let him use me.
The evening progressed in a haze. I remembered a stupendous orgasm ricocheting around my body after he drew me off the piano, lay me on my back on the long padded stool and fucked me to seventh heaven. From there, he stripped, moved me onto the warm floor and spread me wide again. I hollered at him, begging him to let me come, as if he would say no or tell me not to. I wanted him to know how desperate he made me, how needy I became the moment he lay a finger on me.
Perspiration turned the hairs on his chest into tufted knots. When we paused to catch our breaths, I toyed with them, tugging on them to get his attention.
“Mausi,” he warned. “I’ve not finished with you yet.”
He’d spilled in me once, on the piano stool, and with the piano now out of bounds, he took me over the sofa. The soft fabric and padding came as a blessing after the hard edges of the piano. I burrowed my face into the cushions as he explored my body, taking me on a sensory journey from sucking my toes to pulling on my hair. Every inch of me endured his attention with both trepidation and delight.
I experienced Stefan in full-on dominance. No time for me to think or question, I gave him my body, and he gifted back intense orgasms and extraordinary pleasure. I worked hard to pay him back, sucking him out of his post-orgasm stupor into another stiff erection as he lay on the sofa with me curled up between his knees.
At some point we ate in the nude with candles on the table and no other lights. His glowing face flickered and shadows danced across his broad chest. I squirmed in my seat, leaking, probably, and picked at my dish of cold meats and cheese. When I tore off a hunk of bread, I offered him a piece and he put it between my teeth and chewed on it until our lips met in a kiss.
Later, at some ridiculous hour in the middle of the night, we crashed into bed and slept, arms entwined about each other.
* * * *
In the morning, I woke late and was surprised to see that Stefan hadn’t roused. I lay there, sore, probably a little bruised in places, and quite content. I stared around the unusual room and up at the open roof space with its exposed pine beams. This stylish house was going to be my new home. A cozy, lovely feeling centered me until one thought drifted into my foggy mind—moving. I had no car, Stefan’s had no space in the boot for anything large, and I had a heap of things to bring with me—clothes, books, personal objects hoarded over time and too sentimental to throw away, especially the photo albums of my father.
“Shit,” I muttered.
“What’s that?” he murmured, stirring under the duvet.
I chewed my lip. “Do you know somebody with a big car?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
We spent Saturday doing mundane, ordinary things like shopping for groceries, a visit to the bank for Stefan and copious amounts of coffee drunk in comfortable seats in a snug café.
My problem about moving he’d dismissed with a simple, “Don’t worry, I’ll sort something out.”
I’d opened my mouth to query him but he’d already changed the subject to freeing up storage space for me in the bedroom.
He exuded excitement. I could hear it in his rapid speech and the way he darted about with ideas. I smiled a few times, stirred my coffee and nodded agreeably. My own excitement ranged from downright nervous about giving up my safe haven from him to dizzy-headed thrilled to bits. Opposite me with his toes kissing mine under the table was this heavenly man with his flamboyant hair and neat goatee, oozing sexual allure. Yes, he could be dangerous, but he was my fox and I was going to tame him.
After a rather relaxed, low-key night, where we’d concentrated on petting and caressing, rather than rampant sex, we headed out to visit my mother.
Stefan pulled out all the charm stops for her. However, unlike Micah, who’d ingratiated and flattered with half-truths and platitudes, Stefan stuck to being courteous, helpful with setting the table, and listening dutifully to my mum’s lengthy descriptions of her grandson at play.
I seemed to hold my breath for the duration of Sunday lunch, waiting for an ominous frown from my mother, or an ill-at-ease, curt remark to slip out of her mouth. My embarrassed daughter mode hadn’t needed to be activated. She’d held me in high esteem for all my impromptu visits, rescuing her from mini crises.
I remembered two hushed statements from my mother. One spoken to me over the kitchen sink before the meal.
“He’s rather good-looking, isn’t he?”
I’d practically choked on the raw carrot I’d stolen to chew upon.
The second, again in Stefan’s absence, offered to me as she’d followed me into the hallway.
“Don’t let this one go, will you, darling? He has real brains.”
I’d gaped at her. She always judged men by their conversational ability, not by any academic grades. I’d nodded at her, rather stunned by her sage-like comment.
Driving home, Stefan gruffly announced that he quite liked my mum and that he could probably manage a visit from time to time. I pursed my lips, unsure of his verdict, but when I sneaked a glance at him, he was grinning merrily. I punched his arm.
