Page 103 of Total Exposure

But I let them do that.

I liked it.

And there’s always a little more responsibility one can take, even if they are eight. Or ten. Or fifteen. Or immortal, like me. Because even after I die, I will live on.

It’s not the world’s fault I am who I am.

It’s mine.

I can either learn to live with the responsibility or suck people dry with my expectations.

I don’t want to be a taker. I don’t want to exsanguinate the world with my power. I don’t want to die alone, lonely, and leave the world nothing but the memory of music.

I want to share my gift with him forever.

So I force myself to slow down. The improvised powerful scale that fills the room to capacity turns into a sweet, soft melody that begs to be heard.

I make myself small. I make myself part of the world around me instead of overtaking it. I meld into something altogether new as my bow now caresses the strings like a long-lost lover.

Ix lets out a breath. Like he was holding it in. Like the music I make was forcing him to do that. The power of my talent holding him captive.

But he’s free now.

Practice does make perfect.

His hands wander to my breasts, which wiggle slightly with the swaying motion of my body as I play. He pinches my nipple and I can feel his excitement growing against my bare thigh.

I stay slow and small. Let him become big and hard. Let him fill up the room with his masculine strength.

Draw from it.

Smile.

“Yes,” I say. “Touch me everywhere. Take anything you want.”

“You don’t want to give me that power,” he says. His voice is low, like the notes coming from my fingers.

“I really do,” I whisper back.

I slip into Ave Maria, my favorite song as a child. The first one I ever played on stage when I was four.

Ix’s hands stop everything and the room, though filled with music, goes still. I close my eyes as my body moves, and he begins again, the song powerful, but what’s happening between us even more so.

His fingertips slide up and down my ribs. Soft, sweeping motions that send a chill up my neck and come out in the notes that float in the air.

“God,” he whispers, his touch wandering down to the curve of my hips. My legs part, like he commanded them to. But really, it’s nothing more than my own invitation.

Which he accepts by parting the lips of my pussy, finding the wetness accumulating just for him, and begins to play me like I’m playing the violin.

Chapter Forty-Two - Ixion

I can’t stop myself. The beauty in this room is overwhelming. Not just the song she’s playing. It’s not just Ave Maria coming from the soul of one of the world’s most talented violinists, it’s her too. Her sweet face, her innocence, her large, soft breasts, the shape of her waist and hips and the tickling touches of her long hair as it brushes across my arms as she gives me what I wanted since the first time I met her—I just didn’t realize it.

Herself. With no expectations. Blind and willing.

Her pussy is wet, her clit swelling under my touch the same way my cock is now filled with longing.

Her legs open wider, the weight of her body on my legs silently driving me wild.