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He’d had a gift, and he’d wasted it, playing tricks at parties. What he wouldn’t give to just once be able to play the piano again, to let his soul fly free on the waves of sound, and carry the audience with him to heights they’d never dreamed existed. Hell, he’d play in a deserted basement, as long as the piano was in tune. But that would never happen. The scarring on his left hand had damaged his extensor tendons. He could hit the notes just fine, but he couldn’t lift his fingers away from the keys, not at anything approaching the right speed.
Softly, he began singing the Sondheim melody he’d played for Beth earlier. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of the music he could no longer play. It had been his life, his heart and his soul. Sometimes, he thought it would be easier if he could just forget. But that way lay madness and death. If he ever lost the memories as well as the music, he knew it would kill him. A man may be able to live with a blade of ice imbedded in his heart, but he could not withstand the removal of his soul.
* * * * *
Gayle woke slowly, aware of warmth and a soft thudding drumbeat. And music. Rikard was humming softly to himself, occasionally punctuated by “No, that’s not right”, or “Yes, that’s it”. A pencil scratched frantically across paper.
Awareness returned to her body. She was sitting curled on his lap, wearing something heavy yet soft, her cheek pressed to his chest. His left hand was cupped loosely around her hip. Her ass throbbed in time with her pulse, still sensitive from the thorough whipping and spanking he’d given her.
Experimentally, she rolled her shoulders. No stiffness there, although she could feel the muscles, like the burn of pressing a stretch when working out.
Rikard’s humming stopped.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No, that’s all right. I was just waiting for you to wake up.”
Gayle sat up, hissing as her weight rolled onto her ass. The brief flash of pain was followed by a delicious warmth, spreading out over her skin while at the same time spiraling deep to ignite the slumbering desire within her. She wriggled on his lap, stoking the flames.
He inhaled sharply, and tightened his grip on her hip, holding her still. She recognized the firm pressure against the back of her thigh as his suddenly hard cock.
“I don’t have any condoms in this room. And if you keep that up, I’m not going to remember why I need to go get them.”
She froze at the low threat in his voice, more than the words he used. When she remained still, his hold loosened and he released his breath in a soft gust.
“Thank you.”
Careful to move only her head, she glanced around the room. They were no longer in the playroom. He’d carried her downstairs, to the reclining couch in the home theater.
Her glance dipped down to the fluffy white robe she was wearing. The breast was embroidered in gold thread with a fat bird. A bird wearing antennae. At least that’s what it looked like upside down. She struggled to read the scrolling print beneath. L’ Perdrix. That didn’t help.
She flicked her gaze upwards to Rikard, meaning to ask him about the logo. His blue eyes watched her from within the dark depths of his black mask.
“You’re still wearing your mask.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re still Master Rikard, and not just Rikard?” She couldn’t explain the sadness this caused. After all, Master Rikard was the one who had given her the best orgasm of her life in the kitchen, then topped that with the full-body meltdown of ecstasy in the playroom.
Maybe that was it. Master Rikard was about the sex. Held close in his arms, cuddled and cared for, she wanted an emotional connection. If it had been Rikard holding her, she’d have thought that’s what he wanted, too. But it wasn’t Rikard. It was Master Rikard who held her on his lap while his cock pressed hard and solid against her thigh. Master Rikard who wasn’t done with her yet.
Her breath quickened, her breasts tensing and tightening despite herself. He was watching her reaction carefully. When her breathing shifted, he slipped his gloved hand between the folds of her robe, the black leather dramatic against the fluffy white terry.
His warm hand cupped one of her breasts, his thumb rubbing gently across the nipple. Gayle arched into his touch with a sigh, her eyes closing to focus all her attention on the feel of his hand upon her. Her nipple tightened even further, to a hard point.
He tugged lightly with his thumb and forefinger, ripping a gasp from her lips. Her hips bounced without conscious volition, pulling an equally sharp gasp from him. His cock dug into the soft flesh of her thigh.
“Where are those condoms?” she asked.
“Upstairs, in the guest bedroom. But we can’t go up just yet. Your friend will be calling soon, and she’ll be distressed if you don’t answer the phone.”
Gayle blinked. “How did you know…?”
“She already called once, while you were asleep.”
The blood drained from her face. “Oh my God! What did you say? What did she say?”
“It’s fine. I told her you were sleeping, and she promised to call back in an hour.”
