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With a glare, I climb up on the instrument, making myself comfortable and hoping the mistreatment of his precious piano will piss him off. All I’m wearing is my t-shirt and some panties, and I know my bare legs are right in his field of vision. There’s no way he can’t see them—can’t see that I’m right here.
When he still doesn’t say anything, I pivot on the shiny black surface and slide closer, until I’m perched on the piano right in front of him. There’s something urging me on. Some impulse I don’t understand, but one I don’t question either.
I spread my legs slowly, giving him ample time to realize what I’m about to do and make some kind of protest.
Of course, he doesn’t.
He’s too good to talk to the likes of me or what-the-fuck-ever. He just keeps playing, his fingers moving smoothly over the keys as if he doesn’t have an audience at all.
So I let my hand wander down to my crotch, touching myself through my panties. Even with the irritation and confusion curling through me, my fingers feel good when they skim over my clit through the fabric of my underwear, and I huff a soft little noise of pleasure at my own touch.
I’m not even sure what drove me to do this, but all I know is I want to push Priest. I want toforcea reaction out of him, because I’m sick of this blank-faced bullshit he’s pulling. He wasn’t fucking blank when he strode in and shot those cartel members, and yet he can’t find the goddamn decency to tell me why.
I keep my eyes on him while I let my fingers rub over the dampening crotch of my panties, silently daring him to give a shit one way or the other. I don’t care which way he picks. I just needsomething.
He can’t help but look at me, even if he doesn’t want to. I’m right there in his face, legs spread, fingers moving, and even though his attention is on the music he’s still playing, I can feel it every time his eyes land on me.
It’s like a physical touch on my skin, searing and intense, and even if he hates what he sees, hates that I’m here, it’s affecting him. Those minuscule cracks I can see in his mask push me to keep going, even though I still haven’t figured out what I’m doing yet, or why the hell I’m pushing him like this.
I thrust my hips forward with a low groan, grinding against my fingers as music fills the room. My clit throbs behind the soft cotton of my panties, aching to be touched without the barrier in the way.
My core clenches, reminding me that it’s still empty, and just from the way my fingertips are getting wet, I know there must be a visible damp spot on my panties that Priest won’t be able to ignore.
He tries though.
I’ll give him that.
His nostrils flare, like he’s smelling my arousal, and his eyes flick to me again before going back down to the piano. The song has shifted from the one he was playing when I came in to something different.
It’s still slow and melodic, still haunting in a weird way, and since he doesn’t have sheet music in front of him, it has to be something he either wrote or memorized a long time ago.
Either way, it becomes the soundtrack to this little moment.
It blends in with my soft moans as I spread my legs wider and roll my hips, low key humping my own fingers right there in front of him.
It doesn’t have exactly the effect I want, so I up the ante a bit, pulling the crotch of my panties aside to show him more. So he can see how wet I am, the shine of my folds as the scent of my arousal fills the air.
Something about the way he looks at me every now and then just spurs me on. I wanted his attention, and these are little snippets of it.
But it’s not enough. I need something else. I needmore.
Priest keeps playing, and I work my fingers over my clit, giving in to that burning need to stimulate myself more.
“Fuck,” I breathe in a low voice, bucking up to press harder against my hand. “Feels good.”
He didn’t ask, and he doesn’t react to my words. He just keeps playing, so I keep going.
I push one finger into the hot tightness of my hole, feeling my silky smooth inner walls cling to my finger when I try to work it back out. Just that finger isn’t enough, so I add another one, pressing them both in deep.
My breath is coming in sharp, harsh gasps, and I can’t hold back the way I’m trembling a little as heat rushes through me. This is about getting a rise out of Priest, but it’s also actually fucking hot to do this on top of his piano.
I can tell I’m going to come soon, so I don’t back down. I fuck myself on my own fingers, letting the obscenely wet noises echo in the room right alongside the music.
My moans and harsh breathing add an odd harmony to the mix, and I arch sharply when I feel that pleasure rising and threatening to spill over.
I shove my fingers in deeper, fucking myself as hard as I like it, and that’s enough. That bubble of pleasure pops, sending it all cascading over me and through me. I have to bite my lip on a loud cry, and my toes curl as I shake my way through an orgasm.
Priest finally reacts to that, at least. His fingers fly over the keys of the piano, the music turning fast and frantic. He’s practically slamming his hands into them, and then all of a sudden he actually does.
Both hands come down hard, the harsh chord making me jump.
Priest stands up all at once, knocking the piano bench backward and staring at me with eyes that burn.
