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“Play me something.”
Ari and I sat on my kitchen island, a juice pouch in each of our hands.
I’d spent the day searching for Vincent. She’d spent the day taking care of Tessie and, according to her, fielding Tessie’s questions about Uncle Vince.
And at four in the morning, like clockwork, I’d come home and join her for a juice pouch. Our version of a nightcap.
Sometimes, we’d talk.
Sometimes, we’d make out.
Sometimes, we’d do both.
I tossed my juice pouch in the trash. “You first.”
“I don’t play the piano.” She tugged at the bottom of her shirt—my shirt—and I wondered if she wore anything underneath.
I’d figure out in a moment.
I tossed her juice pouch in the trash, too. “I know.”
“Then… what?”
She let me lead her to the piano, and when I tapped its top, she gave me a dubious look before hopping on.
I’d saved this piano for Everett, but every investigation I’d done into Elsa had turned up empty, and I could never get something to hold over Elsa’s head. Not even with the money she’d supposedly owed to someone.
With Vincent gone and all our searches coming up empty, my hope had plummeted somewhere beside my soul, and that motherfucker was probably the size of a pea.
Or maybe something smaller, like Elsa’s heart.
I pressed a hand to Ariana’s knees and nudged them wider. Her legs parted, and a smirk curved my lips at her lack of panties.
Such a beautiful distraction.
More than a distraction.
I shoved that voice down. The one that told me to take a risk with Ariana, that she wasn’t Elsa, that I could trust her.
You already do trust her.
“I’ll play the piano keys”—I curled my fingers around her calf and spread her legs wider—“if your fingers play the same melody on your pussy.”
“What?” Her lower lip dropped open a bit, amusing me.
I placed her hand on her pussy and rubbed her fingers in tiny little circles on her clit. “Are you slow today or is this a usual thing?”
She sighed and closed her eyes as she quickened her movements. “Always a jerk.”
“Did you think you could change me?”
In some ways, she had. She’d gotten me to want her. I didn’t just want to fuck her. I wanted her. Everything. Anything she’d give me.
Dangerous territory, considering the last time I’d felt this way…
Only this time felt different.
Falling in love with Elsa was like jogging at the park; this with Ariana—and I refused to call it love—was like falling face first onto hot concrete on a cold day.
