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When it ends as sharply as it came over me, I gasp with just how intense my orgasm was, and he nips my lip and declares, “I’m going to fuck you now.”
“Yes. Please.” It’s all I can say. It’s all I need. I reach for his pants, and I don’t know when, but they are unzipped, he already has on a condom.
“Even polite when you want to fuck,” he says. “I like it.”
He scoops me up, and I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as feminine as I do in this moment, in Kace’s arms as he carries me to the end of the piano, and by the time I’m on my feet again, he’s kissing me, kissing the hell out of me and me him. I am lost and found in this man, no longer the girl in hiding, shoving at his pants. Finally, we get them off, and he sits down on the stool in front of the piano and drags me into his lap. He anchors me, pressing the thick ridge of his cock inside me, thick and hard, filling me inch by slow inch until I have all of him. Until my hands press to his shoulders, and we’re staring at each other. Just staring at each other.
The air charges around us and it’s as if a spark explodes into flames. I don’t know who moves first, but we’re kissing again, his hand pressed between my shoulder blades, supporting me, protecting me, even as he’s rocking me against his cock. Or maybe I’m just doing it myself. All I know is the urgency of our bodies, nothing else.
The build of my orgasm begins again too soon, and I can’t fight it. Not with his tongue stroking my tongue, not with him buried inside me, filling me, pleasing me. I don’t even have the warning I expect. My body doesn’t tense in a prelude to release. It clamps down hard on him inside, clenching around him, darts of pleasure shooting through my body. I bury my face in his neck, the spasming of my sex jerking my entire body. He groans, low and guttural, and then he’s quaking with me. I try to move, to push him through his release, but I can’t seem to control my body. The room fades, and I cling to him, inhaling his scent, trembling with his touch.
When finally, I blink the room back into view, his powerful arm is around me, and I’m staring at the violin, the Stradivarius violin. I’m naked in every possible way with this man.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I have only seconds to feel naked and exposed before Kace brings me back to him, back to a place that is remarkably safe and comfortable. He cups my head, kisses my neck, and says, “Do you like tacos?”
I’m naked on top of him on a fairly small piano bench, with him still inside me, and he’s asking me about tacos.
I laugh and pull back to look at him. “Is that a trick question? Doesn’t everyone?”
“Good answer. I know a great twenty-four-hour place and they deliver.”
Just that easily he tells me he doesn’t want me to leave. And I don’t want to leave.
He stands up and takes me with him, only to set me down on the bench, where he’d just been sitting, his hands at my hips. “Don’t move. I have something for you.”
He doesn’t wait for a reply. He pushes off the bench and snatches up his pants, and turns, offering me a delicious view of his tight, perfect backside, which is tattoo-free, as he pulls them on and then walks around the piano. I drag my knees to my chest, twisting around to follow Kace’s movements, but the violin blocks my view.
The violin.
It’s almost as if my past is chasing me. Maybe it always was.
I shouldn’t be here. I should get dressed and go home.
Only, I don’t want to leave.
Confusion claws at me and already Kace has returned, still shirtless. My gaze rakes over his perfect abs and I’m now aware of the colorful display of musical notes tattooed all over his rock-hard belly, travelling beneath his pants. My mouth goes dry. I want to find out what I missed. I want to lick a path that travels every one of those musical notes.
He settles on a knee in front of me and sets his T-shirt on the bench next to me, his hands cupping my legs just below my knees. Knees that I’m still clutching to my chest, but when Kace gently urges them to the ground, my feet settle on the wooden floor. I’m now naked once more and exposed in so many ways with Kace yet again, but he isn’t looking at my body.
He’s looking at me and I’m looking at him and I see that edge in him, and not for the first time, I believe it’s torment, pain, damage. And I believe he allows me to see this. I believe he wants me to know that I sees this. I wonder if it’s because he sees it in me as well. My belly clenches with this realization. Yes. I believe he does. He’s a man who shelters himself, who doesn’t bring people into his life, and that is not about fame. It’s about more than that. I’m naked, taking risks with him, but he, too, is exposed. He, too, is taking risks. Maybe neither of us should be, but we can’t seem to help ourselves. We can’t seem to walk away.
