AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My chest heaves as I fight with my own body to regulate my breathing. I don’t know exactly what I’m waiting for, and he says nothing at all.
Am I really so pathetically lost in my fantasies that I’m actually imagining him standing in front of me right now?
No, he’s really here. Watching me.
Somewhere in my mind, it registers that he’s not supposed to be here. A parent wandering the halls of a middle school is generally frowned upon. If anything were wrong with Henry, he wouldn’t be here.
It would be right for me to ask him to leave. I could have him escorted out. Yet I don’t.
I want him here.
I track his movements with my eyes as he moves to sit in the closest auditorium chair. The metal hinges of the chair creak with age as he lowers himself to sit. One arm hangs over the armrest as he curls his fingers around the lower half of his face. His eyes seem to darken as if he can feel my morning session echoing vibrantly across my mind. He crosses one leg over the other and blinks slowly at me.
As if he’s giving me permission to continue.
I shouldn’t care. I don’t need his permission to do anything. I should throw him out of this room or at the very least report him to Principal Martinez.
Yet, my hands start to move.
I can’t deny that having his eyes on me feels good. It’s not just the approval that I enjoy or knowing that he liked watching me play the other day. I haven’t felt the attention of a man like him in quite some time, and it feels almost as if I’m playing with fire. The heat that crackles and sparks from my overwhelming attraction to him builds and spurs my fingers to move faster.
The tune I choose is slightly more jovial, but I have always preferred haunting melodies. The music ofSaint-Saëns' Cello Concerto No. 2, Op. 119reflects the chase that I feel between us. My fingers burn in the best possible ways. Still raw and angry from the lack of playing over the last few years, I cannot wait for callouses to finish forming. The pain reminds me of when I was first learning to play.
Yet, for the first time, I play for someone other than myself or my mother.
Hundreds of people have seen me play over the course of my youth. I competed in many competitions and won more medals than I can even remember… at least until I was old enough to be considered awomanand was forced to focus on that and only that.
Then I played for myself as a form of therapy. Now, if I could dedicate this to him, I would. I reach my favorite part of the piece. Just bars before the end where my section slows and draws out. I’ve always mentally likened it to reaching my climax. Waiting for that last lingering note to catapult me off of the edge and then the rapid burst of sensation that follows.
I lock eyes with him at the exact moment that I hit the final note.
Daniel shifts in his seat.
I smirk knowingly. We are on the same page, it seems. I’ve always wanted to be able to move people with my music in this way. I want to make themfeelwhat I feel. Which, right now, is an unfettered desire for the man watching me. Heat explodes in my core and moves lower as I focus on him. Normally, this is the section where everything else fades away, but this time it’s like he and I are existing inside a bubble filled with tension that one wrong move could pop.
He walks slowly to the edge of the stage and comes up the three stairs separating us as the song abruptly finishes. I lift my chin to see him properly. My breath comes in heavy, shuttered bursts, and my hands tremble with exhaustion. I can feel the imprints of the strings against the pads of my fingers despite not touching them anymore.
“Exquisite,” he whispers as if he, too, is afraid of breaking the dream that we have found ourselves in. “I feel as if I’m seeing you for the first time, as a whole other person.”
Distant, muffled bells of alarm register in the back of my mind that something about his words should concern me, but the rest of me focuses on the dark notes of his cologne: coffee grounds, amber and something else I can’t identify.
My brow pinches in confusion as if I don’t know what he’s implying.
He walks a slow, predatory circle around me and stops in front of my cello. “The two times I’ve seen you, I thought you were shy because there were students about. Now, I think that you might simply be the sort of person who only shows real emotion when you play.”
I stop breathing.
“I think the best musicians are the same way. I am a man who has a deep admiration for live orchestras. Sure, I like the music, but there is something deeply moving about seeing a person totally consumed by the thing they are most passionate about.”
I'm not blind to the double meaning in his words. My core temperature falls. He has stripped me naked in just a few words. He isn't interested in knowing how correct he is. I don't need to tell him that the things I've been through have frozen my heart. Everything was taken from me. I choose to focus on the arousal and ignore everything else.
He hitches up the upper fabric of his pants before squatting in front of my cello. He runs his eyes over the strings and the curvature of the wood as if embracing it with his eyes.
“So, what I don’t understand, is how a beautiful woman such as yourself with such obvious talent did not make a name for herself? We cannot be more than a few hours out of the city, and we both know you would have had great success there. So, why would you come here instead?” Daniel says as he runs a finger along the string. It makes a strange, slow note.
I scoff bitterly and shake my head softly.
“Do you disagree with my assessment?” He looks up at me. Seeing him lowered before me is only fueling every dirty thought I’ve had about him. I feel like I’m about to do something reckless.
