grabs my hands.
“Lie back,” he orders, holding my hands while I sink
back on top of the piano. The lid is hard and
uncompromising against my back. He lets go and pushes
my legs open wider, my feet dancing over the keys, over
the lower and higher notes.
the lower and higher notes.
Oh boy. I know what he’s going to do, and the
anticipation . . . I groan loudly as he kisses the inside of my
knee, then kisses and sucks and nips his way higher up my
leg to my thigh. The soft satin of my nightgown rises higher,
skimming over my sensitized skin, as he pushes the fabric.
I flex my feet and the chords sound again. Closing my
eyes, I surrender myself to him as his mouth reaches the
apex of my thighs.
He kisses me . . . there . . . Oh boy . . . then gently
blows before his tongue circles my clitoris. He pushes my
legs wider. I feel so open—so exposed. He holds me in
place, his hands just above my knees as his tongue tortures
me, giving no quarter, no respite . . . no reprieve. Tilting
my hips up, meeting and matching his rhythm, I am
consumed.
“Oh, Christian, please.” I moan.
“Oh no, baby, not yet,” he teases, but I feel myself
quicken as does he, and he stops.
“No,” I whimper.
“This is my revenge, Ana,” he growls softly. “Argue
with me, and I am going to take it out on your body
somehow.” He trails kisses along my belly, his hands
tra一veling up my thighs, stroking, kneading, tantalizing. His
tongue circles my na一vel as his hands—and his thumbs . . .
oh his thumbs—reach the summit of my thighs.
“Ah!” I cry out as he pushes one inside me. The other
persecutes me, slowly, agonizingly, circling round and
round. My back arches off the piano as I writhe beneath
his touch. It’s almost unbearable.
his touch. It’s almost unbearable.
“Christian!” I cry, spiraling out of control with need.
He takes pity on me and stops. Lifting my feet off the
keys, he pushes me; and suddenly, I’m sliding effortlessly
up the piano, gliding on satin, and he’s following me up
there, briefly kneeling betw
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