Page 86 of The Darkness is Calling

“Torture,” she whispers theatrically, with an exaggerated expression.

I straighten and position myself behind her.

“Allow me to show you what kind.” My voice is tempting, placing my palms on her shoulders, covered by the silky shirt.

I can say her outfit today is inspiring my actions at this moment. Since the second I saw that shirt, I wanted to undo the buttons and touch her breasts. And the skirt is bell-shaped, ideal for being lifted. As for those slender legs, they could not have been paired with anything but pointed heels that make me think of a very pleasant kind of pain.

I am not a masochist.

Quite the opposite. Sadism is my great pleasure, especially when it culminates in someone’s blood and death. But right now, I think whatever this woman subjected me to, I would find pleasure in it.

“Keep playing, Ekaterina,” I ask with a gentleness that barely covers my desire to tear her apart.

Literally.

“You stop only if I tell you to.”

“Why?”

I slowly wrap one hand around her throat as a warning. “You always have something to say.”

“I don’t get along very well with commands,” she says, relaxed, even though my fingers slowly press against her trachea.

She is not afraid of anything, damn it. And this only turns me on more.

“I noticed. Now can you play?”

“I’m impressed by how nicely you’re asking…” she throws back sarcastically, making me say those words for the first time in my life, even if I do it without a trace of emotion in my voice.

“Please.”

My answer is followed by a beautiful giggle and a new melody born from her magical fingers. So I make my way with my hands, from her shoulders to her chest, where I open each button, one by one.

“What are you doing?” she asks immediately, but when she tries to stop, I intervene.

“Hands on the piano, Ekaterina. We all play what we can.”

“Well, I can’t play under these conditions.”

“Try.”

At first, it seems it isn’t that hard for her to keep the melodic line, until my palm cups her breast through the thin bra and slowly massages it. Then I push the cup aside and begin playing with her bare breast, with the nipple that hardens instantly beneath my possessive touch.

My cock is already pulsing in my trousers, but my attention is fixed only on her breasts. Soft, but firm. Not too large, not too small, perfect enough for each one to fit in my palm so I can enjoy them like a man obsessed.

I am starved for this woman, and my hunger is sharpened by the voices wanting to rise to the surface. Not to guide me toward hurting her, but toward devouring her in the most erotic way.

Slowly, my hand moves down over her stomach until I reach the place between her closed thighs. Of course, I force her to part them, only to lift the fine material of her skirt afterward, just enough to slip my fingers between her legs.

She jolts when I touch her underwear and moans when I push it aside.

I touch her soft folds and get drunk on the sigh that slips between her parted lips. I begin by spreading her wetness with the tips of my fingers before sliding them inside her. First one, then two.

She loses the rhythm and misses the notes, but I can feel how hard she is trying to focus on playing while I touch her like this.

Fuck...

I can barely hear the piano anymore, because her breathless sounds become the only music reaching me.