by Aubrey Irons
“Guess I learn something new every day.”
He grins smugly.
“I’m serious.”
“You do know that’s not my song, right?”
“I have actually heard of Bruce Springsteen before, yes.”
I grin. “Just making sure.”
Last night, this man had me naked and stretched across his kitchen counter while his tongue and fingers made me come until my breath ran out. Roughly fourteen hours later, we’re casually talking pop music, as if I wasn’t moaning his name and yanking at fistfuls of his hair last night.
“Is this—” I frown. “Sorry, is it okay that I’m playing this?”
He shrugs. “I’m not going to. Also, you sound fucking awesome.”
“Thanks.”
“The Boss would approve.”
I laugh. “Good to know.”
The laugh tumbles into a small, hidden gasp as he suddenly moves toward me, stalking across the room. He brushes past me, just enough for me to feel the heat of him — just enough for me to shiver at the illicit feelings I know he knows he brings out in me.
He leans against the grand piano.
“I actually only caught the tail end of that cover.”
“Eh, it’s a crowd pleaser. People go nuts over covers.”
“What about your original stuff.”
I shrug.
“Well, can I get a taste?”
I blush, and then immediately blush even harder for having blushed at all.
Bastian’s lips pull into a wolfish smirk.
“I’ll take another taste of that too, if you’re offering.”
“Wasn’t,” I say quickly, looking down to fiddle with the guitar. The warring feelings from the night before are still waging a battle inside of me. On one side, there’s the immediate — the visceral, physical, damaged, lip-bitingly wrong Bastian. The emotional train wreck. The devil on my shoulder whispering obscene promises in my ear.
And then there’s the physically absent yet emotionally stable, comforting, familiar, almost imaginary and almost unreal angel on the other side.
Jack.
Jack whose name isn’t even Jack who I’ve never even spoken to.
As opposed to the man standing in front of me who had me whimpering and begging for more last night. The one whose very presence has my panties growing wetter by the second.
“Play for me.”
It’s almost a command - the royal prince himself issuing a decree.
“I’m sorry, am I one of your subjects?”
“Not a very loyal one. I don’t hear music yet.”
I flip him off, and he grins.
“Can I please, pretty please with a fucking cherry on top, hear you play one of your songs.”
I smile sweetly.
“See? You make fun of my southern sensibilities, but you do catch more flies with honey than you do with—”
I swallow as he’s suddenly moving from the piano towards me, something hungry in his eyes.
“…Vinegar,” I finish, taking a shaky breath.
“I think I prefer the honey.”
“I think that’s the point of the saying.”
“Does that make me a fly?”
“A total pest.”
Bastian’s jaw twitches, that dangerous, dark smile pulling across his jaw.
“Maybe it’s that your honey is just entirely too tempting.”
The heat pulses hot between my legs, my panties soaked through as the shiver creeps up my back.
“I thought you wanted to hear me play,” I whisper, breathing heavily as he pulls the guitar from my hands and lifts the strap from my shoulder.
No. Stop. What are you doing.
The voice inside — the one that’s still fighting the war of ideals over the devil or the angel — tries to speak up, but is quickly squashed down when Bastian runs a finger over the waist of my skirt.
The devil wins.
Why did I wear a skirt?
“I think I’d rather see you play on the piano,” he growls lowly, his finger finding the space between my skirt and my T-shirt, tracing over the bare skin there.
“Oh?”
“Very much so,” his voice is gravelly and low in my ear.
His hand snakes around my waist, and I gasp quietly as he spins us, pushing me back until my back is to the piano, my thighs against the keys. His mouth traces up my neck, lips finding my jawline as his hands slide around to cup my ass.
I moan, my breath coming staggered as his lips slide down my jaw and pull away, only to come crashing into my lips.
Yeah, the devil just definitely won.
I open my mouth for his tongue, feeling the heat pulse through me as he kisses me slow and deep — claiming my lips as his hands grab my ass like it’s his to hold.
“I- I’m not great with the piano,” I whisper as we break the kiss.
“You misheard me.”
The raw need for me is heavy in his voice and throbbing hard against my thigh through his dress pants.
“I didn’t say I want you to see you play the piano,” his lips brush mine, moving across my cheek toward my ear.
“I said I want to see you play on the piano.”
I gasp, loudly, as he suddenly grabs my ass and lifts me up, pushing me back onto the top. He moves between my legs, spreading them as his hands find my jaw. He kisses me roughly, demandingly - taking the kiss even as I give it to him and taking my breath away.
He pulls away, that look in his eyes blazing fiercely as he reaches down and pulls out the piano bench.
He sits slowly, and when I go to close my legs, he shakes his head and pushes them back apart.
So that’s why I wore a skirt today…
“Now reach down, pull your panties to the side, and show me your pussy.”
My face goes bright red.
“Remember that conversation about me not being one of those girls?”
“What girls,” he growls.
“The girls who respond to you talking to them like that.”
Bastian’s eyes drag to mine, his smug, arrogant grin strong across his face.
“Oh, but Ana,” he moves forward, his hot breath teasing against my thighs, making me shiver.
His eyes drag like some sort of velvet touch up my body, lingering over my chest, rising and falling heavily with my breath, and up to my eyes. They pierce into me.
“Except you are responding to my talking to you like this.”
I swallow, shaking my head. “No, I’m not- oh shit.”
I crumble as Bastian reaches up between my legs and slowly drags one knuckle up the soaking wet front of my panties. He moves his finger up and down, shattering whatever last walls I was even thinking about putting up as I tremble under his touch. He groans, his face a mask of lust as he leans forward and pulls my panties to the side. His finger strokes across my bare slit, drawing the wetness from my lips.
“Take them off,” he growls out, pulling away.
“I’m not just going to get naked in your music room.”
“Yes, you are.”
I bite my lip, our eyes locking and flashing heat.
“Fine,” I whisper. “But you better too.”
“Done,” he growls out quickly, his hands moving to undo his belt and pull the zipper down over the huge bulge in his pants. I can feel my pulse jump as he reaches inside, and without a second’s hesitation, pulls out his cock.
His very large, very gorgeous cock.
His cock which I may or may not have fantasized about more times than I care to admit, and the reality far exceeds the fantasy.
“Jesus,” I mutter, almost to myself.
Bastian grins that cocky, smug smile.
“Should I lay off the ‘kiss the crown’ puns?”
“Please do.”
“Please take your fucking panties off. Now.”
I swallow, breathing quickly as I hook my fingers in the waist and push my underwear down my legs. I slip them off my ankles, dr
opping them behind me.
Bastian groans deeply, his eyes fierce and his jaw tight as his hands move to my thighs. He pushes my legs wide apart, and I gasp as he lifts them, placing my heels on the piano keys. High and low notes jangle together.
“Touch yourself.”
His eyes drag back to mine.
“Anastasia—”
I bite my bottom lip, teasing him.
“You know what they say. You catch more—”
“No more fucking colloquialisms,” he growls. He reaches up and takes my hand, pulling it down between my legs and making me moan. My fingers take over out of raw need as his pull away, and suddenly, I’m doing what he asked.
Touching myself, for him.
Bastian groans, his hand dropping and wrapping around his thick cock, stroking it. I moan, losing myself in this moment and letting my fingers slide up and down my lips, teasing my clit slowly as I watch him watching me. I roll my clit under the pads of two fingers, moaning quietly. I’m so wet I must be leaving a puddle on the damn Steinway.
Bastian’s eyes narrow as he leans closer, his breath teasing over my thighs and making me shiver. He moves closer, and I whimper as his lips find one of my fingers. He sucks it inside, licking my wetness from my own fingers and groaning lowly before he moves in. His mouth moves my hand away, and I cry out as his tongue takes the place of my fingers.
His hungry groans rumble through me as he eats me. His tongue pushes deep, tasting all of me as his hands push my thighs wide apart. I gasp, tossing my head back, my hands sliding palm-down behind me and clawing at the top of the piano as Bastian Crown wraps his tongue around my clit and sets me on fire.
He’s got me panting, and moaning, and bucking my hips against his face when he suddenly pulls away, licking his lips. He crashes against me, taking my breath away as he wraps my hair in his fist, gently pulls my head back, and kisses me fiercely,
“I have to be inside of you,” he growls between sucking my tongue into his mouth. His hands slide up my legs, grabbing my ass, and I shriek as he pulls me down off the top of the piano and sets me on the damn keys themselves. Jangled, discorded notes clang through the room.
He tears at his shirt, half ripping the buttons off before shrugging it off and tossing it away. He pulls a condom from the pocket of his dress pants before he lets them drop, kicking them off.
“Here?”
I raise a brow at the room around us.
“If you’re looking for romance, and a big four-post bed, and candles, and flower petals—”
“No, I know, I just—”
I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I know I want this. I’ve wanted this for years actually, even when I told myself I was sick or broken for wanting it with him. But past that, I honestly don’t know. I’m not entirely sure there is a “past that” with Bastian.
“Well, I honestly can’t think of a better place for me to fuck you for the first time than on top of a musical instrument, can you?”
I drag my teeth across my bottom lip, grinning. “No, actually.”
Bastian’s eyes spark into mine as he tears the wrapper and starts to roll the condom down over his frankly huge cock.
“Spread your legs.”
“Be nicer or I won’t screw you.”
Bastian moves between my legs and runs the head of his cock up and down my slit, making me moan lowly.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” he groans. “And besides,” he moves his lips to my ears, growling into my ear. “You don’t want nice.”
“You don’t know what I—”
“Not with me you don’t.”
He’s right. “Nice” is nice and all, but “nice” isn’t why I’m sitting on a fifty thousand dollar piano with my legs spread and my pulse racing for Bastian Crown.
My hands slide over his grooved hips, grabbing him and pulling him towards me. He groans as he moves closer, the sheathed head of his cock easing against me.
“Then don’t show me nice,” I whisper into his lips as he brushes them across my mouth.
“Show me you. It’s the real you I want to see.”
“This is going to sound fucked up,” he growls, and I gasp as he slides the head inside of me.
“But you’re arguably the only one that ever has.”
He grabs my ass, kisses me hard, and slides every inch of his cock deep inside.
The moan rumbles deep in my throat as he buries himself to the hilt inside. My hands slide up to his back, clawing at his skin, and my knees tighten around his hips as he pulls back, only to drive deep inside again. We start to move in steady, deep thrusts, my hips rocking to meet his as we crash together again and again. He slips a hand between us to where we join, his fingers rolling over my clit in slow circles as he drives in all the way.
I cling to him harder, letting myself drown in this moment.
I’m having sex with Bastian Crown.
I’ve gone off the deep end.
Years ago, I lied to the man who took my virginity — awkwardly, and too quickly, in a college dorm room. I lied because I didn’t want him to be my first when it should have been someone else.
This someone else.
I lied to Jason about my first time because I never wanted anyone else but Bastian — the last person I should have wanted — to be able to claim it. Bastian taking that part of me is the scar I should have worn all these years. And even if he never actually did, the wound was still there.
This is the first I wanted.
This is the first I know I should have had.
Raw, nothing held back, nothing faked. Bruising, confusing — something I would compare future partners to and something that would keep me up late at night.
Nothing but me, him, and the raging, unstable ball of hate, love, lust, and pain that seemed to have consumed us from the start.
This time though, we’re giving in. This time, we’re letting the explosion take us both down.
Bastian thrusts into me, his body rippling and coiling against mine as he starts to fuck me faster, harder. I urge him on, my moans filling the room along with the sound of my ass against the piano keys — the sound dissonant, and loud, and messy, and jumbled.
The perfect soundtrack to the two of us finally coming together.
Nails scratch down his back, his teeth find my neck and leave marks that I’ll remember. Lips find lips, and breaths tangle as the kiss drowns us both.
There’s a rushing sound, and suddenly, I’m screaming into his mouth as the orgasm shatters through me. Bastian drives in deep as I come, and I can feel him throbbing against me as he falls over the cliff with me.
His hands pull me tight, his lips searing to mine, and I let go.
Hate.
Love.
Lust.
Pain.
Release.
Screwing Bastian Crown might be the mistake of a lifetime.
It also might be the only way I can let go.
9 Years Ago:
I take my time. I know he knows I’m close to taking him out, but he doesn’t know from where.
“Fuck you, Crown. Quit hiding.”
My hands are steady, my breath held. The gun goes still as I squint through the scope and zero in on the back of Dylan Forbes’s head.
“Dude, where are—”
Bam.
Dylan — or at least Dylan’s character — sprawls off the edge of the bridge he’s been camped on, flailing through the air before he hits the ground with a sickening crunch and glorious level up for me.
“Fucker,” he mutters next to me on the couch, flinging his controller to the side.
“You fucking head-shotting, sniper-hiding fucker.”
On the huge flat screen in front of us, my sniper character jumps out of his hiding place just long enough to trot over to Dylan’s motionless body and squat over it.
Repeatedly.
I grin.
“Really? You’re going to fucking t-bag me while I’m dead?”
He mutters some
thing under his breath as his “death” countdown finishes and his character reappears somewhere else on the map. I slink back to my hiding spot.
“So you’re not really working very hard for this four grand, are you.”
My eyes leave the screen just long enough to give him a sidelong glare. My jaw tightens painfully, and my hands grip the controller with a newfound zeal.
“What are you talking about.”
“You know what I’m talking about. Ana. The bet.”
Of course I know what the fuck he’s talking about, but I say nothing, scanning his half of the screen to get a read on where he’s at on the map.
“I’m just saying, you haven’t really done shit to even try, have you?”
I swallow back the confusing and head-spinning rage that boils up inside, forcing myself to breathe.
I shrug, making a face. “Whatever. It’s only four thousand bucks.”
“No shit it’s only four thousand bucks. I think the motivating factor is the other prize.”
My hands tighten on the controller, my eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
“I mean, I’m more of a blonde fan, but damn, I would not mind getting a taste of- fuck!”
Dylan’s character slumps to the ground with another bullet in the back of the head.
“You fuckin’ cheater.”
I don’t smile this time.
“I’m just curious why you’re not even making a passing effort at trying.”
“What, because I’m not offering to fly her to fucking Bali like Van Der Haus?”
“Saint Lucia.”
“Whatever. Pathetic and desperate isn’t my style.”
Dylan rolls his eyes, not even bothering to pick up his controller this time as his character appears again.
“And Ash—” he chuckles.
I bite back the growl. I am not interested in hearing about Ash asking Ana to sit on his face, in my own goddamn driveway.
“I mean if it’d worked, kudos to him. But c’mon, that line only works on seriously slutty girls.”
“Maybe he should have sent her flowers and a fucking poem instead.”
He shrugs. “Whatever. I thought it was classy.”
“You plagiarized Shakespeare, dipshit.”
“Well, how about you, buddy. What exactly have you done to even try?”
“Nothing, because I’m not going to chase pussy. Ever,” I spit. There’s more heat and venom in my words than I’d intended.
