Torrid

by Nikki Sloane

  She shrank away from me, wrapping the plush fabric tighter around her body, and wiped the tears away from beneath her eyes. Whatever sadness she had disappeared pretty damn quick, and was replaced with a guarded expression. Like she was embarrassed and ready to defend herself if I made a comment about her crying.

  “I wasn’t going for your gun,” she said.

  “I get that now.” I picked up the notebook and the torn pages, and I could feel her searing gaze on me as I closed the pages inside and stood. She acted like I had no right to touch her stupid book. “What the fuck is this?”

  “Music,” she said. “My songs.”

  I must not have been fully awake as I held out the book to her. “Fine. You’ll go downstairs and play one for me.”

  She looked at me like I’d just asked her to kill the Pope. “Now?”

  Why the hell not? I’d had a surge of adrenaline when I thought she was going for my gun, and the effect hadn’t worn off yet. I was jittery. She acted like this music was priceless. I was curious if I’d see value in it like she did.

  Her expression was pure disbelief, and I hardened mine in response. “Let’s go.”

  Oksana snatched the book from me, grateful to have it back, and she climbed to her feet. I followed behind her when she trudged to the door.

  The rain had ceased, but the clouds blotted out the moonlight, and we could barely see the shape of the black grand piano sitting beneath the window. I flipped on the entryway light when we reached the bottom of the stairs and blinked against the chandelier’s glow.

  I gestured to the office. “There’s tape on the desk.”

  She went in and I stood at the doorway, watching her bend over the desk and repair the pages. Her blonde hair looked white in contrast to my dark robe, and the sliver of skin between the lapels of the robe teased me. I could order her to take it off, but it was more fun if she accidentally flashed me.

  When Oksana seemed satisfied with her work, she straightened from the desk and set her gaze on me. Her expression was hard to read. Was it fear? Excitement? Was she wanting an asshole as the audience for her music?

  I glanced at the piano. The last person to play it had been my mother, who I had hardly any memories of. What would she think about this Russian girl laying her Russian fingers on the ivory keys?

  I pushed the thought away. My mother had been dead for twenty years, and Oksana playing on it wasn’t going to change that, or my memory of Luka sitting on my mother’s lap while she played. She’d let him hit some of the keys while I’d pushed the pedals at her feet, demanding to be included in the song.

  We went to the piano. I stood beside it, and Oksana’s voice was soft and warm as she pulled out the bench. “I hope it sounds as beautiful as it looks.”

  She folded the music on the shelf like it was delicate. It was unnecessary. The piano was nothing more than a museum piece. My father tried to sell it once. I’d told him not to, but he hadn’t given in to my demand until Luka sided with me. I’d thought the piano made my father sad, not recognizing at the time it was more likely guilt. Every time he looked at it, was he reminded of how he’d had my mother killed?

  Oksana set her open notebook on the piano and sat on the bench with her back stiff and straight. Below the belt, the robe fell open and exposed one of her long legs clear up to the thigh, like she was wearing a dress with a slit up the side.

  Her fingers were set on the keys. She drew in a deep breath—

  “What’s it called?” I interrupted before she could even start.

  “Temperance.”

  What the fuck? I already hated it, but then she began to play and confirmed my judgement. The melody was obnoxious. It was up tempo and . . . fuck, I couldn’t think of the right word. Jaunty? Yeah. It was jaunty as fuck, and I added it to my list of unnecessary noises. “Stop.”

  Her hands froze and the room went silent.

  She turned slowly to look at me, gauging my reaction, and her lips twisted down in a frown. “When was the last time this was tuned?”

  “Don’t blame the piano. Play something else, Oksana. Something better.”

  She was more offended I hadn’t liked her shitty song than when I’d shoved my dick in her mouth. This girl was something else entirely. She turned the pages and settled on a new song. Her fingers moved over the keys, sharp and attacking.

  “Wow,” I said flatly. “What’s this awful one called? Let me guess. Abstinence?”

  She inhaled so sharply, it was like I’d slapped her. Her fingers retreated from the keys, my words visibly stinging. A lesser guy would have been cut down by her vicious glare, but the blow glanced off me. When she tried to stand, I put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her back down to sit, and her ass thumped on the bench.

  “Don’t play happy music in my house,” I threatened. “It doesn’t belong here, and certainly not coming from my mother’s piano.”

  Oksana stared at the book before her, considering what to do. Finally, she paged through it and selected a song in the middle of her scribblings. Her shoulders lifted as she took a breath and she pushed back the oversized sleeves of the robe. Her fingers crept back to the keys.

  The song was quiet, slow, and eerie. My gaze followed every gentle movement of her hands as they worked up and down the piano, producing the hypnotic rhythm. I didn’t listen to classical music. My phone was full of rock and rap music. I liked driving bass, hooks, and aggressive lyrics. Yet, this song, I didn’t hate. Maybe she was right and the piano was out of tune, but its discord added to the unsettling music.

  The chilling song seeped into the dark space around us. I hadn’t turned on the light in the room, and it had to be hard for her to read her notes, but she probably knew it well enough, and I was glad I hadn’t bothered with a lamp. This music wasn’t made for the light.

  Her brow furrowed as she peered at the book, and her chest rose and fell like she was out of breath. Why did it look like playing this song was draining her? It was fucking beautiful. My heart thudded a little faster, even as I stood like a statue beside the piano.

  She flipped the page and kept playing.

  Who knew black and white keys could make something so evil and perfect? I pulled my mouth into a twisted smile. The song was so different from the other shit she’d tried to play. The piano chords were still vibrating with the last note of the song when I spoke. Curiosity overrode my intent to be patronizing. “What’s that one called?”

  Oksana had gone back to not looking at me. She stared vacantly at her hands still resting on the keys, acting like she was recovering from trauma. “It doesn’t have a name.”

  “You should call it, like, The Villain or something.” Shit, was I high? How good was the weed in that joint I’d smoked hours ago? “It sounds like a bad motherfucker’s theme song.”

  She winced as if she’d swallowed broken glass.

  “What?” I demanded.

  She opened her mouth to say something, but words failed her for several heartbeats. “I’ve never played it for anyone.”

  Dark satisfaction bubbled in my veins. Another first I’d taken from her. Maybe it could be my theme song. “Play it again.”

  “You liked it?” Her voice was coated in horror.

  I paced behind her and gathered her long hair in my hands, coiling it into a rope, and leaned down so my lips were beside the shell of her ear. “Again.”

  She shivered and reached forward, turning back to the previous page in the book.

  When she started over, I trailed the tip of my nose up the long slope of her neck, following it with the edge of my tongue. She sipped air through her parted lips, and swallowed thickly. Was it hard for her to keep playing as I sucked on her neck? Her hands didn’t falter when I sat beside her on the bench, facing the other direction. She’d focus on the music, while I focused on her.

  “Don’t stop,” I said, placing a hand on the exposed skin of her heaving chest, and slipped my fingers beneath the edge of the robe. I explored further, watching
her as my fingertips found and circled the hard knot of her nipple.

  The song was darker this time. Unapologetic. Was it the practice or my distraction? I pushed the side of the robe open, baring her naked breast. The sight of me pinching her pink nipple and rolling it between my fingers gave me a surge of lust.

  I wanted to fuck her. No, I needed to.

  Right here on this bench.

  8

  Wait, the practical side of me fired back. Not yet. I’d been with Oksana five hours and already felt a strange pull. What if I got inside her, body and head, and didn’t want to leave? I’d never let a girl have that kind of power.

  She was panting for breath when I slid my hand up her inner thigh. Her frantic gaze darted to mine, just for a moment, before returning to the notes that climbed all over the lines in her book.

  “Open your legs,” I said over the music.

  She whimpered as her perfect posture cracked. Her knees eased apart. I pressed my fingers against her pussy, feeling like I’d been doused with gasoline and set on fire.

  “Fuck,” I said, thrilled. “You’re wet.”

  She murmured something in Russian, and I had no idea if she was cursing me or begging me to keep going. My fingertips grazed over her clit, but she kept on playing. Sheer concentration pushed her forward, and for someone who cared so much about her book, she carelessly turned the page now. Like the taped-together paper was indestructible.

  Her moan mingled with the sinister melody, and I burned so fucking hot, I was feverish. Half out of my mind with delusions. Touching her this way wasn’t enough, and as much as I liked her villainous song, I wanted to disrupt and control. When my hand was on her, she should be thinking about me and nothing else. Not even her music.

  I jerked the other side of the robe open so I could see both of her sexy tits, and leaned over to kiss her shoulder. I moved my mouth across her collarbone, working lower while trying not to bump her arms. When she stopped playing, I wanted it to be her choice.

  I locked my lips around her breast and pulled the nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. She sighed loudly. What kind of frustration was it? Annoyance as she tried to play? Or was she aching for more? I flicked my tongue over the velvety-soft skin, teasing the nub.

  She made it so close to the end of her song, but I pressed my middle finger deep inside her, and Oksana seized up. Her music cut off abruptly.

  “Oh my God,” she groaned, her hands clenched in fists and balancing at the edge of the keys. Her gasp echoed in the vaulted ceiling of the room.

  “Look at me,” I growled. When she didn’t instantly comply, I slammed my finger violently in and out where she grew wetter with each deep thrust. She choked on air as her body tensed from the intrusion, but it didn’t slow me down. I hadn’t heard any protest from her, either.

  Her head was tipped down, but it swung my direction, and I could feel her gaze moving up my body like hands across my skin. Desire screwed tighter inside me as her gaze rose over my chest. It lingered on my lips before she finally gave up and looked at me.

  I wanted control, but the second that happened, someone else took over. My lips slammed against hers. Was she as hungry as I was? It fucking seemed like it. Her mouth moved against mine. The slide of her tongue past my lips was cautious and curious, and I liked the sensation. She could practice on me. Use my body as her personal fuck playground while I did the same to her.

  I withdrew my finger and clamped both hands on her waist, right where the belt barely kept the robe closed. I lifted, urging her to stand, and it broke the kiss before she seemed ready. I gestured for her to come around the bench to where I was sitting.

  “Get in my lap.”

  I tugged the belt open, revealing her naked body beneath the robe that hung on her shoulders, and used the two ends to pull her close. She put one knee on the bench beside me, which was exactly how I wanted her, so I yanked down, causing her to straddle my leg. She gave out a yelp of surprise, and her wet pussy slammed against my bare skin. The contact made my dick twitch.

  It was warm inside the robe as I slipped one hand onto her hip. I crushed the other onto her breast, and dragged my mouth up her neck. My breath bounced off her skin and warmed me, almost as much as the body wrapped around my leg, draped in my own robe.

  I pushed and pulled her hip, back and forth, urging her to grind on me while I claimed her mouth in something that was too brutal to call a kiss. My tongue slashed at her, and I bit her lip, hard enough for her to moan with a hint of pain. But her hips moved, and as soon as her painful moan was done echoing in the room, it was followed by one of quiet enjoyment.

  She rocked on my thigh, riding me slowly at first. One of her hands was on my shoulder to brace herself, and the other cuffed my wrist by her hip. Her expression was confusion. She hadn’t expected rubbing on me to feel good, but it obviously did.

  “Faster,” I commanded with a dark tone. I watched her pussy lips glide over my skin, and flexed the muscles in my jaw. I wanted to film this. She looked like a porn star as she ground her clit against my leg, and pleasure burned in her eyes. Her undulating body beneath the open robe was insane.

  “You’re making a mess on my leg.” I could hear the smile in my words. “Your pussy’s soaking.”

  My dirty words made her shy. Her gaze dropped, and something in me snapped. I dug my fingers into her hip, pushing and pulling her at a vicious pace. My other hand wrapped around her throat. Not to strangle her, but I was sick of her breaking the connection. I wanted her full attention. “You look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  She couldn’t hide from me, and the sooner she learned that, the better.

  Oksana kept up with the furious pace I demanded, and rode my thigh, all while her crystal blue eyes stared back. Her breathing had gone ragged, probably as much from the friction against her clit as the exertion. Her pulse roared beneath my hand.

  “That’s it, virgin,” I said. “You fuck my leg until you get yourself off.”

  Heat flashed in her eyes. She didn’t want my command to turn her on, but it did, and she did a shitty job of disguising it. Her mouth was slack, and breathy moans escaped before she could stop them. The girl thrashed against me, wild and desperate. Had she crossed the point of no return? If I took my hand off her hip, would she keep riding me until she came?

  “Oh,” she moaned. “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”

  It was crazy how much this turned me on. Not just hearing her, but watching the way she fought to find her release. I hadn’t done humping bullshit in years. Once I started getting sex whenever I wanted, what was the point? If a girl didn’t want to fuck, no big deal. I’d go find one who did.

  I currently wasn’t fucking Oksana with my cock. But I had my hand on her throat, making her fuck me, with her gaze locked on mine, and this shit was . . . intense. Her warm body smeared her desire all over my leg, and her sexy whimpers swelled. Her expression begged for more, although she probably didn’t even know more of what.

  When her eyes began to drift closed, I readjusted my grip on her throat. “No. Eyes on me when you come.”

  There was a tight sound of frustration, but then it was too late. I watched the surrender shudder through her body, and felt her legs tense and strain as the orgasm hit her. Her eyes barely stayed open as she tipped her head back and she cried out, but she looked at me through slitted eyelids as she convulsed with pleasure.

  Next to my cock, making a woman come was my favorite thing. I dove my hands beneath the robe and around her back, pressing Oksana’s warm skin against me as the ecstasy continued to make her shake. Her arms were draped over my shoulders, hanging on, and, fuck me, I liked the feeling. She was falling apart, and I was holding her together.

  Her head lolled forward and suddenly she brought her lips to mine.

  She was kissing me, not the other way around. I’d been the one to initiate every time before, and I didn’t like her taking the lead.

  She was Russian, and I didn�
�t want her getting all attached. I also didn’t know why I’d fucking kissed her so much tonight, but this shit stopped right now. I rose from the bench so fast, it sent her tumbling to the floor with a shriek.

  My dick ached. It tented my underwear, straining against the cotton, and the air was cold on the damp spot on my leg. Oksana gawked up at me. Should I shove my dick in her open mouth and make her take care of it?

  No. I knew exactly where it would lead.

  “I’m going to bed,” I announced. I needed to get the fuck away from her. I wanted her so badly and was so goddamn hard, if I stayed, I’d end up fucking her right on the Persian rug beside the piano. I could take care of myself and be asleep in the next five minutes, which was the better option. I had a ton of shit to do tomorrow, on top of my meeting in the morning with my uncle.

  “Stay down here, or sleep in one of the guest rooms.” My tone was cold and impersonal, like she hadn’t just been trembling in my embrace thirty seconds ago. “And give me back my robe.”

  Her reaction was . . . unexpected.

  Shock faded faster than a gunshot. The look she had said I was safe from her ever kissing me again. I didn’t offer a hand to help her up, and I was sure she wouldn’t have taken it if I had. She rose on her own. She was supposed to be nervous or bashful as she stripped, but those emotions were gone.

  She held the robe out by the collar to me, and as I reached for it, she let go. It dropped to the floor like a waterfall of fabric and left me grasping for air. I flashed my annoyance at her, but her gaze lingered on my throbbing erection. She looked at it, and Jesus, she was smug. Like she’d somehow won a fucking battle. Had she? She’d gotten her rocks off, and I hadn’t.

  “Good night,” she said. She grabbed her book from the piano and floated away up the stairs. I stared at her as she turned left at the top, heading the opposite direction from my room.

  What the fuck just happened?

  ♪

  My uncle rarely came into my dealership. He managed the larger one that was right off the freeway. It was newer, better, and legit. All of the drugs and guns ran through the luxury used vehicle dealership my father had managed until I inherited it. It was only thirty miles to Indiana, where most of the guns came from, and the back roads leading to it didn’t have cameras like the freeway exits.