Chapter 19 #3
And yet, it's a warning spoken with eerie calmness. He could ruin my life with a few words to Miss Rivera.
With my palms back on the seat of my chair, I tense with uncertainty when I feel movement behind me. My body is burning hot, my insides clenching.
I startle when he taps my ass cheeks gently. He leaves it there, keeping me on the edge before he talks.
"Do you feel how scared you are of this baton?" he asks softly, but there's unmissable excitement in his voice. "Because it took you by surprise and hurt you the first time. Now that your body has felt what it's capable of, it reminds you of how much pain it can bring you. So you anticipate it."
He rubs the object against my skin but doesn't remove it.
"Some pains and traumas hit you so hard the first time you never forget about them," he explains. "That's how you live, Nyx. Always expecting that what broke you will come back, so you stay on the edge, hyperaware that there are things around you that can hurt you again."
I take a deep breath through my mouth, anxiety gripping my stomach in a painful vise.
"So, you refuse to expose yourself to anything," he says with a fascination I can barely grasp. "And don’t get me wrong, you've been living with real threats around you. But I can't let you carry that on stage. If you dig into it for inspiration, yes. If it makes you freeze? Absolutely not."
The sting comes back out of nowhere, a whimper bursting out of my mouth.
"That's real." He presses into the pain he just created with the baton. "That's just the memory of it."
"I-I get it," I pant through the ache.
"Then tell me how talented you are. That you won't let the gaze of others, the memory of what’s happened to you, stop you from showing everyone how exceptional you are."
"But— Ow!" I hiss when the pain comes back.
"If you can't control your own mind," he says in a low voice, "I will train you to let me control it. And you're going to feel it, believe me on that."
He hits me again. The wood of the instrument is unforgiving. A conductor's baton is too short for there to be any give. It's hard, it hurts, and through the pain, his words are starting to make sense.
"S-Stop," I choke. "It hurts."
"Why did I give you that violin, Nyx?" he asks harshly.
He's standing next to me rather than behind me so he can have the best angle, and when I look to the side, all I see is his crotch and how hard he is under his pants. In turn, it makes my core melt, wetting my underwear.
"Why?" he repeats with another hit.
"I don't know!" I shriek through the pain.
"Because you deserved it. Say it."
"B-Because I deserved it."
"Why did you deserve it, pretty girl?"
I inhale a trembling breath, knowing what he wants from me.
"Because I'm talented, and I…and I deserve the same chance as everyone else."
"There you go," he says softly, and the reward finally comes.
His free hand slides into my hair with a sensuality that makes me want to purr for him.
"Tell me who’s going to be the next soloist?" he asks as the baton drops to the floor.
"I am," I whisper.
"Yes, baby. You are."
His hand caresses the back of my head, my neck, and my spine. All the way to my lower back as I hear him undo his belt with his other hand.
He hums approvingly as he smooths a hand over my ass.
"I ruined your tights. You won't mind if I finish the job, will you?" Within a split second, they're ripped off my waist, the material hanging by a thread between my thighs.
"God, Nyx," he groans as his palm presses against my damp underwear, my body lighting on fire even as I shiver. "If you weren't so perfect for me, I would’ve left you alone a long time ago."
Moving his hand to the waistband, he lowers my panties, forcing my breathing to accelerate as he does so.
"You’re the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
He says that with a fatality that should make me worry for my sanity, but all it does is drive my need for him further. I know he notices the moment I push back against the air because the movement makes him chuckle.
"Beautiful, but so impatient."
He shifts behind me, and I hear the foil wrapper of a condom before I feel his tip at my entrance, and a moan is already forming, halfway up my throat when he stops.
"Achilles," I whimper.
"Yes, mon trésor?"
"Fuck me."
"Anything for you."
Two hands grip my hips, and he pushes inside me with an intensity that steals my breath away. I moan loudly as he thrusts in and out, uncaring of who can hear or see us. All I want is to feel all of him, to get so high with him that we’ll both turn to dust when we crash back down.
I roll my hips back, groaning from the slight pain of how deep he is when I feel his lower stomach against my ass, and I still beg for more.
"Fuck, Nyx," he pants, and I can hear him choke on his own pleasure as mine keeps building.
My legs tremble, electricity sparking through my entire being as his restraint goes out the window.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" For once, he's the one losing control, and his hand comes to slap my clit as he barrels toward his climax without being able to do anything about it.
I explode a split second before he does, under the small slaps he keeps delivering. And he pulls out of me in a rush, probably aware of the time.
Within a few seconds, his pants are back up, he's gotten me out of my ripped tights, and has put my underwear in place.
I'm sitting on my chair with him kneeling in front of me and retying my sneakers when some students walk back into the music hall post-lunch. I don’t even think they were untied.
He just needed an excuse to justify his position.
I'm still buzzing, barely catching my breath, but when Achilles stands up, he looks as relaxed as he always does. Not a hint that he was fucking me into oblivion a second ago.
My ass hurts all afternoon as I'm forced to sit through rehearsal and feel the pain of the baton. Every now and then, my eyes cross with Achilles's, and the mischief in them says he knows how I'm feeling.
But I've never played so beautifully.
And I wonder if maybe that’s what happens when someone truly cares about you and your dreams.