Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nyx
Siren sounds – Tate McRae
The soft gasp that leaves my lips isn't because my vision disappears. I've learned that Achilles might be a monster, but he's a monster I tamed, and who would never truly hurt me. He cares too much about me. Which is a thought in and of itself that seems delusional, but it's true.
If Achilles is immortal, I'm the arrow heading straight for his heel.
His games excite me now. They turn me on more than ever. Every ache from my past has been replaced by scorching kisses. Every terror redefined by an obsessive caress. Achilles Duval lowered his defenses when he tried to own me. And now, I own him.
So the gasp isn't from fear. It's from pure anticipation.
I've spent hours on end listening to his music, watching videos of his old concerto online, but never have I heard him play live.
He kisses my neck, and I tilt my head to the side to give him more access. His lips trace a burning path to my collarbone, and he bites me there, making me hiss as I buck my hips.
Delicately, he pushes me until I'm lying on my back, pressing onto my tied wrists.
Then his mouth returns, leaving kisses along my flushed skin until he takes one of my nipples into his mouth.
He grazes it with his teeth before nibbling and teasing.
One, then the other, and again, until I'm writhing and whining under him.
Without my sight, all I can focus on are his touches.
A pleasuring poison is thickening my blood, making me lightheaded, and when his fingers graze my entrance, I can hear how wet he's making me.
With two fingers, he starts fucking me slowly, and for a second, I start to believe that this is it. It's not one of his torturous sessions or a way to get something out of me. It's pure pleasure, and I’m becoming more malleable for him as every second brings me closer to new heights.
Then he stops, leaving me panting and needy.
Something rubbery presses against my entrance, and I recoil slightly, but he puts his hand on my hip.
"It's just a toy," he murmurs softly as he starts to fuck me with it. "You'll be a good girl and take a toy for me, won't you, baby?"
My brain barely processes the sentence as I lean into how good it feels and nod mindlessly. It's only when the toy is inside me that I realize two things. It stops around where my G-spot is, and there's also a second half that covers my clit delicately.
"If you could see how gorgeous you look like this, mon trésor." His hungry voice is accompanied by his hands playing with my tits again.
He takes a long minute to tease me until I'm out of breath, playing lightly with my nipples, followed by rough pinching. My back arches, my hips bucking and begging for more stimulation as my breathing accelerates.
"Achilles," I call out with need.
"Here's how this is going to go," he says as his hands disappear.
I feel his body lift off the mattress, and he presses something on the toy.
"This toy has a lot of functions. I can simply turn it on." It starts vibrating inside me, tearing a gasp from my chest.
"Fuck," I moan at the vibrations against my G-spot and the external ones on my clit.
"Or"—it all stops—"I can control it on my phone." I hear him move, expecting the toy to start again, but it doesn’t.
From the clicking and zipping sound, he's clearly opening his violin case as he stays completely silent, leaving me in limbo, desperate for more pleasure.
"But my favorite thing is that it's responsive to sounds. You can put music on, and it'll vibrate to the bass."
More moving around, and then I feel his footsteps approaching. "Or…it could respond to someone playing the violin."
A note comes from his instrument, and the toy sparks up, barely enough for me to feel before it stops.
This is insane. This is… God, I love his twisted mind.
"Now," he purrs with satisfaction. "You don't want to share with me what's going on? How you feel about my work? That's okay, baby. Let's see how much this concerto truly affects you."
He plays another few notes, and I recognize the beginning as the vibrator comes to life.
But he pauses.
"How about we count how many orgasms it can get out of you?"
As he starts playing again, the toy follows the sound it's picking up.
Achilles Duval is playing for me while literally playing my body. This is what gets to me the most. The solo I inspired him to write is making a toy vibrate inside me, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
The piece is beautiful, but I already knew that from reading it. It's special because I'm special to him, but I already knew that too.
But when Achilles plays? With his dexterity, his innate talent, his years of experience…the piece sounds extraordinary. There's something about the rawness of his flair. This man is exceptional, and there's no one else like him.
And when the vibrator responds, moans spill out of my mouth in rhythm with his masterpiece. I quiver, gasping for air as the first orgasm hits me at the same time as the intensity vibrates from his instrument.
"Fuck!" I scream, trying to catch my breath.
But I don't get to do that, because the music doesn't stop, and neither does the toy.
"Achilles," I whimper. "Shit…shit…"
I practically fold into myself when the vibrations keep going, but he doesn't stop playing. Electricity courses through me, dangerously keeping me on edge until another orgasm takes me by surprise, tearing a desperate scream from my chest.
"Enough," I moan when the music continues. Combined with Achilles's tormenting notes, my mind is breaking into pieces from relentless pleasure.
He doesn't stop playing when he talks to me. "You're going to come again and again, baby. Until your body is boneless and your mind thoughtless. Until you break for me and open your soul to me."
I whimper as the notes intensify, and so does the pulsing in my body.
"Oh God," I choke out. "Fuck, please…" Another orgasm tears through my system, so powerful it's almost painful.
"Achilles!" I cry out when it still doesn't stop.
His way of playing is hypnotizing. It's nothing like the videos I used to watch as a teen. Every single movement he makes is calculated, and I can hear that. I can feel it.
I'm a mess, writhing wantonly, tears trailing down my cheeks, and he keeps going, torturing me in the most beautiful way. I barely have any strength to come again, but I do, haunted by the harrowing music. This man's mind is terrifying, and yet it's bringing me to a state of bliss.
I'm lifeless by the time he stops. The sheets under me are damp from my sweat and cum. My cheeks wet from tears. I've lost count of how many times I've orgasmed, but I can feel the ripple effects everywhere.
"Mon trésor," he murmurs in my ear.
I startle. The music's stopped, but I wasn't sure where he was anymore.
His thumb spreads my tears as he cups my face, his mouth hovering over mine.
"Yes?" I croak.
"That's the name of the concerto." The words kiss me with how close he is, lips brushing mine ever-so-lightly.
God. This man has no mercy on my heart. Every minute of every day, he’s redefining love for me, giving it a new meaning, taking my breath away by showing me that no one’s ever cared the way he does. No one’s ever proven that this is what it’s like to be safe.
It feels surreal.
"My treasure. That’s what you are. Rare, extraordinary…
I'm desperate to hold your magnificence in the palm of my hand, but you're almost like a dream.
Impossible to truly grasp." He presses his lips against mine, and says, "Why, Nyx?
Why aren't you giving me an answer about the concerto?
Why did you run away from the clinic yesterday? "
There's no strength in me to fight back. I'm still blindfolded, tied up, exhausted.
"Because I don't deserve all of this," I whisper hopelessly.
Another kiss, more savage this time.
"For someone who’s loved people unconditionally when they certainly didn't deserve it, you have this very strange idea that anything that is done for you has to be deserved. As if you have to work hard to be treated right." His deep voice resonates within my being.
He soothes me with another kiss before he continues.
"That's not how it works. Everything I do for you has nothing to do with whether you deserve it or not.
I'm the one who decides which pieces of myself I give to the woman I love.
You don't have to deserve my love, baby.
You just have to welcome it. So, let me love you. "
There's a long silence as a wave of emotions takes over me.
I'm too gone for this, my mind too distorted by everything that just happened.
And yet his words put me at peace. As if that was the one thing I was waiting for all my life.
My mother didn't love me enough to stay, and I thought I didn't deserve her love.
My father didn't love me enough to get help.
Chase didn't love me enough not to use me or blackmail me. And Achilles? I don't deserve his love. In fact, the relationship we’ve had until now, the perverted games and power dynamics were exactly what he should’ve continued.
Now he's in love with me…and I want it. I want it like I've never wanted anything else before.
It screams and claws inside me, pushes me to him so I never let go.
It's visceral, demonic. I love him, and I want that love in return.
"Play it," I murmur, my voice barely audible.
The blindfold disappears, and his gray eyes are on mine, somehow so much warmer than they usually are. My heart is racing, my mind vulnerable.
"I love you, Nyx," he repeats.
I lick my lips, eyes full of tears. "I love you too."
"Now don’t move," he says as he reaches for a condom on the side of the bed. "I want to fuck the woman I love before I present my work."
And just like that, I know my body can take more of his brand of torture.
—
I would’ve bet my life that we were meeting the people from the New York Philharmonic in a music hall.
At the David Geffen Hall, to be precise, since that's their home.
Instead, here I am, in an Upper East Side penthouse, sitting on the couch of the CEO of the New York Philharmonic with Achilles by my side.
Facing us, on another couch, are the CEO, the president of artistic planning, and the current music director.
That is a lot of important people.
They're talking like old friends while I sip on sparkling water.
Achilles's violin is on the couch next to him, and on the table between them and us, there's the masterpiece.
They're all pretending like it's not right there, calling our names, and I'm practically scratching my veins wanting to read it again.
Better even, I want to hear Achilles play. There's nothing like when he plays.
"It's so nice to have you here again, Achilles," the CEO, Mark, says. "We missed you, truly." His eyes dart to the papers on the table. "Now, tell me. What did you bring us? Our next season, I hope?"
Achilles tilts his head, his smile as arrogant as it gets. "What else?"
"Then let's hear it," the director of planning says. "I won't play hard to get. I'm dying for this."
They all laugh heartedly, but Achilles stays quiet.
"Of course. Nyx will play for you."
The silence this causes is heavy, only cut by me choking on my water, bubbles practically bursting out of my nose.
My heart has stopped, and I place a hand on my chest, tapping lightly as if to help restart it.
When we walked in, he introduced me as his new protégé.
He warned me in the car on the way here that he didn't want to say he was bringing his girlfriend, that he wanted them to see me as another musician.
But this? This is pushing it. I don't have the skills to present this piece.
Oscar, the conductor, puts a hand up. "Just to be clear, she presents it, but if this goes ahead, you'll be our soloist, right?"
My boyfriend shrugs, relaxing against the back of the couch. "Sure, if that's what you want. For today, I just believe Nyx has a better…" He pretends to look for his words as his gaze comes to me "…inner understanding of the piece. It touched her to her core."
My cheeks burn as they all turn to me.
"Is that right?" Oscar asks me.
I gulp, scratch my throat, and put my hair behind my ears. None of it helps. I'm uncontrollably hot from yesterday’s memories.
"Y-Yes," I rasp.
Achilles's mocking smile makes me want to jump him, and not in a fun way. I'll kill him for this later.
"Which orchestra have you played for before, Nyx?" the director of music keeps going.
Achilles waves a hand. "Don't ask stupid questions, Oscar. Talent is talent."
Oscar smiles politely and nods. "Of course. Please, Nyx. I'm all ears."
I freeze. What am I supposed to do?
Achilles leans toward me and whispers, "Now is the moment you take the violin and play for the nice men, Nyx."
I'm going to push my thumbs into his eyes if he ever blinks at me again in the way he just did.
"It's your violin, Achilles," I grit out through a fake smile. "I can't play it."
"Don't be silly. That's your case."
His mocking tone jolts me into action. As I grab the case with trembling hands, my narrow eyes tell him that I'm so going to make him regret this situation.
How did I not recognize this case was mine and not his? I need to stop turning my brain off when I'm with him.
There's a seat with a music stand, and I bring the concerto sheets and violin there. I take a minute to set up and make sure that all is in order. But my hands are sweating, and I can feel from the tension in the room that I'm taking too long.
I'm ready to faint when I look up, dry mouth, damp neck, and my eyes cross with Achilles's. He nods. No smirk, no wink, no mockery. He just nods encouragingly and mouths, I love you.
I look down at the concerto I read multiple times yesterday. The one that gave me countless orgasms, the one that ripped through my soul.
And with the silent encouragement of the man I love, I slide my bow against the strings, play the first notes…and everything else disappears.