Chapter 7 Jionni #2
I kiss him again, harder this time, swallowing the rest of my name from his lips.
This isn't gentle anymore. It's desperate.
He melts against me, his hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer like he's afraid I'll disappear.
The kiss turns hungry, his tongue sliding against mine, a frantic dance of need.
A raw, possessive growl rips from my throat, an animal sound I don't try to control.
This is what I want. This complete and utter surrender.
I walk him backward, my mouth never leaving his, until the backs of his legs hit the hard edge of the piano bench. He stumbles, and I use the momentum to lift him, setting him onto the closed lid. His legs part instinctively, making space for me between them.
"We shouldn't," he gasps as my mouth moves to his neck, tasting the frantic pulse there. "Not here."
"Why not?" I murmur against his skin, my hands already on the buttons of his shirt, popping them free one by one. "Room's soundproof. Door's locked. No one will hear you scream my name."
"Someone could—ah—someone could need the room." His protest is weak, his head falling back against the piano as I find the sweet spot just below his ear.
I bite down gently on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, right over a mark that's already fading. I'll make it fresh. He shudders violently. "Let them find another one," I growl. "This one's ours."
His resistance crumbles. His hands fumble with my waistband. "You're a terrible influence," he says, his voice a breathless whisper.
I grin against his skin, licking a stripe up his throat. "The worst."
I push his shirt off his shoulders, letting it pool around his elbows. His skin is pale in the fluorescent light, marked and bruised with my claim. I trace one of the darker bruises on his collarbone with my finger, a possessive thrill shooting through me.
"Turn around," I say, my voice rough with command.
His eyes, dark and blown wide with lust, meet mine. He understands. Without a word, he slides off the piano and turns, placing his palms flat on the surface. The position pushes his ass out, a perfect, beautiful offering. My cock gives a hard throb.
I work his pants down, my hands landing on his hips.
"Jionni," he breathes, his voice catching as I press against him, letting him feel the length of my hard cock through my jeans. "Please."
I lean over him, my chest flush against his back, my mouth at his ear. The scent of lemon polish from the wood mixes with the rising, musky scent of his arousal. It's intoxicating. "Please what? Use your words, RA. Tell me what you want."
"You," he says, his voice breaking as he pushes back against me, a desperate, seeking motion. "Inside me. Now."
That raw need in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to my balls. I straighten, fumbling with my jeans, shoving them down just enough to free myself. I'm already leaking, my cock hard and aching for the tight heat of him.
I press two fingers to his entrance, finding him already slick and ready for me. He gasps and shivers at the touch.
"Told you you were mine," I growl, positioning myself at his entrance. I push in slowly, just the head, watching his back arch. The piano creaks softly as he grips the edge, his knuckles turning white.
"Yes," he gasps, his head dropping forward, his messy hair brushing against the wood. "Yours. Only yours."
I thrust in fully with one smooth, deep stroke. He cries out, a sharp, muffled sound. I'm buried to the hilt, his body clenching around me, tight and hot. I stay still for a second, letting us both feel it—the perfect fit, the absolute rightness of this.
Then I start to move, a deep, hard rhythm. Each thrust pushes him against the piano, a soft, steady thump that echoes in the soundproofed room. Thump. Thump. Thump. It's the beat of our own song.
"Hear that?" I pant, my voice strained. "That's the sound of you, breaking all your rules for your Alpha."
He moans, the sound vibrating through his back and into my chest, going straight to my core. "Don't stop," he begs, his hips starting to rock back, meeting my thrusts. "Please, don't stop."
I grip his hips harder, my fingers digging into his skin. I'm going to leave marks. Good.
"Let them wonder what we're doing in here," I say, leaning over him again, nipping at his shoulder blade.
"Let them imagine you bent over this piano, taking my cock so perfectly.
" As I thrust deeper, his hand slips on the slick surface, his fingers crashing down on the high keys.
A sharp, dissonant chord shrieks through the room, a chaotic, jarring sound of beautiful noise.
Toby flinches, his whole body going rigid. "Shit—Jionni—"
"No," I growl, grinding into him, loving the sound, the chaos. "That's our note. Let's see if we can break the soundproofing."
That breaks him. He moans, loud and uninhibited, all pretense of control gone. I reach around, my hand wrapping around his cock. He's hard and leaking, so ready. I stroke him in time with my thrusts, my mouth at his ear.
"That's it, omega," I whisper, my voice rough. "Sing for me. Let me hear how good my cock feels inside you."
"So good," he pants, his hips rocking back wildly now. "Fuck, it feels so good."
The piano groans again, a low, resonant sound under our combined weight. "Listen to that," I growl. "Even the room knows you belong to me. Taking me like you were made for it." I feel his climax building, his inner muscles starting to flutter around me. He's so close.
"I want to feel you fall apart," I command, my thumb swiping hard over the sensitive head of his cock. "Let go for me, Toby."
He comes with a sharp, guttural cry, his body clenching hard around me, milking me, and that's all it takes to push me over the edge. A raw snarl rips from my throat as I follow him, burying myself to the hilt as I fill him with my claim.
For a long moment, we stay like that, our breathing harsh in the quiet room, slick with sweat. Then I carefully pull out, turning him to face me. His face is flushed, his eyes dazed. He looks thoroughly fucked. Thoroughly mine.
"You okay?" I ask, brushing his damp hair off his forehead.
He nods, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his face. "More than okay."
We clean up, our movements slow and sated. By the time we're dressed, you'd never know what just happened—except for the flush on his cheeks, the swelling of his lips, the way his hair refuses to lie flat.
"I should get to class," he says, checking his watch. "I'm going to be late."
"I'll walk you," I say, slinging my guitar case over my shoulder.
He looks surprised, then pleased. "You don't have to."
"I want to." I take his hand, lacing our fingers together. "I like being seen with you."
His smile is genuine this time, reaching his eyes. "I like being seen with you too."
He takes my hand, his fingers lacing through mine, and as we walk out of the music building and back into the sunlight, I feel like we're untouchable. Like nothing can possibly go wrong.