Chapter 12 – Dahlia #2
He thinks that over, looking away as he rubs his lips together.
My god, were those lips really on mine last night?
“Okay,” he says. “Come back here when this class is done and I’ll make sure to keep it open for you.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, about to walk away but then I pause. “Hey…are you okay?”
His face is totally impassive. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I blink at him, quickly pasting on a stiff smile. “No reason. You just seem a bit off today.”
“I’m fine,” he says, tone a bit sharper now.
Well good for you , I think.
I turn and quickly leave the room before he does, deciding to head to the library for a bit.
I haven’t been back since the other night and I’m looking at it with new eyes.
Part of me hopes the professor doesn’t show up so I don’t have to pretend to be normal and fine all over again. Part of me hopes he does.
I find a chair in the corner and just spend most of the time flipping through encyclopedias and reading in earnest about everything I come across, much like I did as a child when I needed to destress and hyperfocus on something.
The time flies and when I look at my phone, the last music class has been over for a while.
Gathering my stuff I head down into the building, going to the concert hall.
As classes are done for the day, a stillness has descended on the school and as I pass through the dim hallways, the statues of famous composers and musicians seem to watch me as I walk past, as do the eyes from various portraits.
True to his word, Valtu left the concert hall door open a crack.
I push it the rest of the way and step inside.
I’ve never been in here alone before and it’s a completely different experience.
It’s lit like there’s a concert in progress, with all the chairs and the balcony above in the dark, with only a single light on stage.
Aimed right at the pipe organ.
“Hello?” I call out softly as I step inside the hall. I glance around at the shadows, expecting to see shapes and eyes staring at me but I really seem to be alone.
I close the door behind me and make my way down the aisle, then up the stairs to the stage.
I look around again anxiously, feeling apprehensive, like this room was lively and breathing before and now that I’m here, it’s holding its breath.
I sit down on the bench, take off my jean jacket and my boots, and I’m about to put on my organ shoes I have in my bag but I stop.
There’s no one here. How much better would it feel to play the organ in my bare feet?
He did say that I needed to work on my foot position, maybe it’s better achieved at first by playing without shoes.
Besides, I carry antibacterial wipes and hand sanitizer wherever I go. I’ll just clean the pedals before and after.
I fish them out of my bag, wipe it down just in case a less hygienic person did that before, then take my position on the bench, smoothing out my dress.
When I asked Valtu if the room was available, I did so with the hopes that maybe he would show up and we could talk…
or do something more than talking. But now that he’s not here and I have the place to myself, I’m compelled to really master the piece he gave me for the recital.
I start playing it from memory, not needing a sheet. It’s a song that gets off to a galloping start with only a few quiet slow sections where strings would kick in. I’m excited to hear it with the string students once we start rehearsing with them before the recital.
As I play, it’s much easier with bare feet to master what Valtu was teaching me about my ankles, how I have to turn them to play more from the inside of my feet, but when I finally finish the song, my ankles are sore from the new position.
I reach down to rub them and hear slow applause erupting from the balcony. I gasp, quickly twisting around to see a dark figure on the balcony clapping. I swear I see red eyes too, but I’m thinking that’s just my imagination.
“Who is there?” I call out, my voice shaking slightly.
Oh god, please don’t tell me it’s the demon again. This time patronizing my musical performance.
But then I see the figure stand up and the room grows cold and from his silhouette I can tell it’s Valtu. I would recognize that wild hair and height and those broad shoulders anywhere.
I watch as he walks gracefully up the aisle and disappears, my eyes drawn to the back of the room where the staircase is until he appears.
My heart jumps and skips in my chest and I’m holding my breath as he approaches, sauntering down the aisle, out of the darkness and into the light. His eyes are glued to mine, his shadowed gaze intense under those low brows.
I feel buoyant. So light that I might just float away. Just seeing him here, knowing he’s come for me, knowing that he was watching me in secret…I hate how many butterflies he’s let loose inside my chest.
“You really took my critique to heart,” he says in a low smooth voice as he approaches the stage, staring up at me. He nods at my feet. “Don’t know the last time I saw someone play with bare feet.”
I raise my chin, feeling on the spot. “I didn’t think anyone was here.”
A sly grin twists his mouth. “I know you didn’t. Which is why I was so keen to see how you’d perform on your own. Without me, your classmates, or any audience at all watching. I wanted to see how you play when you’re just playing for yourself.”
Well, thank fuck he didn’t see me trying to use a spell to play better.
“And?” I goad him. “What did you think?”
He walks along the stage then up the stairs, the closer he gets to me the louder my heart beats against my rib cage. He stops right beside me, peering down at me and I feel so small next to him.
“I think you have a real talent, Dahlia,” he says in a low voice. “And you take a real joy in music. And that is so nice to see.”
I can’t help but feel a bit proud about that. Despite being helped along by a spell, I really do like what I play, I really do escape in the music I create. It clears my head better than anything.
“It’s the only time I can quiet the thoughts in my mind,” I admit.
His eyes are kind when he says, “I know. I’m the same way.” Then he gestures to the organ. “Do you mind if I give you some pointers though? It’s not often I get to have one-on-one classes with my students.”
I gulp. The tension in the air immediately gets thicker, making it harder to breathe.
I manage to nod, about to get off the bench but he places a firm hand on my shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “No, you stay where you are.”
There is an authoritative quality to his voice, quietly commanding.
He comes behind me now, his other hand on my other shoulder and positions me so I’m facing the organ.
“Put your fingers on the keys like you’re about to start,” he says.
I obey, placing my fingers in position.
He leans forward so that his lips are at my ear and I shiver as I feel his cool breath. “Let me guide you,” he whispers. “Let everything go.”
He reaches forward, his large cool palms sliding down over my bare arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, going all the way to my hands, his own hands encompassing mine, fingers pressed down over fingers.
“Now don’t look at your hands,” he says in my ear, his voice rich, making the hair rise on my neck. “Close your eyes.”
My eyes fall closed and he continues. “You work the keys in groups of three and four, like we practiced earlier.”
I try to remember and when I do, I tense up, almost bringing my hands off the keys.
“Relax, Dahlia,” he says quietly, his lips grazing lightly over the shell of my ear. “I’ve got you. Submit to me.” He pauses, bringing his lips down to my earlobe where he brushes it with his nose. “Let me be in control from now on.”
It feels like hot lightning is shooting straight down my spine into my core.
Fuck me.
I swallow thickly and try to nod, try to make a sound, but I already feel like I’m handing myself over to him.
He lets out a faint grunt and then brings my fingers down on the keys. I keep my eyes closed and let him take over, let the music flow from the organ as he makes me play like a puppet on a string.
“Just concentrate on the pedals,” he whispers to me. “Yes. That’s it. Inside of the foot. Yes. Trap the note.”
I do as he says, the notes rising louder and clearer than before, filling the room with drama that I feel vibrating in my bones. I can’t help but smile to myself, loving what he’s coaxing out of me.
“Yes,” he hisses. “That’s a good girl.”
My cheeks flush at that praise. How good it feels to hear it from him.
“Now I’m going to take my hands off yours,” he murmurs, his mouth going to my neck now. “And you keep playing. And I’ll play you.”
I want to ask him what he means by playing me but then he kisses the crook of my neck, a long, soft, wet kiss that makes my toes want to curl on the pedals.
I gasp, my head going back until it rests against his shoulder, and he brings his hands down over my breasts, fingers brushing gently over my nipples.
Oh my god.
I suck in a breath, almost stopping the song but he sucks at my neck lightly and says, “Keep playing. Unless you want me to stop.”
I don’t want him to stop. I keep playing the song, my fingers moving over the keys as his fingers pinch my nipples, squeeze my breasts, and I’m arching even more now, molten heat between my legs.
“Your body is an instrument itself,” he rasps to me, licking up to my ear until I’m moaning, and he’s cupping my breasts now over my bodice. “Rewarding those who learn how to play it properly.”
He gives my nipples another sharp tug and I cry out. It takes everything in me to keep playing the music and I’m surprised I haven’t majorly fucked up the song by now. I can barely concentrate, all I can think about is how fucking turned on I am right now, and how damn sexy this is.