Chapter 13
Music of the Spheres
ORION
Aline array system is tucked into a secluded section of the observatory. Kept out of sight, out of mind. When I transitioned to Stonehurst, I stacked the PA speakers and subwoofers upright along a wall, leaving them to collect dust.
This is where I carry Collins, to this hidden sector of myself, planting her back against the mesh grille of the speakers. A coarse groan escapes my clenched teeth on impact. The abrasive feel of her pressed hard against me damn near flays my sternum.
Her broken breath coasts across my mouth as she stares into me, a trickle of fear leaking into her glassy eyes. “What are we doing.”
“This.” My composure all but stripped, I greedily grind between the seam of her thighs, working another groan free as I savor the breathy moan she offers in return.
Releasing her thigh, I bring my hand to her face and cup her jaw.
My gloved thumb drags down the center of her lips to part them open. “Fuck, Collins.”
She about killed me when she spread her legs on the desk.
Now I’m one breath away from begging her to finish me off.
An infuriating hunger burns through me, torching any remaining fight as I crave to know the taste of her on my tongue.
Past the lust-fueled haze, the questioning doubt banked behind her eyes spears me through.
I release a harsh curse. “You have no goddamn idea how you torture me when you look at me like that.”
She presses her cheek more firmly into my palm, as if she can tear through the barrier between us. “I want to feel you.”
My eyes seal shut, neck corded and jaw locked against the need to unleash every ounce of agony racking my muscles. When I dare to look at her again, my gaze falls heavy on the black tie still draped around her neck. I drop my hand and touch the silk blade, my mind tunneling to base thoughts.
I push in close to her ear, voice strained. “And I want you fucking desperate, your thighs shaking, as you break for me, Collins.”
Her faint whimper sends a hot pulse to my groin. “You can have my body however you want, Orion,” she says, “but only if you remove your gloves.”
Releasing a searing breath, I stroke the contour of her cheek tenderly, pulling back a measure to let her bare feet lower to the concrete floor.
With a growl, I seize her waist and spin her, pinning her chest to the speaker.
I trap her wrists, bringing her hands up on either side of her head, where I brace them.
“Answer me one thing,” I say, collecting her hair in a loose grasp.
As I guide the layers over her shoulder, my finger hooks the neck of the tie.
I bring it around, letting the silk blades drape down the center of her back.
“Is this request based on my exposure therapy, or because my gloves frighten you?”
Her pause hangs heavy in the air. “What would be your response if I said the latter?”
An amused smile curls my mouth. “That I want to make you come so fucking hard, you forget even your own name, angel.”
Her thighs squeeze together, and my groin throbs in response. “Quite the ego,” she says on a shaky breath.
“You have no idea what I can accomplish when I set my mind to it.” I press up against her backside and settle my mouth near the curve of her ear. “Don’t move,” I tell her, the gravel in my tone eliciting a shiver.
I stalk to the control panel and hit the switch to close the shutter. A metallic groan fills the chamber as we’re sealed in darkness. I power on the sound system, and Collins gasps as a soft drone resonates from the low-frequency subs.
I adjust the range, tuning the output. Satisfied, I remove my glove and hit Play on the touchscreen.
The speakers emit a deep, low hum, slowly rising and filling the darkened chamber with an unearthly, ambient ring.
The sound starts with an eerie prelude, gradually building into a rhythmic pulse until the sound rattles my chest and vibrates the floor.
“Orion—”
“If you move, Collins, I’ll be forced to restrain you.” The deviant in me salivates over the thought of chasing her down as she flees the observatory.
When she says nothing more, I remove my watch and pull off my other glove.
I only hesitate a moment before shedding my dress shirt.
The cool air strokes my skin and I fucking swear, I can’t see her tremble, but I can feel it.
The arousing sensation rolls along my flesh like the ripple of sound waves.
There’s something my little anomaly keeps hidden, afraid to let me glimpse this part of her. To strip a layer of her defenses, I’m willing to strip one of my own. I drape my shirt over the monitor, snuffing out the last of the light.
The rhythmic sound increases in intensity, guiding me toward the speakers. I stop within an inch of her body, my chest vibrating with each labored breath.
“You can’t touch me,” I say, my chin near the top of her head. “That’s the only rule. No matter what happens.” I sense her movement. “Words, Collins,” I demand.
“I won’t touch you,” she rushes out.
Jaw flexed, I push in closer, where the fibers of her clothes whisper across my bare chest. Cautiously, I reach around her waist and tug her blouse free of her skirt.
“I have a rule,” she states, trying to conceal the quake in her voice. My fingers halt. “The lights stay off.”
I lick my lips, relishing this curious peek beneath her walls. She’d rather drown in her fear, afraid of the smothering dark, than let me see her.
Gathering the hem of her shirt in a tight grip, I wrench the delicate fabric apart, popping the buttons open. Her sharp intake of air tenses my abdominal muscles.
“You don’t touch me, I won’t look at you.”
Her relief is palpable, allowing me to part the blouse farther and expose her to cool air. As I’ve visually mapped her body, felt her against my chest, I know she’s not wearing a bra. Without instruction, she presses into the speaker to shield herself.
The faintest moan sounds above the ambient music, evocative and thrilling, as stimulation courses along her nerves.
“In the corridor, when you asked if it was me you heard playing piano…” My voice drifts over the building pulse of sound. “I used to compose my own music,” I say, resigned to give her this much.
Her back expands with a deep inhale. “Used to?” she questions, still trying to analyze me.
I make a thoughtful sound as I let my bare fingers trace the curve of her back, the thin material of her shirt the only barrier between her skin and mine. Her heated flesh infuses the fibers, and I can almost summon the texture of her soft skin, what she’d feel like beneath my touch.
Muscles drawn tight, I envision the light bruises marking her neck, see her hand clutched to her throat, caught in the throes of autoerotic asphyxiation as she deprives her lungs of air.
My cock jumps at the explicit image that I have of her, how her pretty features contort as she brings herself to the brink.
Her forbidden desires too intimate, too shocking, to explore any other way but alone.
Something depraved wants to tease those secrets out of hiding. To discover what filthy things she imagines when she’s lost in that space.
“You’re listening to my music now,” I whisper over her ear as I clutch the blades of the necktie in each hand.
From Pythagoras’ Music of the Spheres to Kepler’s Harmonices Mundi; Holst’s The Planets to NASA’s cosmic data—music and astronomy have always been intertwined. Bound together on a cosmic scale.
“It’s called sonification,” I explain in a low voice. “Celestial data translated into music. The orbital resonances of planets and stellar oscillations scaled to an audible range, then mapped into piano notes.”
There’s more to it than this; matching ratios of orbits to musical intervals, aligning astronomical frequencies into pitch and rhythm. Fine-tuning the harmonics. Each celestial body holds a unique resonance, its own sound. And when these bodies are given a symphony, it’s an immersive experience.
One I intend to use to shatter her.
“It’s a little terrifying,” she admits, and for a moment, I’m unsure if she’s referring to the music or the tension gathering in the tie around her neck.
I relax my grip. “Hmm. Beautiful and terrifying all at once.” If I’m never able to capture her melody, regretfully, this may be the closest I come.
“It’s the sound of two black holes colliding, merging.
As they spiral closer, their gravitational waves build, frequency climbing like notes rising in pitch.
And even though their waves pass through each other without touching, barely leaving an imprint,” a noticeable ache flares in the core of my chest, “we can still detect their subtle vibrations.”
She silently absorbs the melancholic song before she says, “That sounds almost romantic.”
A deep pang resonates within me, knowing the romance is just as deceptive as touch. Vibrations interact with the electromagnetic fields at the atomic level only. And yet, despite how completely irrational it is, I’m furious over the fucking sound waves for being able to touch her where I can’t.
“Spacetime is like a fabric,” I tell her as my fingers deliberately trail the fabric of her shirt along her spine. “Ripples are sent through it, allowing us to experience this breathtaking moment of collision.”
Collins trembles beneath my shifting touch. My hands explore the alluring flare of her hips, my fingers inching up her skirt until I have the hem bunched above her thighs. The lacy feel of her stockings sends an arousing pulse to my cock.
“Spread your legs,” I demand in a low rasp. A slight shiver travels through her, and I hungrily absorb the recoil as she tentatively parts her thighs.
I uncurl my fingers from her skirt and roam my hand down, grazing over her thigh, intoxicated by the seductive catch of her breath as I coast lower to cup the innermost curve of her knee.