Chapter 21
What the heck is going on? Why did I agree to come here with him?
What the hell did he give me? My body feels loose, and my mind is muddled.
The fact I actually begged him to touch me fills me with shame.
I’m mortified sitting on the leather stool in my panties.
This is a mistake, it feels wrong, yet I’m dying to know where this leads.
How he knows his way around the Cadence Building sends up warning signs, but I push them down. I wonder if he brought me here to kill me? Is this where it ends?
No, no Vesper. If he wanted to kill you, he wouldn’t have saved you from being raped.
My mind is dazed and confused. My judgment is clouded by his good looks and mysterious persona. My brain is stuck between fear and curiosity and…something more. My body and mind are at war with each other.
“Play,” he demands, towering over me.
My fingers tremble against the keys. I dare to look up at his face, the dark, amber candlelight has his eyes dancing in the flames.
“Why?” I ask meekly, slamming my legs closed. I’m vulnerable, but this strange feeling of euphoria has me slowly losing my inhibition.
He takes a measured step behind me, pacing. “You’ll see, songbird. Gonna show you how good pleasure can be.” His voice is sinister and ominous. His eyes burn into my backside.
My mind can’t wrap around how me playing piano equates to that kind of pleasure.
I shrug my jacket off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor at his feet.
Closing my eyes, I swallow my trepidation and start playing.
The auditorium fills with the gentle sounds of Hans Zimmer.
My mind melts into the music, syncing to the keys.
My fingers glide over the keys effortlessly with practiced precision.
Just as I let the music take me over, he sinks onto the stool behind me, his arms coming around my stomach just above my panties.
His body feels massive behind me; I’m shocked he fits on the stool with me.
When I miss a stroke, he says “Keep playing” his voice hums in a shockingly tender tone. My body heats. I time the strokes to my internal metronome, keeping the song flowing.
One of his hands glides up my chest and wraps around my neck.
He’s shaking, as if hanging by a thread of control.
His other hand brings the switchblade against my lace panties, tracing the blade along the front of my pussy and clit.
My body is torn. I’m ashamed of the fire igniting within me from his sick, twisted game, but it’s also screaming to give in to the pleasure.
Each slow, calculated movement is made with precision, as if he’s playing my body like an instrument.
It's as if he knows me better than myself.
He teases me just enough to make me flustered.
I lean back, resting against his chest as I try to keep my focus on the piano in front of me. I miss another key.
He licks along my earlobe and pauses, inhaling my dark strands.
He’s teasing me, pushing the boundaries of my body. It scares me how erotic his sick fantasies are, but I keep coming back for more. I can’t stay away. I must be a glutton for punishment. He maneuvers the blade with his knuckles, flipping it so the sharp end is tight against his palm.
Blood spills down his palm and wrist, dripping down the handle.
He edges the lace panties to the side with the bloody handle, exposing my most intimate, private area.
“Every note you miss, I’m gonna shove this so deep inside that pretty little cunt, Songbird.
” I gasp and brush over the wrong key again.
My entire body is hyperaware. His presence is smothering.
I feel every breath he takes. Every jolt of his hard member against my backside.
The handle spreads my lips apart before pressing against my entrance. I tense up against him, struggling to keep my composure. Never have I struggled to finish a song more than at this moment.
I hear him hiss and growl as he breeches my pussy. His grip tightens on my neck.
The handle is inside less than an inch, and I’m already embarrassingly wet.
Tears threaten to resurface. This shouldn’t turn me on.
What the hell is wrong with me? I try to keep my keystrokes timed.
I’ve always used music as an escape, a gateway into another dimension to free my mind, but right now, all I can concentrate on is how good the carved wooden handle feels inside of me.
Each touch brings me a wave of pleasure, and I’m ready to drown in this feeling forever.
This is more freeing than any song I could ever play.
My hand slides off the keys, and he sinks it deeper inside me.
I gasp and pitch forward, slamming my hands down on the keys. My ends of my hair brush against the piano as I sink forward.
“Did I ask you to stop?” he asks darkly, squeezing my neck so tight stars burst in my vision.
“Please,” I choke out. I don’t even know what I’m begging for.
He slips the blade inside another inch. The blood dripping down his arm paints my thigh with dribbles of crimson dots.
He doesn’t even flinch at the pain. Instead, he only seems to grow harder against me.
His cock presses against my back. When I don’t start playing, he glides it in all the way, effortlessly.
Letting him indulge in his sick desires makes me that much wetter.
I know deep down this isn’t normal, but maybe this is what I’ve always needed. I’ve always been a good girl, sheltered and obedient. Maybe it’s time to let these dark fantasies play out. “Ever tasted blood, songbird?” he rasps.
I twist my head around to find a darkness surrounding him and his piercing gray eyes full of lust. Those crescent eyes pull me back into his madness.
He licks his inner cheek and moves my hair aside.
He removes his hand from my throat and sweeps at the blood on his opposite wrist with his finger.
He brings it to my mouth while fucking me steadily with the knife handle.
I grind shamelessly against the wood, the ribbed handle caressing that spot deep inside me.
I wrap my lips around his finger, tasting his lifeblood. Somehow it makes me feel connected to him, delivering me to the same wavelength as his insanity.
“Look at you, your lips painted in my blood. Would look perfect with my cum too.” His voice sounds malevolent.
My insides are on fire, he releases his finger and rubs it over my lips, cheek, and nose, painting me with his essence.
It feels like a claim. Something feels portentous, like an ominous warning, but I can’t heed it.
Desire builds within me, threatening to crest. I let my body sag against his chest. He works the handle until I’m ready to explode.
I try to pick up the song again but fail.
“Gonna show you how good the pain feels, songbird.
" And with his final, forbidding words, he grips the strands at the crown of my head, wrapping my dark hair around his fist, and sinks his teeth into my neck so deeply he draws blood.
The knife slams so hard inside my fleshy pussy it jams into my cervix.
My body descends over the edge, lifting my feet off the ground with the ferocity of my orgasm.
I reach out, blindly clawing his sweatpants.
He pulls the knife handle free and glides the ribbed, carved edges over my clit.
It throbs as my orgasm crests. He works the handle viciously.
I’m on a collision course with destruction.
Blood from his wrist, palm, and arm splatter over my body and the piano.
We’re both covered in crimson; the area looks like a crime scene.
He lets out a deep exhale as my body goes slack, my long, tangled hair sticking to my face.
“I will show you your deepest desires.” His tongue darts out to taste me again. He was brought here by the devil himself to taunt me, to haunt me, to bring me to my knees.