chemise, stockings, and a hideous pair of old half-boots, as he’d asked of her. Her breasts were small and exquisitely shaped, the tiny buds of her nipples pushing up against the worn cotton. The dark shadow at the apex of her thighs beckoned for his touch.
“What will you have me play?” Maggie’s voice had gone low and husky. “More Chopin?”
My cock. “Whatever you wish.”
He stood and waved her toward the seat, struggling to keep from touching her.
“You’re barefoot.” Maggie stared at his feet for a moment before seating herself on the bench.
“I am.” He didn’t even bother to hide the heavy outline of his erection from her.
“You have lovely feet,” she said before running her fingers over the keys to warm up her hands. “I didn’t know men possessed such beautiful toes.” A soft heartfelt sigh. “Much like the rest of you.”
It was one of the most erotic things anyone had ever said to him, having his toes admired. It was all he could do not to simply toss her on the chaise and ravish her.
The first notes floated up into the air as Maggie started to play.
Her mind went blank. What sort of musical composition was deemed appropriate for a seduction? Margaret knew full well she wasn’t here to play a song and then have Peckam escort her out.
The hum beneath her skin threatened to drown out everything else and her thoughts became lazy. Sensual. Every brush of the chemise against her breasts teased the hardened peaks of her nipples. Even the bench beneath her seemed to chafe at the backs of her legs and buttocks.
The piece she would play came to her in a moment, accompanied by an insistent ache between her thighs. It was for him, after all.
Two frail notes echoed in the room before she bent forward, allowing the music to flow into her veins, moving through her slender body as if a match had been struck to set her aflame. Greens and purples swirled before her along with great bursts of sapphire blue. The same color as his glorious eyes.
All she heard was the music, the low vibration of the strings bursting through the keys to her fingertips. She could feel his eyes on her, sensed he was mentally stripping the chemise from her body, and exploring the curve of her spine. When she arched back, Margaret wasn’t surprised at the firm wall of muscle circling her. Welles straddled her on the bench while she played, his strong thighs trapping Margaret’s smaller body. His breath stirred the hair at her temples, his larger form curling around hers.
When she bent forward, Welles matched each movement, his fingers running over the length of her arms, sending flames down through her fingertips. The burn of his lips pressed against her neck as Margaret struggled to focus on the music. His arm snaked around her waist, holding her pressed tight to the hardness at the juncture of his thighs. A warm hand cupped one breast, stroking the underside as if memorizing each curve before rolling the peak of her nipple between his fingers.
Margaret whimpered as sensation shot from her breast down between her legs. Teeth grazed the side of her neck and she missed a note. The arm holding her loosened as the other hand trailed down the length of her hip gently tugging at the hem of her chemise. Another whimper left her at the touch of his fingers against the bare skin of her inner thigh. When he finally touched the swollen folds at the core of her, Margaret was already shamefully wet.
A rumble came from deep in his chest. He bent her back slightly, like a bowstring, forcing her legs further apart. When his fingers traveled over her, teasing and stroking, Margaret hit several wrong notes in a row. When he spread her further and pressed two fingers inside, she gasped, struggling to remind her hands to move.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered.
Welles was everywhere, above her, around her, inside her. Each intimate press of his fingers drove her mad with need. He became part of the music because he was the music.
Her music.
His thumb searched and found the engorged bit of flesh hidden in her folds, a place Margaret had only herself tentatively touched. Stroking lightly, he nuzzled beneath her ear, the wide mouth whispering of his desire for her. When he pushed a third finger inside her and gently flicked against the small nub with his thumb, Margaret’s hands left the keys with a clang. She