Page 76 of The Gamma's Second Chance

I blink at him, feigning ignorance and innocence. “From?”

He growls and nips at my neck, yanking me tighter against his chest. I laugh, and he smiles against my skin, then presses a soft-as-silk kiss right above my marking spot. The kiss leaves me shivering and breathless and makes my heart skip a beat in my chest.

“Play something for me?” he asks, his deep voice vibrating against my back and his lips tickling my neck.

“You need to get dressed,” I remind him. “We’re supposed to be at the festival.”

“Play for me first.”

He traces my marking spot with his nose, and my breath shudders. I swallow back a moan, fingers digging into his skin.

Goddess, I love when he does that. He knows all the ways to turn me into a puddle of molten chocolate in his arms, all the ways to make me feel desired and beautiful and needed. He manipulates my body and my passion, molding them and devouring them, using me for his pleasure while simultaneously giving me everything I crave.

“Play,” he repeats a third time, nudging me with his nose and lifting my arms to the keys.

I open my eyes and sit as straight as I can, fingers floating over the keys as I play one of my self-composed pieces.

The melody swirls around us, painting an abstract picture in my mind, filled with greens, blues, and golds—the colors of Crescent Lake. They’re the colors I always imagined when composing this piece. But I never realized until now that they’re the colors of the forest climbing up the sides of the mountains, the lake rippling under the sunlight, and the sunset as it streaks across the sky and disappears behind the mountains. They’re the colors of the bark of the trees and the sand on the shore. It’s the training field that’s dotted with dandelions, and it’s the warm golden brown of the packhouse overlooking it all.

It’s home.

I pour my heart into the music as I play, and Nolan’s hands roam my body, caressing my waist and stomach and down the tops of my thighs. I bite my lip and tense a little, shooting him a glance as I pause my song.

But as soon as I stop the movements of my fingers, he stops his touches. “Keep playing,” he says, nodding at the keys.

I inhale through my nose and continue, and he inches the skirt of my dress higher with his fingers. It pools around my waist and exposes my lower half to his eyes. He teases my thighs with his fingertips. Up and down. Higher and higher, swirling and dancing, until they trace over his name near my pussy.

My breath catches, and my fingers trip over the keys, a harsh, dissonant note marring the otherwise soaring melody, and I slow the tempo to prevent another mishap. He frowns and grips my thigh in his massive hand, giving it a punishing squeeze.

“Don’t change your song,” he says, scolding me with his tone and his harsher touch. “And don’t stop either.”

I nod and bite my lip, holding in a groan and forcing my eyes to remain open. I pick the pace back up, and he resumes his exploration, brushing his knuckle over my pussy through my underwear. A slow, hissing exhale passes between my teeth, but I continue my piece with no misplayed notes and no slowing of the tempo.

“Good girl,” he says, praising me with his smooth, velvety voice as he slips his fingers under the hem of my underwear, circling my lower lips.

My legs quake, and my stomach clenches as I fight the urge to give in to the intimacy and end my song early. It’s difficult. His touches are decadent and sensuous, leaving me breathless and wanting more. It makes it challenging to focus on anything else.

He is the center of everything.

Nolan kisses down my neck and across my shoulder as I continue playing the piano. He continues playing with me, his other hand lowering the strap of my dress down my arm in front of the path of his lips. My breast slowly comes into view, my nipple already hardening from the attention I’m receiving on the rest of my body. Nolan’s eyes catch on it, lingering as he inhalesthe scent of my skin and my arousal permeating the air. He scoots the piano bench back as far as he can while still allowing me to reach the keys, and drops to his knees in front of me.

I gasp and fumble out the next few measures, a muddled mess of incorrect chords and faulty notes, as his hands glide up my thighs and his face hovers over my soaking wet underwear. “Nolan…”

My voice is edgy and needy, almost a whine. I’m begging him. Whether it’s to let me stop playing so I can enjoy his affections or to stop his teasing so I can finish my song and then let him play with me, I’m not entirely sure. But my plea goes unheard either way. He slides my underwear to the side and licks a line through my entrance, flicking his tongue over my clit. I cry out with pleasure, my hands hovering over the keys, fingers flexing and neck arching.

“Cassandra,” Nolan says, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You will finish your song. But every time you slow down or stop, I will slow down or stop. And I won’t fuck this pretty pink pussy of yours or let you come until you play the last note.”

His hands hold my thighs apart, his fingers digging into my skin and leaving bruises behind, and his mouth hovers over me, his breath teasing and tickling my pussy with every word he utters. I nod, my hands and body trembling as I repeat the last couple of measures, correcting my mistakes and continuing with my piece.

He chuckles and grins in triumph, then lunges forward, devouring me like I’m his last meal. His tongue swirls and tastes and his mouth twists and kisses, his fingers joining in on the fun. His shoulder and back muscles tense, creating ridges and valleys all over his torso, the sword tattooed down his spine sharpening with the tension of his features.

And I’m just as tense, teetering on the edge of losing myself completely to his ministrations while struggling to keep mybrain and fingers on task. I want the prize he’s offering me; I covet it. But I can’t rush to the ending—he’ll know—and if I stop early, then all of this decadent affection will end as well.

I take a breath in, then blow it out, then take another in. I use each measure of the music as my timer. My hips jerk forward as his finger slips inside me and his tongue dances around my clit, but I don’t let it affect my playing of my music.

He groans as he tastes me, and I sigh with pleasure. Both sounds mix with my song, adding an erotic undertone to the piece, highlighting an innate sensuality within the music I never realized existed until now. A heady haze descends over us as the music crescendos and climbs to the pinnacle right before the end. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me to the edge of the bench, and he reaches up to cup my exposed breast, pinching the nipple between his fingers.

“Nolan!” I cry, fingers slamming down onto the piano keys.

---