Page 23 of Phantom
His movements pause. “Safe?”
I nod and his ministrations pick back up, this time with less furious urgency and more… reverence. So I tell him that, too.
“You’re my pretty little muse, Scarlett. I worship your voice. Your body, mind, and soul are no different.”
“Even the darkness in my mind?” I ask, not sure why it matters if my phantom accepts my madness.
“Especially your darkness.”
His whispered confession relaxes me further and triggers the beginning of my orgasm. My muscles tighten as our fingers play my clit like a duet piece. Somehow, he knows exactly how to strum me into release.
“I feel like my body knows your touch and the song you want to play with it. My core already knows the right key.”
“Do you like the music I give you? The songs I’ve written just for you? They won’t compare to the ones you sing when you come.”
My breath hitches when one of his fingers guides mine inside my channel and he begins to pump my hand.
“Yes… I love your music. Some days it gives me reason… purpose. My heart thrums every time I see your white rose and letter.”
A grumble of approval vibrates against my neck, as if this phantom, my demon of music, loves praise. It emboldens me to keep going, but he presses the heel of my hand into my clit, snapping my attention to the aching desire building in my core. The walls of my pussy contract against my finger as my own palm kneads my bundle of nerves frantically.
I give up trying to move on my own and he takes over, pulling me tight against his chest and grinding the heel of my hand against my pulsing need. He keeps pumping my finger in and out, and all the while, his cock thrusts against the thin cotton covering my ass.
“Sol… it feels so good. Your hands—”
My muscles tighten from the top of my spine down to the curl of my toes and I cry out as I ride the very tip of the swelling crescendo… and fall, wave after wave, like a cascade of octaves playing over my skin as I come.
His fingers keep up that rhythm until the song is too much to bear and I’m pushing him away while pulling him close at the same time.
Minutes, maybe hours, pass as I try to catch my breath. When I completely recover, Sol’s lips brush against the shell of my ear, sending tantalizing ripples of warmth down my body as he drags his fingers up my feverish skin.
Whiskey and sugar scents drift under my nose as his lips caress my ear. “I always knew pleasure would make you sing so pretty. I need you to know that no one but me will ever hear this song from you. The world can have Scarlett on stage, but only I get to hearma jolie petite musewhen she hits those high notes. Tell me you understand.”
I don’t… and I do at the same time. Exhaustion is finally winning out though, so instead of asking my phantom, my demon of music, what he means, I go with instinct and nod. “I sing for you, Sol. Only for you.”
He hums with approval. The soothing pitch drifts into varying musical notes until it becomes a familiar song. I want to sing it, but the entire embrace—his lullaby, his warmth, his scent, hispower—lulls me to sleep better than any medication alone.
Scene 6
FITTINGS AND FRENEMIES
Scarlett
When I woke up this morning, not only did I feel like I had a hangover from hell, my panties were damp and I swear I could smell sugar and whiskey. It’s one thing to have auditory hallucinations, but visual and olfactory? I didn’t even know the last one was a thing.
Needless to say, I called my doctor for refills and then I promptly freaked the fuck out.
For months, I’ve been hearing music coming from a vent in my room. I thought it was someone practicing and it took me searching high and low for where the music could be coming from to finally realize I was having auditory hallucinations again. At first, it worried the hell out of me, but oddly enough, there were no other symptoms of mania. So I took the beautiful piano tunes and the sexy crooning from the bass singer as a reprieve from all the emotions still whirling inside me from my dad’s murder.
Then I began to receive letters from the mysterious pianist and even interacted with him while I sang his music. I didn’t know what to believe, and frankly, by that time, I didn’t want to ruin what I had by looking into it. It sounds crazy in and of itself to justignorewhat’s going on around me. But, whether my demon of music was real or fake didn’t matter as much as protecting the idea of him and the comfort he’d given me.
Now that my hallucinations have escalated to literally getting turned on by my visions, I’m not sure what to do. If I bring any of this up to my psychiatrist, I’ll no doubt be getting a one-way ticket to my own room with a barred window and a blurry view of a dumpster I’ll wish I could throw myself into.
Again.
I stare blankly into the fitting room mirror, fingering the thick fabric of my new costume, and sigh. Monty suddenly decided this morning that for the next opera we’re performing,Faust, I should be Marguerite, the female lead character, instead of Jilliana. Now I’m going to have to be refitted for the dress she was supposed to wear. All I’ll have to tell the seamstress later today is that it’s a few inches long. Other than that, it fits perfectly.
But it feels all wrong.
