Page 32 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

Guiding her hand, I let her take the bow, and then I moved in behind her, snaking my arm around her waist, pulling her close—her back against my chest. I leaned in over her shoulder and placed a hand on each of her thighs, winding the fabric up with my fingers until my palm met the warmth of her flesh—skin on skin. “Some of us need the darkness to flourish. The freedom that comes with the night allows us to be who we truly are, away from society’s judgmental glares. Now,” I brought my lips to her ear, “play for me.”

She trembled, and I felt every shiver that wracked through her, radiating toward mine. All I wanted to do was drink her in, her scent, her body, the way it felt against mine. The softness of her long curls, the sight of her flawless skin—ivory fused with the simplicity of seduction. A lethal blend for a man like me. A man with a great appreciation for the classic and timeless pieces that brought light to a life that had only known the harsh reality of a never-ending eclipse.

I wanted to relish it all while she stilled the chaos in my soul with the beautiful music I knew she had within her.

“Now, imagine you’re at the Alto,” I whispered against her ear. “There’s no one there…but me. Only me.” My hand eased up her thigh, her skin warm and my touch hot. “Focus on the music in you. Let it out. Set it free.”

Her body straightened, her posture firm and feet flat on the ground as she lifted the bow, her other hand touching the neck of the cello which rested against her heart. Even with an assumed threat like myself, sitting behind her, holding her captive in more ways than one—she still felt the music. She hadn’t even played a single note, and already my soul was quiet, at peace.

I closed my eyes, waiting, foreknowing the bliss of the escape her music gifted me—the sound of her pursuit of perfection.

The moment her bow touched the strings, that first note awakening a need for more, I closed my eyes and allowed the silky, eloquent tenor to possess me. Nothing thawed the ice in my veins as the instrument’s warm, sensuous tone that inspired so many great performers and composers.

“Hmmm,” I moaned in appreciation. “Camille Saint-Saëns’, The Swan.” A beautiful composition she had perfected with a talent that rivaled all others.

“Why music?” She kept the rhythm low, slow, and gentle.

I opened my eyes, her head leaning in the direction of where her fingers glided up and down the cello’s neck. “Because nothing has the power to manipulate emotions the way music does,” I whispered as not to hinder the music that filled the room, wall to wall, and floor-to-ceiling. “Music can make you feel whatever it wants you to. It can fuel happiness just as much as it can intensify a heartbreak.”

“Why classical music? Orchestra?”

I smiled. “Who needs words when you have music?”

She started to sway, compelled to dance with the instrument. “Have we ever met, spoken before?”

“Shhh,” I slipped my palm down toward the inside of her thigh, her skin like velvet against mine. “Play.”

“Please,” she begged me with a whisper, and I licked my lips.

“The night at the Alto when I left you the cello was the first and only means of contact I made with you.”

“Why then?’

“I was foolish.” A simple answer to such a complicated question. I didn’t know why, I just felt compelled to do it. To give her the kind of masterpiece instrument her talent deserved to play.

I shifted closer, our bodies flush against one another as I allowed my touch to travel up her thigh.

“How many times have you watched me play?”

“Not nearly enough.” My fingers touched her panties, and I felt her suck in a breath. “Whatever you do, do not stop playing.”

“How can I play when you’re—”

“Focus on the music, the sound,” I traced a finger along her slit through her panties, “Let your emotions carry you.”

It took a mere flick of my wrist to tear through the thin fabric of the hindrance that kept me from exploring her body in ways which my sins demanded. My finger brushed against her clit, and she whimpered, a sound that shot down my spine, crashing against the tip of my dick.

“Do you know how many nights I watched you play your cello? Witnessing how your body moves as the music carries you, the way your face shows every sound, every vibrato penetrating your soul?”

“Elijah, what are you doing?”

“The music, Charlotte. Don’t stop playing.”

I slipped my hand deeper between her thighs, her arousal coating my fingers. Fuck, I wanted to taste her. I wanted to bury my fucking face between her legs, lap and lick her cunt until she came on my tongue. Not yet.

“Elijah,” she whimpered, and the pitch of the cello slipped as she lost her focus.

“Concentrate,” I scolded, gripping her tighter against me.

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