Page 57 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

“I don’t want this night to end,” he said, his voice low.

“Then come inside for a sec.” She forced a smile. “Wanna see my square piano? You can tell me if it’s worth any money, at least.”

Ezra had no excuses left. In silence, Ricki led him through the lush garden of Wilde Things and back into her apartment. A single beam of moonlight shimmered through the window above her bed. The radiator clanged. A siren went off in the distance. Out in the street, someone laughed, a tinny, faraway sound.

And Ezra was frozen in front of the piano. Even in darkness, Ricki could make out his haunted, stormy expression, like he was fighting a war that Ricki didn’t understand.

Finally, he moved, running his fingers along the piano top.

“Do you want to play?” whispered Ricki. She perched on the edge of her bed, behind the piano bench. “That song I heard you working on?”

Ezra sat at the piano, back facing her, and pushed open the lid to expose the keys. Moonlight danced on his skin. He looked beatific.Ricki watched him, taking in the lines of his strong back and shoulders under his shirt, the skin of his neck. It was quiet, so quiet.

With a weighty exhale, Ezra rubbed his hands together. He worked his knuckles and curled his hands into fists. Then he hovered his trembling fingertips over the keys.

Ezra glanced at her over his shoulder. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“I can’t.” His voice was low, strangled. “I think I need you. To play. I think you were the missing piece.”

Ricki understood. Instantly, she was at the piano. In a smooth, unbroken gesture, he pulled her onto his lap so that they faced each other, Ricki straddling him.

They were nose to nose, forehead to forehead, lips ghosting each other. With a husky groan, Ezra gripped her hips and sealed her against the strong planes of his chest, wrapping her legs around his waist. There was no space between them. Just raw, rising desire.

“Do it,” she breathed against his mouth. “Play for me.”

He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, turning her thighs liquid. “Thank you.”

Reaching on either side of her, his fingers instinctively found the keys. Andoh, the sound that poured out of him. It was the piece from the other night, but more. A complete song. And it was in dialogue with Ricki, melting into her, warming her bones.

Laid bare, Ezra buried his face in Ricki’s neck, his breath falling hot on her skin as he played. She clung to him, and he kept on, masterfully, magically coaxing the raw and soaring melody from the instrument. The song blazed through Ricki, the heartbreaking, slow groove arching her back, accelerating her heartbeat.

Ricki sank her fingers into Ezra’s biceps and rocked against him, moving with the controlled, synchronized rhythm of his song. She felt him harden, huge and hot, through their clothes.The friction sent waves of pleasure through her. Helplessly, she whimpered his name.

And then Ezra couldn’t play anymore.

Gripping Ricki’s ass in his hands, he stood up. In seconds, he had her pressed against the wall, her feet barely touching the ground. He crashed his mouth over hers in a bruising, ravenous kiss. He tasted like whiskey and warmth. She tasted like cherries and cream. They clung to each other, lost in the rush.

Plunging his hand up into her hair, Ezra tipped Ricki’s head back, kissing her deeper and greedier still, like he’d never get the chance again. And if she’d ever thought that she’d dominate him, make him pay for toying with her, he ended that fantasy. Because she properly swooned in his arms. This was all-consuming ravishment.

Overwhelmed by Ricki’s scent, the silkiness of her skin, Ezra broke the kiss, drawing upon as much self-control as he could muster, but when Ricki gazed up at him with such vulnerable, naked hunger, he scooped her into another devouring kiss. In this hot, breathless blur of grasping hands, mouths, tongues, Ezra managed to slip Ricki’s shirt over her head.

And then he froze. His face lit up with awe. Ricki’s breasts were shockingly lush and voluptuous, practically overflowing out of her bra.

“They’re bigger than they look in clothes,” she said with a self-conscious giggle.

“Lucky me,” he rasped. With one hand, he unclipped her bra—thank fuck for front-fastening bras—and then, with damn near religious reverence, he held her breasts in both hands, running his thumbs over her nipples. Tingling from his touch, she gasped, arching her back. He closed his mouth over a nipple, sucking with increasing tension as cascades of pleasure roared through her.

Ricki needed more. Impatiently, she grabbed at his sweaterwith fumbling fingers, chanting “Take this off, take this off, take this off” until he did, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. He was exquisite. She told him so as she unzipped his jeans, slipping a hand into the elastic of his boxer briefs.

Ricki’s eyes widened.

“It’s bigger than it looks in clothes,” he said with a grin, his eyes hooded with lust.

“Lucky me,” she breathed. With a wicked gleam in her eye, she licked her palm wetly and began stroking him. Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against hers. She raised her mouth to his, running her tongue along his bottom lip.

“Stop,” he ordered.

“No,” she murmured against his mouth.

---