MustLoveMusic (6 page)

Rikard bit lightly on her neck, making her whimper, and
murmured, “Only halfway?”

“But you are okay, right?” Carrie pressed.

“Never better in my life.”

“Okay. I’ll wait for your call tonight. But if I don’t hear
from you by nine, I’m still calling the cops.”

“Great. Wonderful. Call by nine. Got it. Bye.”

She shut the phone and tossed it onto the table.

“Open for me,” Rikard whispered. “Open as wide as you can
go.”

His hand spread her opening the last fraction of an inch,
then he slid fully inside her, up to his wrist. Her muscles clenched and
gripped his hand, as she shivered and moaned.

Unlike the first time, when he’d reached deep inside her,
this time, he immediately started to pull his hand out. The wide part of his
hand pressed her vaginal muscle, stretching her fully open again, before he
pushed his fist deep inside her once more.

She gasped, bucking against his hand.

“Shh,” he said softly. “Let me do all the moving.”

“Yes, Master.” Gayle spread her legs wide, tipped her hips,
and leaned back against his other arm. She was his to control.

His fist pumped slowly in and out, eliciting soft groans of
pleasure with each stroke. Then he began speaking, softly, gently, in time with
his hand movements.

“You’re so hot. So wet. It’s like putting my hand into a
steam bath. A paraffin dip. Warm and wet and closing tight around me. So tight.
Tighter.”

She clenched her inner muscles, wrapping them around his
fist. He filled her completely, pressing back against her with his sheer size.
His knuckles rubbed the wall of her vagina as he slid back and forth. She
gasped, her hand once more thrusting into his hair and clenching tightly.

“Please, Master. Please.”

“What do you want, Gayle? You were very good, and followed
my orders about the phone. You deserve a reward.”

“Please. Do me faster.”

His fist stroked steadily in and out, building speed, while
his hand on her hip kept her where he wanted her to be. Her gasps and groans
became short, sharp cries at the apex of each stroke.

“Sing for me, Gayle. Sing.”

Her next cry was a warbled note.

“That’s it. Sing.”

His fist pumped harder, faster, driving her cries of passion
higher and higher up the scale. With a series of high notes worthy of Mozart’s
“Queen of the Night”, Gayle gave a final shriek and came in a shuddering rush.
Rikard’s hand spurted clear of her body.

His mouth closed over hers, his lips tender and gentle as he
pulled her lower lip into his mouth to suckle. Slowly, he soothed her down from
the heights where he’d taken her. Her trembles subsided, leaving her filled
with warm lethargy.

“I think you need to build your energy up after that
performance,” he said. “We should have dessert now.”

“Dessert?” Gayle opened blurred eyes, then closed them again
when it was too much effort to resolve the wavering images into a scene that
made any sense. “I couldn’t possibly eat dessert. I can barely keep my eyes
open.”

“I’ll just have to feed you, then.”

A ripple of anticipation coursed through the sluggish
circulation of her body. He would care for her. Completely.

“First you dressed me. Now you’re going to feed me. When do
I do something for you?”

“I told you, I believe my role as dominant is to ensure
you’re surrounded by luxury, and have all your needs met.”

“I thought your role as dominant was to blow my mind with
incredible sex.”

He laughed, the sound washing over her in benediction,
filling her with joy. “That’s one of your needs, isn’t it? You can satisfy my
desires later.”

Gayle frowned. “Have you had…any…?”

“Satisfaction?”

She nodded.

He lifted his hand from her hip and stroked her cheek with
the backs of his fingers. “Yes. There’s more to satisfaction than simply
coming. Helping you with your music was satisfying. Watching you enjoy the meal
I prepared for you was satisfying. Having my touch send you into orbit was
extremely satisfying.”

She closed her eyes and relaxed into his gentle caress.

“That being said, I would like you to make me come, hard and
long.”

“Yes, Master Rikard.” She swallowed, inexplicably nervous.
“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to let me make love to you.”

She blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. Ready for your dessert now?”

He lifted her off his lap, and set her down in her previous
chair. While she stuffed her belongings back into her purse, he washed his
gloved hands, then dished the dessert out onto two plates.

Gayle’s eyes widened at the confection he placed before her.
A half pear glistened in a coating of thick golden syrup, topped by a scoop of
French vanilla ice cream, the whole thing drizzled with swirling loops of
caramel and garnished with chopped pistachio nuts. “It almost looks too good to
eat.”

“It’s just poached pears.”

“Just poached pears. Like you have them for dessert all the
time?”

“Actually, I had one for dessert last night, and will have
one for dessert tomorrow night. The recipe is for two pears, and it’ll keep for
two days.”

“So what do you have the rest of the time? Crème Brûlée?”
she mocked.

Rikard’s eyes narrowed. “What is your problem, Gayle?”

She threw her spoon onto the table, and buried her face in
her hands. “I don’t know!”

Instantly, he pulled her into his lap, tucking her head
against his shoulder and rubbing soothing strokes up and down her arm. “Shush,
now. Forget the dessert. What’s bothering you?”

She sniffed. “I don’t understand this. I thought it was an
even trade. But you’re doing everything for me. And then you don’t even want me
to do anything to get you off, just have sex!”

“So you’d be happier if I wanted you to kneel and suck my
cock until I came?”

Despite the confused tone of his voice, she nodded. She
could taste his smooth length filling her mouth, hot and hard, thrusting deep
into her throat almost farther than it was possible to take him. She swallowed,
her throat suddenly thick.

“At least that would make sense.”

He sighed, and trailed damp fingertips along her jawline. “I
wasn’t going to mention this until you were ready to go to bed with me, but I
do have a request. I want to take you from behind, so I can see the marks of my
whip and my hand on your skin as I’m plunging into you. I want to claim you
completely, and know every inch of your body belongs to me, to do with as I
will.”

Beneath her thighs, his cock rose and pressed against her,
illustrating just how much he wanted that.

His fingers trembled as he stroked them down her throat,
then reached inside her bathrobe to skim her breast. “You are my instrument. I
will play you, and create beautiful music with you. Through you, my soul will
take flight. And in return I will give you all the care a musician lavishes
upon his most valued possession. You will want for nothing. But only if you
will be completely mine.”

Gayle shivered beneath his touch, aching to erase the note
of desperate isolation in his voice. It was almost as though he expected her to
refuse him.

“Yes.”

His hand stilled. “Yes?”

“Yes. I will be yours.”

For a moment, he clutched her tightly, burying his masked
face in her hair. Then he stood abruptly, setting her on her feet and stepping
away from her.

“You don’t know what you’re agreeing to. I’ll ask you again
once you understand what I’m asking.”

Pain lanced through her. “Are you rejecting me?”

“No! Never that.” He thrust both hands through his hair, the
thick elastic band holding his mask catching in his fingers and snapping
loudly. He winced at the blow. “Forget dessert. Come upstairs with me. Now.”

“Yes, Master Rikard.”

Taking her hand in his gloved one, he led her from the
kitchen, shaking his head. “You want to serve me? I’ll show you how to serve.”

Rikard hauled her up the stairs to the second floor, then
dragged her into the guest bedroom. Gayle had only a moment to note the décor—a
dresser and nightstand of natural oak with wrought iron accents, a wrought iron
bed with swirling spires topping each corner post, and matching curtain rods
covered with black and white sheers—before he ripped off her robe and pushed
her onto the bed.

“Is this what you wanted?” he spat.

Gayle scrambled into the center of the bed and turned to
face him, crouched ready to spring to freedom if he gave her a chance. “No.”

He ignored her protest. This was not going down the way
she’d expected, and she braced herself to fight if he tried to take more than
she was prepared to give.

“So eager to serve, you don’t care what will be asked of
you.”

He untied the laces of his leather pants with sharp, savage
jerks. His pants fell to the floor, tangling with his boots. He kicked them
off, his motions full of anger rather than his usual grace. One boot flew
across the room to strike the dresser with a solid thud. He wrenched off his
poet shirt next, flinging it aside to stand naked before her in only his
leather mask and gloves.

His rampant erection jutted forcefully at her, red and
angry-looking.

She tried one last time to get through to him. “Please,
Rikard, what did I say?”

“That’s Master Rikard. I still wear the mask.”

“Master Rikard. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry.
Only tell me what I said, and I’ll never say it again.”

Terror choked her voice. Carrie had been right. She didn’t
know enough about Rikard to trust him. What insanity had possessed her to spend
the whole day having sex with him? They were just supposed to be getting to
know one another.

“First you vow you’ll belong only and ever to me, now you
promise to never give yourself to me again? I find I’m having trouble believing
you.”

Okay. That’s what had set him off. She could think this
through logically. That’s what she was good at. Given a problem to solve, she
forced the fear to keep at bay. It helped that he wasn’t advancing on her,
merely clutching the nearest bedpost in a death grip and glaring at her.

“I didn’t vow to belong only and ever to you. All I said was
that I wanted to be yours. I wanted to be your submissive.”

He hesitated, his voice losing its strident tone. “My
submissive only.”

“All right. I’ll give you the only. But not the ever. I
wasn’t talking a lifetime arrangement. I was thinking of right now.”

A shudder rippled through him, his eyes closing as his head
bent. He released the bedpost, and took a step backwards. Then another. She
noted with relief that his cock had softened to semi-erect. Sighing, he bent to
pick up her fallen robe and his discarded clothing. Gayle started to relax. He
folded the robe and placed it on the bed beside her, then turned away to set
his folded clothing on top of the dresser.

Softly, he whispered, “Nothing lasts forever. Not even when
you want it to.”

“The accident.”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken until he whipped around to
face her. “What did you say?”

“The woman you loved and lost in the accident. She’d vowed
to be with you forever, hadn’t she?”

“Actually, I’d vowed to devote my life to her.” His lips
twitched, as if he was trying to smile, but the effort was beyond him. “I would
still, if fate hadn’t taken that choice from me.”

The raw pain in his voice reminded her of the lyrics he’d
sung earlier, overwhelming her fear with shared suffering and understanding. He
hadn’t wanted to attack her just now. He’d been trying to drive her away.
Whether he did so because he was afraid of being hurt again, or from some
twisted loyalty to his dead love was unimportant. All that mattered was that
her first impression of him had been correct.

Gayle shifted position, from a crouch to a cross-legged
seat, and patted the bedspread. “Why don’t you come sit over here?”

Rikard’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you want to get dressed and
leave?”

“No. I want to talk to you. And I don’t want to do it from
across the room.”

Hesitantly, he crossed the room to the bed. He lingered a
long moment beside it, then slowly climbed on top and crawled over to where she
sat. She watched him with avid appreciation. No longer terrified, the
adrenaline flooding her bloodstream had made her incredibly horny. All she
wanted right now was to get laid.

“I still want to be your submissive. I still want you to
make love to me, whatever way gives you pleasure. But I can’t say it’s forever.
I don’t know. Maybe we’ll discover we’re so good together, we want to make this
a permanent relationship. Maybe we’ll find out we get on each other’s nerves
and go our separate ways. The only way to find out is to try.”

He reached toward her, checking his gesture when his hand
was still half an inch from her face. “You want to try?”

She leaned forward, pressing her cheek to his gloved palm.
“Yes.”

His breath caught. Then he pulled her into his arms and
kissed her.

He clutched her to him, stroking his cool, damp gloves over
her heated back in a frenzied effort to press her body closer to his. His mouth
devoured hers, his tongue plunging deeply to capture her every soft whimper and
moan. His cock rose between them, but he didn’t break the kiss until she was
growing lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

When he finally lifted his head, his breathing was harsh and
ragged, as he struggled to pull air into his lungs.

“Say you’re mine,” he rasped. “At least for now.”

“I’m yours.”

He plunged into another kiss, the warm leather of his gloves
gliding across the thin sheen of sweat on her back. Gone was the slow and
careful buildup of passion that had characterized their earlier loveplay. He
used no games or skillful tricks to whet her appetite. There was only crushing
need, threatening to engulf them both in a firestorm that would burn them to
cinders if they didn’t find a way to express it.

This was not a Master, controlling his submissive’s actions
and reactions. This was a man, driven past his ability for self-restraint. This
was Rikard.

She reached for his mask, wanting to remove the symbol of
his mastery, freeing them both to be nothing more than a man and a woman,
making love. He chose that moment to lift his head again, out of her reach, as
he dragged in another gasping breath.

“Let me make love to you,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“Let me see my marks on your skin while I love you.”

“Yes.” She could refuse him nothing.

Gently, with hands that trembled, he lowered her to the
bedspread, then rolled her onto her stomach.

“Kneel,” he whispered, his hands on her hips guiding her ass
into the air as she pulled her knees up, her head pillowed on her crossed arms.
Reverently, he kissed the swollen results of his earlier scene play.

Gayle shuddered, his soft lips reawakening the painful
pleasure of his hand and whip striking her ass. Her folds parted, plump and
wet, ready for his possession.

The bed shook as he clambered over to the nightstand and the
supply of condoms in the drawer. She heard the packet tear, then his soft groan
as he rolled the condom onto his engorged cock. A moment later, he was kneeling
between her legs, one hand on her hip, holding her steady, while his other
guided his cock to her entrance.

The tip slid between her folds, then found her opening and
thrust deep. They both groaned in pleasure.

The angle was unlike anything she’d experienced before, his
cock pressing hard against her vaginal muscles with every deep stroke. He
thrust twice, then groaned low in his throat and folded himself over her, his
chest pressed to her back. He kissed the lines of the cat across her shoulders,
trailing his tongue over the faint welts and swellings.

She moaned. “Yes. Please, yes.”

Sheets of fire cascaded over her skin from where his lips
touched her, all that she had felt earlier and then some. She felt her fluids
pouring forth, coating his cock and running down both of their legs.

Rikard reached around to caress her swollen, aching breasts.
His blind fingers found the nipples, first stroking, then squeezing them.

She gasped, her hips jerking in response.

“Like that,” he groaned. “Again.”

They found their rhythm, her hips bucking beneath him as he
pumped in and out, squeezing her nipples with every thrust. Kisses landed
scattershot on her shoulders, his mouth finding new territory each time he
lunged forward.

He moaned, a note of utter purity that nearly stopped her
breath with its beauty. Twice more, he thrust in time with his cries. Then he
thrust deep and exploded, shaking as his body covered hers.

Her hips continued to rock, and he fumbled between her slick
folds, his fingers questing for her clit. When he found it, two quick squeezes
were all she needed before she shrilled her own release and collapsed, her
knees no longer able to support her. The heavy weight of his body pinned her to
the bed, as his knees gave out too.

His arms still around her, he rolled them to their sides so
they’d be able to breathe. His limp cock slid free, wringing one last shaking
moan of pleasure from her.

He tightened his hold, nearly crushing her lungs despite
freeing her from his weight. His arms shook, his ragged breathing rasping hot
and damp across the back of her neck where his face was pressed tight against
the hollow of her shoulder.

She froze, her brain refusing her interpretation of what she
was feeling. She cataloged the sensations again, feeling moisture trickle down
the back of her neck, and hearing his wet gulps of air as his chest shook with
the effort of breathing.

He was crying.

“Rikard? Master?”

He drew a deep, shuddering breath, then a second with more
control. His arms loosened, and he lifted his head. Brushing one last kiss
across her shoulder, he whispered, “Thank you.”

“I enjoyed it, too.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through her ribs where
her back pressed against his chest. “That, too. But I meant for being willing
to try. It’s been…a while.”

“I’d think women would be throwing themselves at you, for
the hot sex and fabulous food.”

He bolted upright. “Shit! Dessert. It’s probably melted all
over the kitchen table by now. I’ve got to go clean that up before it runs onto
the floor.”

Rolling out of bed, he hurried to take care of the culinary
disaster, grabbing his leather pants off the dresser as he passed. Gayle heard
his footsteps pound down the staircase, and a cry of horror when he entered the
kitchen.

She shook her head. “And, he cleans.”

Figuring he’d be a while—he seemed the type to clean each
individual swirl of wrought iron with a cotton swab—she put on the robe and
walked back to the playroom to get her clothes. She got dressed, then headed
downstairs.

Rikard had shoved the table and chairs aside, and had built
a levee of paper towels surrounding the vanilla lake on the kitchen floor to
keep it from spreading. He was busy mopping the glass top of the table with yet
more paper towels when Gayle poked her head in the doorway.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No. Thanks. I just have to get it all up before it
crystallizes. The ice cream’s not so bad, it’s the caramel.” He paused to toss
out his sodden towels and rip new ones off the roll. “This isn’t how I planned
on ending our date, but there’s no point in you hanging around to watch me
clean. I’ll be another half hour at this.”

“Half an hour just to wipe up a spill?”

“It’s the table and chairs. I love the look of the wrought
iron, but it’s a bitch to clean. And with a milk-based spill, if I miss
anything, pretty soon it’ll be stinking worse than a dead skunk.”

She winced in sympathy, remembering the misplaced creamer
for the coffee at work that had cleared half her floor with its stench. “Okay.
You want me to call you?”

He tossed out another handful of towels, and smiled over his
shoulder at her. “Give me a call Tuesday night, and let me know how your
audition went. We can set up our next date then.”

She hesitated, wanting to kiss him goodbye, or at least give
him a hug. But he was already scrubbing at the table top with his newest
handful of paper towels, and she wasn’t sure how to safely cross the lake of
melted ice cream to reach him. “Bye, then.”

“Bye. Have a safe drive home.”

She waited a moment longer, then turned and walked away. A
detour through the music room to pick up her music, then on to the front door.
She paused again after pulling it open, but he didn’t call out to her. Pushing
through the safety door with more force than was necessary, she wished the
hydraulics would let it slam behind her. Instead, it closed with a soft
snick
.

“That was anticlimactic,” she muttered, throwing her purse
and music on the front seat of her car. Then, thinking of her last sight of
Rikard, she started to laugh. Low-slung black leather pants, high black leather
gloves, a black leather mask … and a pile of sopping wet paper towels dripping
vanilla ice cream over everything. She could hardly wait to tell Carrie. Her
friend would really appreciate the irony.