by Lily White
Stepping from the car, I rounded the front end to open her door, understanding that the next time we had an opportunity to talk, I needed to admit to her that, although I stood in a privileged place in life now, my foundation had been built of crumbling cement and afternoons where I wondered when I’d next eat a full meal.
It wasn’t something I liked to discuss. I considered my childhood to be a before story that had nothing to do with what came after the dividing line that led to my present. But, for her, I would endure the return to the sinking sand of memories while hoping not to get dragged down beneath the surface.
Amelia led the way up two cement steps and over a small porch. The house wasn’t much. It was in need of a good paint job and new roofing, the front door pushing open into a living room that surprised me.
You don’t expect to walk into a shack and find fairly expensive furniture, what I assumed was a bygone of the comfortable life she’d lived before her father deteriorated. Yet, here it was. Nice leather couches, polished oak tables, an upright piano against a far wall that drew my attention because I assumed my sister, for years, had learned to play on it.
That reminder would have been enough to floor me if a deep, male voice hadn’t boomed from another room, shaking the walls with its violence.
Bring me my wife!
Amelia shrank at the sound of it, her shoulders rolling forward as she hurried me down a low lit hall.
Bring her to me!
Lila!
Where’s my wife!
Tears streamed down Amelia’s cheeks, her eyes averted as she refused to look at me. I stood behind her unable to accept that this was what she returned home to every night, that this is the hand she’d been dealt.
Running toward us from a back room, a woman tossed her hands up, her hair a mess and expression utterly exhausted. “Oh thank God you’re home, Amelia. I don’t know what to do with him. He’s reached his limit of sedatives and still, he’s carrying on.”
Wrapping her arms over her stomach, Amelia froze in place, the home nurse’s eyes finally darting over Amelia’s shoulder to see me standing behind her. Surprise widened those tired brown eyes. After giving me a cursory once over, she returned her attention to Amelia. “What do you want to do?”
Mr. Dillon continued yelling from the back room, the house consumed by chaos.
“Have you tried music?”
A thought came to me. “He’ll calm down for music?”
The nurse shook her head. “I’ve tried playing a few CDs, but it’s the piano he loves the most.”
Amelia appeared shut down and immobile, unable to make a decision, most likely horrified that I was there to witness this.
Without asking, I turned to walk to the living room, pulled the bench from the piano, lifted the lid from over the keys and began a piece that had been Emaline’s favorite, one Lila had taught my sister to play before she died.
The yelling stopped immediately.
After a few moments, three sets of footsteps sounded behind me, a male voice softly whispering his late wife’s name, his fractured mind not understanding that the woman he loved was gone.
Engrossed in the piece, and doing my best not to allow it to shred my heart to hear again after all these years, I continued playing through every repeated measure, the house falling into a comfortable silence that I wondered if they’d had in years.
I could feel Amelia watching me, her shame, her frustration, her anger at the loss of a normal, well to do life, crashing against me in sorrowful waves.
The song continued on, and with no consideration for what the melody would do to me, I played it a second time and a third, if only to give Amelia a few moments of peace.
This would be the last night Amelia would endure the life she’d been living for years, the last night she would listen to the screaming while wondering how to keep a roof over her head.
Her father would go to a facility tomorrow.
I would be the person paying for it.
And from this moment on, Amelia’s only focus from day to day would be the scholarship I’d make damn sure she received, as well as learning how to please her teacher.
Amelia
Beethoven’s Sonata Pathétique.
I recognized the piece from my childhood. My mother’s favorite, a melody that was so familiar it sang to me of happier days and blended into the darkest months when Mom fought her illness.
Tears slipped from my eyes to see my father slowly make his way down the hallway, his face bright, eyes focused, a memory calling to him as sweetly as it called to me.
But how did Lennon know? Why this music rather than a million other choices he could have played?
It was as if he’d somehow reached into the heart of my family and brought to life the sunshine that had loved us in our younger days, as if he’d pulled back a curtain to remind me that, before the storm clouds had covered my sky, there had been laughter in my heart and smiles on our faces.
I stood dumbfounded at the doorway to the living room, watching as my father sat down on the couch, his gaze fixated on the piano, a smile tugging at his lips, ghosts of memories softening the lines of his face.
As the music flowed around me, I was weightless, the tension in my shoulders easing, a flow of heartache, misery and pain pouring off me to sink down into the floor at my feet.
“My goodness, Amelia, I don’t know who your friend is, but perhaps you should hire him to look after your dad. I haven’t seen Mr. Dillon that calm in months.”
Pamela, the night nurse, stood next to me, her body gently swaying, her arms crossed over her stomach. “And damn if he isn’t pretty to look at. Who is he, anyway?”
Shaking away the spell Lennon had so easily wrapped around me, I answered, “Lennon Carter. He’s my piano instructor in the program.” A man I’m foolishly falling in love with, I didn’t say.
The song came to an end, my gaze drifting to my father to see joy and peace written into his expression. Slowly, Lennon spun on the bench toward me, his eyes searching my face, unsure what to say or do next.
Thankfully, Pamela was the first to break the silence. “That was beautiful, Mr. Carter. You are welcome to come by and play for us whenever the mood hits you. As for tonight, I think it’s time I put Mr. Dillon to bed.”
While she helped my father up from the couch and led him away on shuffling feet, Lennon and I were motionless, our eyes locked, so many unspoken thoughts passing between us. He didn’t stand from the bench until Pamela and Dad were out of sight, his steps slow as he approached me.
“I’m sorry for just jumping in like that, but I thought, maybe-“
Pushing to my tiptoes, I cupped his cheeks and brushed my mouth against his. A shy invitation for him to deepen the kiss. His fingers wrapped into my hair, our mouths opening and our tongues speaking everything we were feeling without uttering a single word. This man was my hero, whether he knew it or not.
Only when it was necessary to breathe did I pull away, my eyes opening to find he was watching me intently.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?”
It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Not that song. “That was my mother’s favorite.”
Storm clouds rolled behind his eyes, his expression darkening. Clearing his throat he admitted, “Emaline used to play it all the time. She taught me to play it before she-“
He stepped away, his shoulders rounding as the distance between us grew both physically and metaphorically. Lennon always shut down when Emaline was mentioned.
“You should gather your things. We need to go.”
Without complaint, I did as he said, relenting to his plan to get me away from my brother for the time being. I didn’t know what was going on with Ben, but Lennon was right. I couldn’t risk my future because my brother was bad with money.
Once we’d packed my things into the car and were pulling down the street, the tender moment we’d shared in my house dissipated as Lennon returned to his usual
bossy self.
“I hope you know that you didn’t weasel your way out of practice today. I expect two hours, at least, at my piano.”
Laughter shook my shoulders. If practice was his form of punishment, then I’d take it. “Is this your idea of teaching me a lesson for lying?”
His lips curled with mischief, my heart fluttering like a trapped bird in response to the expression.
“No, actually. Your practice session is simply a requirement of the program. As your instructor, it’s my job to ensure you’re properly taught.” He paused, the silence only momentary but still driving me crazy.
“So what’s my punishment?”
“That will happen when it’s time for me to practice for my performance on Saturday.”
“And that is?”
“A surprise.”
. . .
The wood was cool beneath my cheek, every note a vibration across my skin, my bare breasts crushed beneath me, cool air sweeping in to chase away the heat between my legs.
I hoped my muscles wouldn’t cramp in this awkward position, although Lennon had done well not to make it too difficult. Breathing out a sigh, I closed my eyes and allowed the music to rise up and consume me.
Feeling the music.
Almost laughing, I didn’t know that he had meant it so literally.
A finger tapped against my knee for the third time while bass chords pounded against my flesh.
“Open.”
My thigh squeaked over the wood as I pushed my legs apart, skin sticking to the veneer. Fully open again, I closed my eyes hoping the salt of my body wasn’t ruining the finish of what had to be an eighty-five thousand dollar piano.
“There she is. So beautiful.”
Higher notes blended with the lower chords, a piece I’d never heard before, but one I was going to demand Lennon teach me.
Every so often he would stop, replay a measure, the tempo just a little slower or faster, sixteenth notes becomes eighths, and start again. He was such a perfectionist that it made me a little sick. But even then, he managed to introduce his unique voice into whatever it was he played.
I could feel him as easily as I felt the vibration of strings beneath me, the hard hit of the hammers, the press of fingertips against black and white keys.
With the front of my body pressed firmly against the wood, my arms were pulled behind my back, tied in place and secured to my legs that were bent at the knees. Hog tied on top of a piano while he practiced, my most intimate parts displayed to him while he played.
As far as punishments went, this wasn’t so bad. Sure, I was exposed, a little cold, turned on without instant relief. But he hadn’t walked away from me. Hadn’t booted me from the program for letting Ben convince me to commit another crime. Hadn’t followed through on any of the threats that would have destroyed me.
Still, I wasn’t dumb enough to break his rules again. I had a feeling Lennon would only put up with so much before he’d had enough.
The music stopped, the room falling into absolute silence. I swear I could feel his eyes exploring me.
“That was beautiful,” I said as best I could with my cheek squished against the wood.
A silent beat and then, “Who said you’re allowed to speak?”
My mouth twitched at the corner.
“You’re beautiful.” Two words only, but to hear those words spoken in his deep tenor voice did things to me.
He must have stood from the bench, his bare feet a rhythmic beat against the floor, a sound I could barely pick up. Then his hands were on me and I was being repositioned, my skin sticky against the wood. We really should have used a blanket. I couldn’t imagine the damage we were causing.
Fingertips brushed between my thighs, sweeping up and down, teasing touches that made me pull at my bindings.
A light slap on my ass. “Quit moving.”
“But this is torture,” I answered.
“It’s supposed to be.”
More sweeping touches, stopping just below the apex between my thighs and stroking down again. A whimper crawled up my throat because I always wanted to rush to the best parts while Lennon, with his ridiculous control and aggravating patience, would take his time when he wanted.
“I should leave you like this all night. Teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”
Even with the low spoken threat, he continued toying with me, his fingers rushing between my legs, light upward strokes of the tips, the soft downward scrape of his short fingernails. That scrape turned me on more than anything. I loved it when he was rough and lost control.
“Please don’t.”
I didn’t have to look at him to see his smile. “You and that word. It’s like a drug.”
A finger slid inside me and my lips parted on a soft moan. I was so ready for him and all I’d done was lie there exposed and open to his observant eyes.
Slowly, his fingers pumped inside me, a curl to the tips that teased the inner walls. My breath became shallow as my breasts felt heavier beneath me. I was a bundle of nerves in that moment, a toy for his amusement, every inch of me sensitive and needy.
Lennon pulled his hand away, ignoring my groan of complaint, his hands moving to the bindings to untie my legs. Stretching them out, he massaged the muscles that were sore for holding the position for so long.
Sliding me off the lid of the piano, he caught me and cradled me to his chest, stepping quickly to carry me to the couch and lay me down, my hands still bound, my body ready.
I couldn’t have moved my legs if I wanted to. Basically a rag doll, I didn’t move, waiting for him to do whatever he wanted.
A thumb rubbed over a sore spot on my skin. “My marks are still here, red ribbons from the belt.”
Most likely they’d be there for another day. Sitting in class the next day would be awkward.
That thought was gone as soon as his fingers explored me again, rough, possessive strokes, his teeth biting the flesh of my ass just hard enough to make me jump.
“Oh...” Breath hissed across my lips, shivers erupting over my entire body, bone deep, those small earthquakes of pleasure.
Dragging his finger up, he nestled it over another hole, my eyes rounding. “I think, sometime soon, I’ll claim this as well.”
What?
“But not tonight.” His finger pulled away and my breath poured from my lungs, my body shaking over the cool leather of the sofa.
Behind me, I heard him drop his pants and the tear of a condom wrapper. But rather than mounting behind me, Lennon directed me to my feet. I could barely stand, my legs like gelatin, but as soon as he took a seat, he directed me onto his lap with my back to him and my arms bound between us.
Two strong hands gripped my hips and I was lifted up just enough for him to position the head of his cock at my entrance and pull me down, slowly filling me, stretching me so full that I shuddered above him, my head falling back against his shoulder after he was fully seated inside me. His hand traveled up from my hip, over my rib cage, to squeeze the weight of my breast in his palm.
Without moving his hips, he ran his lips down the line of my neck, his fingers tight on my nipple, my inner muscles undulating over the thick length of his cock.
Son of a bitch. Lennon was going to be the death of me.
I wiggled my hips to urge him on, but he clamped his hand down on my hip to hold me still, his teeth biting at the junction between my shoulder and neck. It forced my insides to squeeze tighter around him.
“You’re being punished,” he said against my skin, the tip of his tongue licking across the sting where he had bitten me. “So I get to have my fun without you complaining about it.”
The knuckles of my bound hands rubbed against the washboard ridges of his abs. All I wanted to do was explore his body as openly as he explored mine.
His other hand brushed up so that he palmed both my breasts while his mouth ran hot kisses down the back of my neck, his cock so full inside me.
I groaned, and he chuckle
d. “Patience grasshopper.”
“I’m going to murder you one of these days,” I breathed out, barely able to hold still while he had his fun.
“You’re killing me now, Amelia. You just don’t know it.”
Releasing my breasts, his hands moved back to my hips, my body falling forward just enough that the hard line of his cock stroked along my core as he finally...fucking finally...directed my body up and down. So strong, those hands, lifting me and dropping me again, my breasts bouncing with every thrust.
With my hands bound behind my back, I was helpless but to enjoy the ride, my body a slave to his pleasure.
His breath washed over my back, down the spine, over the tight muscles. “I hope you understand that I now own this. You. Every inch of skin. Your thoughts. Your music.”
My eyes closed as my body moved over his. He could own everything if he just kept making me feel this way.
“And I won’t go easy on you.”
Pushing me up until I was hovering at the tip of his cock, he slammed me back down, over and over, until his name was falling over my lips.
Spreading my cheeks apart, I knew he was watching what he did to me, enjoying every second of controlling how my body moved. But I didn’t mind. I was so close to an orgasm that I wanted him to watch, wanted him to witness how he affected me.
Like a tidal wave, my climax roared through me, every muscle tightening as wave after wave of surging heat and consuming pleasure took hold. Mouth opening on a deep moan, I trembled beneath the force of it, became lost, felt like I was floating above a man who chased his own release.
“Fuck-“
He drove inside me one last time and I knew he’d joined me, his hands clamping down as he lost the battle to his own orgasm.
Afterward, he tugged at the binding around my wrists, guided my arms to my sides slowly, and rubbed his thumbs down the tight muscles on either side of my spine.
I melted in place, barely able to keep my eyes open when he pulled my back against his chest and wrapped his strong arms around me.
A minute or two passed before I found the energy to speak. “I think I should get in trouble more often.”