Pearl on Cherry

by Chanse Lowell

  “I hope so. He’s the one that taught me to respect those who keep music relevant and moving.” She blinked, licked her bottom lip at the dip and edged her posture up to a more rigid position.

  “Play for us, won’t you? I’ve heard your grandfather’s pieces before when I was in Steinway Hall as a young boy. He was very gifted.” Willis beamed at her.

  “He would never approve of how my skills have been squandered, but I had little choice. I don’t own a piano or violin anymore. Haven’t for many years,” she explained.

  “Tyrone has a violin.” Willis jumped to his feet, and he left the room.

  Was he going after this instrument?

  William took up residence in the spot Willis had resided in.

  “Tyrone, please dissuade your friend Willis from putting me in this position. I cannot play well any longer. I’ve long since given up hope of being proficient at it,” she pleaded.

  “Come now, I’m sure you’re as adept at plucking those strings as you are at commanding every male heart around you.” Tyrone snickered.

  William stiffened at her side and took her hand in his. “She won’t play if she’s not feeling up to it.”

  “Oh, yes, I had forgotten. You are the one to direct her in all things.” Tyrone clicked his tongue, flicked at some unseen bother on his trousers and wore a bored expression.

  William sucked in a tight breath. This man was begging to be kicked in the ass and put in his rightful place.

  Willis returned with a violin, thrust it at her and his eyes lit up. “Play. Show us what your grandfather has blessed you with. Make him proud!”

  She stopped breathing and stared at it like it was an alien object that might bite her.

  “How about I play?” William offered.

  “You can play?” She turned to him, eyes brimming over with affection.

  “Unfortunately, yes. I’m not very impressive, but if it helps you gain courage, then I’ll do it.” He squeezed her hand.

  She swallowed, nodded and her eyes filled with some other more intense emotion.

  Pride? A feeling of being valued and prized, maybe?

  He didn’t know what had overcome her, but he stood up, flexed his fingers with his palm up to motion for her to hand it over to him.

  She did, and the room seemed to go from buzzing and a flurry of activity to stillness.

  He tucked it under his chin as he remembered from his past, then when he had the bow in hand, he played one of his old favorites he’d memorized.

  His fingers took over as he played the building melody line and let it swell and gain momentum.

  Cherry girl gasped a few times as he played and imagined her peppering kisses on his chest.

  “La deee daaahah ladidada via viah via miah diah,” the notes sang out.

  Kisses on his neck.

  His fingers sped, and his heart soared.

  Breath of hers fanning out over his belly. She was moving down his body, encasing his rigid cock in her warm mouth.

  He closed his eyes and envisioned the way she would take all his come and swallow it, savoring every last drop.

  The instrument in his hands was possessed. He swayed to the music someone else must be playing. Not him. It went higher, floated above him and took him to a place where he was light and free.

  All he could hear was the rasp of Cherry girl’s aroused breaths.

  He bent at the waist as the notes tripled in speed, flew higher, then descended for a moment and went right back up to the precipice, where he’d topple over when she brought him to his climax.

  The music was her. It was the way she strung him along, told him how to play, what to do. When he spanked her, he did it her way. When he whipped her, he did it to her specifications and delight. He pinked her skin until she was breaking in his arms with a euphoria he’d never known before.

  Before long, he was done, and the final note hung in the air.

  “Sorry, I know that selection I picked was a little . . .” He trailed off, out of breath.

  Cherry girl was sitting on the edge of the sofa, bent over and gasping for air, staring at him like he was a mythical being.

  He handed it to her at once, realizing he’d made an ass of himself.

  She set it aside, stood before him and simply gawked. “That was incredible,” she whispered.

  Everyone stared at him.

  No one moved.

  “Thank you,” he said, his brow furrowing. Why were they all statues around him?

  He pulled her down to the couch with him, hoping the attention would stray elsewhere.

  “I cannot possibly play now. I’ll sound like a child at her first lessons.” Her breath hitched. “My word, William. Never give me riches or dresses or motorcars. Just play for me. That’s all I’ll ever ask.”

  His neck heated and blood rushed up to his ears, making his head pound a little.

  “I suppose I better buy a violin then, since I smashed the one to bits I used to own,” he said sheepishly.

  “You what?” She blinked and then her eyes went wide, filled with outrage over what he’d shared.

  “Yes—for good reason, too.” He sighed. “We can discuss it later.”

  She scooted back in the chair, once more tucking her feet up behind her, rather than sitting proper like the other ladies.

  He was glad she broke rules, since he did, too. “I love you,” he mouthed.

  She mouthed it right back and bit back a ferocious smile.

  Goodness, the woman was aroused from his botched playing. What would she do if he ever practiced and honed this skill? Throw herself at him in nothing but her pearl engagement ring?

  His chest bubbled with this delicious heat of acceptance. She loved him.

  She truly did.

  He was what she wanted. Him. A dark, overly somber man who was a veritable beast in private when stripped bare.

  His eyes stung with unshed tears of gratitude.

  This wonderful woman sat, soaking up his presence like it was the best part of her evening to simply sit close to him.

  “Let us have some true entertainment now,” Tyrone announced. He gripped Clarissa’s shoulder. “Miss Stone has agreed to dance for us.” His tone was very close to that of a sneer.

  “She has not agreed to that,” William said.

  “She has.” Tyrone squeezed her shoulder tight.

  William stood up, and in one long stride, he was at Tyrone’s side and yanking him back by the shoulder, pulling Tyrone’s grip off her.

  “Ferrismore, find your drink, why don’t you? You’ve pranced around, shown your wares, now leave us in peace.” Tyrone chuckled, and his eyes darkened. He angled toward Clarissa. “This man has a reputation with the alcohol and the ladies. At every party, he’s the first to drink, bed a lady and then the first to leave. I see some things will always remain constant.” He laughed.

  Willis cringed.

  “Up—away from my girl. You soil her by being this near, and I’ve allowed this to go on for far too long.” William stepped back so Tyrone could obey.

  “This is neither your home nor your party. I do what I like.” Tyrone sat back in the cushion, crossed his right ankle over his left knee, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

  He blew his smoke up at William’s face.

  “Maybe it’s time you entertain your guests with a game of fisticuffs? The first to knock the other down can direct the rest of the party,” William offered.

  “Always gambling.” Tyrone tapped his fingers on his toned thigh, wore a thoughtful expression, then lunged up to standing. “All right. I always beat you before at fisticuffs. Tonight will be no different.”

  William removed his coat and cuff links, then rolled up his sleeves.

  Clarissa gaped at him. “Sir, this is unnecessary.”

  “Oh, it is quite necessary.” He rolled his head, stretching his neck and loosening up his arms and shoulders.

  Tyrone did the same, disrobing to a certain degree and cracked his k
nuckles.

  “We will accept bets on a game of fisticuffs,” Tyrone announced.

  “No, please.” Clarissa tried to stand, but William gave her a look that said she would not interfere. He was ready to land Tyrone on his ass and prove him to be a detestable couillon.

  Lenora swung around the room, encouraging all to bet against William.

  “Ready to see me take money against your foul name?” Tyrone grinned, circling him.

  “I don’t gamble when it’s overly risky. You know I manage my money better than you will ever handle anything in your life.” William swung his arms back and forth, making them limber further.

  “Didn’t appear that way when you were flapping around this little lady here on my stage. You were completely beside yourself and acting like a lovesick fool.” Tyrone pointed at Cherry girl.

  She frowned.

  “Now who’s the one constantly losing? ‘Tis not I.” William flashed him a grin. “You are the one that has always fought dirty and cheated, so, yes, I lost before, but it’s been years. I’m much wiser now. I know your tricks.”

  “Ready us, Jeffries.” Tyrone jerked his head to the side, calling out for his friend to start the fight.

  “No hitting in the most private of areas, and avoid breaking noses. Other than that, you are free to dismantle your foe.” Jeffries laughed with a booming weight behind his voice. Obviously another actor, used to being on stage.

  William rolled his eyes, and when the fight was declared legitimately started, William waited for Tyrone to swing at him.

  Stop! This will ruin Clarissa’s chances at the stage! You will bring her ultimate shame!

  He cringed for a moment and then realized with his money, he could buy his own damn stage and put her there himself. Tyrone did not control her destiny.

  Papap!

  William’s fists lashed out, and he jabbed Tyrone in the ribs.

  There was a minor crushing sound, but not nearly satisfying enough.

  Tyrone’s stiff carriage collapsed, and he favored his right side now, hunching over a bit.

  Perfect.

  Papapapap!

  William’s fists were unrelenting, finding ribs to snap.

  Tyrone’s eyes morphed from his blue to dark gray. The dark gray, disapproving eyes William had dealt with his entire life.

  His vision blurred for a moment, and Tyrone’s voice changed too.

  “You’re the reason she’s leaving!” he heard in his mind over and over. That deep, booming bass taking hold of his mind and making his forearms, biceps and chest muscles coil tight, then unload with a force he’d missed desperately.

  Wham, wham, wham.

  His balled up hands hit blindly and repeatedly, anywhere they could.

  Crrruuuuuuunch. Snaaaap!

  Bones were twisting, and the carnage made his boiling blood shunt into his lungs and fill him with the capacity to breathe again.

  This was why he’d stopped. He’d become too crazed with a bloodlust and had grown addicted to the feel of a man’s marrow being crushed out of his bones at William’s hands.

  An elbow landed in William’s gut and then a thick-skulled head rammed into his chest, making him fly back a foot or so. He wobbled but managed to keep from falling down.

  Clarissa screamed something behind him, pulling him back to this moment.

  It wasn’t that hideous voice or vicious gray eyes he remembered and despised. No, it was Tyrone. Another thorn in his side, but far less harmful.

  Tyrone grunted, shoving his hair out of the way that was flopping in his eyes.

  There was blood on Tyrone’s crisp white shirt, and his lip was busted open.

  When had he hit him in the face? And why hadn’t they stopped the fight? Had Tyrone cheated, too, so it all seemed fine to continue on?

  “Aaaagggghhhhhh!” William roared and then picked Tyrone up, smacked him down on the ground, making his legs buckle.

  He fell on top of Tyrone and rolled away promptly.

  “Ferrismore is the winner,” Jeffries declared.

  William staggered to his feet, weaved about, wheezing for air.

  The first thing he did was step over Tyrone, sitting up, but balled up and muttering curses his way. Then he grabbed Clarissa, yanked her up and kissed her with a brutality that was less than pleasant.

  She surprised him when she moaned and sunk into his kiss.

  He let her go, sat down on the couch and propped her on his lap.

  Next, he grabbed a cigarette out of his suit coat, lit up and smoked as Tyrone skulked away.

  “Is there a reason this party’s grinding to a halt?” William called out.

  “Um . . . Sir, is there something I can do for you?” one of the servants asked him, hovering next to him.

  “No, why?”

  “Your temple is bleeding profusely.” The gangly, powder-white man with the gray hair pointed.

  William dabbed at it with his fingertips, grinning when he saw the crimson fluid on his hand.

  “Don’t touch it!” Clarissa reached over and grabbed a handkerchief out of Tyrone’s suit pocket and used that to staunch the blood flow.

  “Do you think they want an encore? I could have gone a lot longer with Tyrone. My stamina’s legendary,” he teased.

  “I have no notion of what they want to see, other than us gone. I’m certain I’ve lost my role in the play now,” she said, but her tone was soft and one of understanding.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to make you suffer the loss of a coveted role. But you know I can always buy you your own stage, give you whatever position you like and make sure everyone sees how mesmerizing my cherry girl is.”

  She slipped into French—telling him they should just leave now, and she could always covet some other playacting spot at home just as well as she could here.

  He agreed.

  Yes, she could do anything at all, as long as she was in his home with him, making his world a better place to be.

  Chapter 17

  “Sweetheart, ‘tis me,” William’s deep voice whispered in the stillness.

  “William?” Clarissa stretched a little, and her groggy mind was in a slight haze. It was too dark to see anything.

  A soft purring snore at her right jolted her awake.

  “I have a dire need of you.” William continued to press.

  His hand was under the covers, gripping her arm.

  “Please, come with me.”

  “But the rules,” she began.

  “The rules of propriety can hang tonight. I’m sore and tired, and I cannot sleep without you at my side.”

  “Wha . . . Is there something the matter?” Pauline asked, waking at her side.

  “What the devil is she doing in your bed?” William yanked Clarissa clear out of the covers.

  She stared at him, bleary-eyed and failing to blink, then directed him out into the hallway so Pauline could go back to sleep.

  “Why is that woman in your bed when I’ve told you what her proclivities are?” He gripped her by the shoulders. “Did she advance on you or put her hands anywhere on your person?”

  “What? No!” She glared. “She sees me as a friend, nothing more, and she was frightened, so I admitted her into my bed. We kept each other company. She helped me to sleep as well since I was missing you.”

  “Why then? Why do you keep me away if we both struggle to sleep when all we need is each other?” He shifted his cock over to the side with his hand.

  Her stomach fluttered at that simple motion.

  “William, let me tell you something—she is in need of a friend, and I want to be there for her. Elizabeth is too busy anymore to listen to me, and you have business matters to attend to as well. I help Pauline do laundry.”

  “Why are you helping her? You have your own duties . . .” He grabbed her right hand with both of his and his thumbs caressed on the outside, moving chills up her wrist and forearm.

  He was so warm to the touch, and she knew precisely
how comfortable his bed was.

  She shook those thoughts away. This was her last chance to exert some independence. Soon, she would be his wife, and she would never know what it meant to strike out for herself without the constant struggle of lack of funds.

  Now was her time to find her way, before her path was swallowed up by his.

  “I do all my work and then I go in search of her. She has many worries. I don’t mind listening to her. She’s a good woman who’s had a life full of struggles through no fault of her own.” She dipped her head, crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him through her lashes. “It’s through helping others I feel better about myself. Don’t you want that for me?”

  “Of course I do.” His hands drifted up her arm. “Only be wary. You’re discernment may be faulty since you are overly trusting.”

  She swallowed and stepped closer to him. “But I have you to protect me, so I’ll be saved should I make a false step, correct?”

  “Yes, but what if my timing is off? What if you’re harmed even a tiny bit? I couldn’t bear it.” He huffed. “Please, let’s get out of this drafty hallway. Come with me to my bed.”

  “We can see each other in the morning, and I’ll sit on your lap, let you feed me and whisper naughty things in my ear all you want, but I won’t leave her. She told me she needed me first.” She grabbed his hand on her arm that was squeezing her. “Please, understand that I do care about you both.”

  “Only her more than me.” His jaw tightened, and his eyes pleaded with her. “That’s what I live with—the people I care for most choose someone else over me. Change my fortune, I beg of you. Show me I matter.” He pulled her into him, circling his arms loosely around her waist. “And don’t even tell her why or where you go. Just come with me. Be mine for the night.”

  “You are quite the persuasive fellow in the dead of night.”

  He chuckled. “That’s always when I’m most charming. Have you forgotten so soon?”

  Her nipples tightened, and her belly squeezed at the hint in his voice of dark and forbidden sexual acts.

  “No—I could never.”

  “Then come.” He dropped his hand, extending it for her take.

  She did and followed along, her body filling with this warmth and peace she could not account for.