Play Me

by Katie McCoy

  My hands moved downward, searching for the hem of her dress, which was currently bunched up around her thighs. My lips were distracted by hers, but I paused when I found that her stockings ended near the top of her leg. I tore my mouth from hers to look down at the dress I had been peeling back. I nearly exploded when I saw the lacy tops of her stockings against pale skin, held up by thin slips of satin.

  “Are you wearing garters?” I managed to ask, even though I could already see that the answer was yes.

  To my shock, Ella blushed and nodded.

  “Fuck,” I moaned.

  Who was this woman who wore black shapeless dresses, blushed at each sexual insinuation, and wore red lace and garters? She was a mess of contradictions I was more than eager to explore. As long as I could explore the rest of her as well.

  One hand went around the back of her neck as I pulled her mouth to mine, showing her with my tongue and teeth exactly how hot I found her choice of undergarments. My other hand busied itself with one of her garters, finding the clasp and expertly unhooking it from the stocking. One. Two. Just like removing a bra. Something else I had a great deal of interest in doing. But for now, I was just going to enjoy the feel of her bare skin against my palm as I dragged my hand up her leg, beneath her dress, until I found the curve of her ass, clad in a red lace thong.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  Ella pressed her hips hard against mine and this time I was the one who groaned into her mouth. I could barely stand it, the feel of her bare ass in my hand, a thin strip of lace the only thing between me and the most intimate part of her. Even though my brain screamed, “Go slow,” I knew that unless she stopped me, there wasn’t anything on earth that would keep me from touching her. Instead, she leaned back, giving me easier access as I traced the waistband of her thong from her ass to just beneath her belly button and then slowly downward.

  She was wet. So goddamn wet, I could feel it through the thin lace. My fingers brushed gently against her and she bucked against me.

  “So fucking hot,” I whispered in her ear, my other hand twisted in her gorgeous hair.

  She leaned forward, burying her face in my neck as I continued my exploration, dragging my fingers softly across the damp thong. Gently, I pulled it aside, skin touching skin. I felt her moan more than I heard it and it guided me to the most sensitive part of her, the pad of my thumb sliding slick against her.

  “Oh god,” she gasped into my shirt as I moved my thumb harder and faster.

  Her hips undulated against mine and I was pretty sure I was going to come in my pants. Then she stiffened and let out a low, keening moan before collapsing against my shoulder. Behind me, I heard her hands fall and hit the piano’s keyboard, the apartment filling with the sound of her pleasure and the echo of the unplanned melody—the most perfect music I had ever heard.

  My own heart was racing, but I waited until she had recovered and lifted her head. The languid look of release, the softly parted lips and perfectly mussed hair caused my pulse to leap in my throat.

  “You’re amazing,” I told her, one hand still in her hair, while my other hand was tight on her hip.

  She blushed again—goddamn, I loved how she blushed—and dipped her head.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she whispered.

  I put my finger under her chin and lifted her head so her eyes met mine. “You’re amazing,” I repeated, wanting her to believe it. And then I kissed her. Gently.

  But it didn’t remain gentle. Either she felt the evidence of my remaining desire pressing against her, or her own need wasn’t satiated, but she returned the kiss with the same passion and intensity as before.

  And before I could stop her, her hands were on my chest, undoing each button with those long, graceful fingers of hers, sliding her palms against my bare skin. Ella’s fingers reached my belt buckle, her hand brushing against my belly button.

  “Fuck,” I moaned, my head falling back as she undid my belt and then the top button of my pants.

  But instead of the sound of my zipper being lowered, I heard music. Classical music to be exact. Had I died and gone to heaven? But no, I could still feel Ella’s ass beneath my fingers, could still feel her weight against my legs, her knees against my hips. Her hands had stilled, though.

  I lifted my head and realized that the sound was her cell phone.

  “Is everything okay?” I was shocked I could still form sentences in the state I was in. Who the hell was calling her? I thought about throwing the phone across the room. I could buy her another one. I could buy her a hundred more. It didn’t matter though, because the phone stopped ringing.

  “Sorry.” She leaned forward and kissed me. I kissed her back, knowing I’d never get enough of her mouth.

  Her fingers returned to the task at hand, as she slowly unzipped my pants, brushing against my cock slightly, but enough to make me jump.

  “Sorry,” she said again, this time against my lips.

  “Never apologize for that,” I murmured as I let my head drop back again. But the moment I closed my eyes, the phone rang again—the same piece of classical music.

  This time, Ella didn’t just freeze, she completely stiffened. And not in a good way.

  “Do you need to get that?” I asked, already knowing the answer and trying not to hate the person on the other end of that phone call.

  “I’m so sorry.” She gave me a regretful look. “It’s my instructor. It might be about the competition.”

  “I understand,” I told her, even though I was mentally punching her instructor in the face. I tried not to appear as disappointed as I felt as she extracted herself from our very cozy position on the piano bench. But as she smoothed her black dress down her legs, covering up the loosened garter and the red lace thong, some very uncharitable thoughts about her instructor came to mind. Fuck. I could only imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t chosen that exact moment to call. And my cock was still imagining it.

  The phone had stopped ringing, but started again the moment she pulled it out of her bag.

  “Hi, Mark,” Ella answered the phone. “I know, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I was . . . ” She looked back at me. “I was busy.”

  I didn’t know how I should feel about that description of what we had just done. I really hoped this call was truly about the competition and not Ella’s instructor cock-blocking me via cell phone. I didn’t know the guy, but I did know that if I were in his position, I’d do my darnedest to make sure she didn’t spend her evenings messing around with someone on top of piano benches.

  “Mmhmm,” Ella was saying. The expression on her face was completely neutral—it was impossible to tell what he was telling her.

  I began to re-button my shirt. It was clear that our date was over, and while my cock was screaming out for release, a part of me knew that going slow with Ella was probably a good idea. Okay, not a good idea. I had lots of good ideas that involved her and me, but right now wasn’t the time. Stupid fucking Mark.

  Across the room Ella hung up the phone and turned back to me. Again, her face was unreadable.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, adjusting my erection before standing. The last thing I wanted was to have a visible boner if something terrible had happened.

  “I made it to the next round,” she said quietly.

  “What?” I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly.

  “Mark just told me I made it to the next round of the competition.”

  I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t thrilled.

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” I asked, coming over and taking her hand. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “It is.” She shook her head as if getting rid of something and then smiled up at me. “It is. I’m really happy.”

  Even though she didn’t look it, I pulled her into my arms and spun her around.

  “Congratulations!” I told her once I had put her down. This time the smile on her face was genuine and the news seemed to finally be sinki
ng in.

  “Thank you.” She let out a breath, as if she had been holding it for a while. She placed a hand to her chest. “Wow. I just—I was so sure—” Ella let out a laugh. “I really wanted to make it to the next round,” she confessed.

  “When is it?” I asked.

  “Saturday,” she told me, and I saw that she was already eying her piano.

  “That’s pretty soon,” I noted.

  Ella nodded and chewed on her lip. The same lip that I had been melded to only moments before. Even though the last thing I wanted to do was leave, I knew that if I were in her position and had something important that I had worked a long time towards, and that I needed to practice, I would want to be free of distractions. And clearly this was extremely important to her. She still seemed to be in shock.

  “I should let you practice, then,” I told her.

  She looked up at me with the same conflict clear on her face. “No, it’s okay.”

  I gave her a kiss on the forehead. “It’s alright,” I said. “I’ll call you after this round is done, okay? We’ll celebrate your inevitable victory.”

  “Um. Okay.” Ella smiled up at me. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Why?” I winked at her. “I didn’t do anything,” I said, echoing her statement from before, and headed home to take the world’s coldest shower.

  18

  Ella

  Even though my body was disappointed to see Jake go, my mind was grateful for the opportunity to take a breather and assess what the hell was going on with me. When did I get so sexually aggressive? So like my sister? Not that I was regretting it, because who would regret an orgasm that made their toes curl and body turn to Jell-O? No, I wanted more. Lots more. And that’s kind of what scared me. Because I didn’t want to practice tonight. I wanted to get back on that piano bench and finish what Jake and I had started. No one had ever distracted me from my goals the way that Jake did. I wanted to lock us up in my apartment and burn off this sexual tension (and possibly burn down the building as well from the heat we were generating).

  And not only was this the worst possible time to get involved with someone, but what was I thinking getting involved with someone like Jake? Someone who had another woman’s name tattooed across his heart? I still didn’t know who she was, but no doubt he had loved her a lot. Was she still in his life? It was something that would have given me pause weeks ago, before I met Jake, but now I seemed to be throwing every bit of caution I had to the wind. Was I just setting myself up to get hurt? Sure, he had some woman’s name tattooed on his body, but that didn’t mean he was someone who was interested in commitment. He was just like me, focused on his career. Were we just going to derail each other? The thought was unpleasant.

  As had been the phone call from Mark. I would have thought he would be happy that I had advanced to the next round of the competition, but the way he delivered the news made it unclear. His tone had been similar to that of a person informing another about the passing of a family member. In addition to his Eeyore-like attitude, he had also made it pretty clear that he thought the judges had made a mistake in allowing me to continue on to the next round.

  What kind of teacher did that? I thought of my own students and how hard I worked to encourage them, especially when they thought they weren’t getting any better. No one liked being told they were doing a bad job, and it was even more disappointing to hear you were actually doing worse than you thought you were. Because I thought I had played pretty well during the last round. I was pretty proud of how it had gone. And dammit I clearly had reason to be proud. I could still win this competition.

  And I wanted to. So very badly.

  More and more I was doubting Mark’s teaching ability. It was exhausting to be around him and his endless disappointment. Was there anyone who could please him? As I thought about it, I realized I had never heard him say anything positive about any other pianists. Not even other students of his. He was always quick to point out where their remaining flaws were. I used to think it was good that he could look at others with a sense of objectivity, but now I was beginning to think he was just being a jerk. I had mistaken a negative outlook for a critical eye, it seemed.

  And I wondered how much of it was personal. It had seemed to get worse after he ended our relationship. After I wasn’t upset over it ending. Perhaps I had wounded his ego and he was doing his best to return the favor.

  I sat down at my piano, thinking how happy and encouraging Jake had been when I told him the news. Maybe getting derailed by him wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Sure, he was a hotshot chef, but he was kind. And completely, totally hot. I felt my skin heat up thinking about what he had done to my body tonight. I’d never be able to even look at my piano bench again without thinking about what we had done on it.

  And as that heat and desire coursed through me, I placed my fingers on the keys and began to play.

  “Wait, I’m sorry, did you say you actually want to go shopping?” Nina asked me as I finished up our weekly lunch. The next round of the competition was tomorrow, and I wanted to have something nice to wear when Jake and I went out to celebrate—no matter the outcome. And I didn’t want to wear black this time.

  “Do you not want to?” I pretended to be casual, while Nina stared at me.

  “Of course I want to.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are we just getting another black dress? Did you lose one of the five you already have and you need a replacement? Because I am not interested in getting you another Wednesday Addams’s dress.”

  “No.” I tried to look innocent. “I was thinking something with a little color.”

  “Gray is not a color,” Nina told me.

  “Not gray.”

  “White also doesn’t count.”

  “I was thinking . . . red?”

  Nina’s eyes widened and she grabbed my arm.

  “Oh, sister, I thought you’d never ask.”

  The red dress from the other week was still there and Nina threw it into my arms, along with several other brightly colored options, and practically shoved me into a dressing room. I could hear her pacing on the other side as I undressed and stepped into the red dress.

  It was a smooth, stretchy material that clung to my body. Nothing was left to the imagination in this get-up. But it didn’t terrify me like I thought it would. In fact, I liked the way I looked. It was the first time I had really seen my body this way. Wearing sexy lingerie in my darkened apartment was one thing, but wearing a tight red dress, all parts of me visible in the dressing room light, and not hating the way I looked? Well, that was a pretty good feeling.

  “I know you have it on,” Nina’s voice came from the other side of the curtain. “I can see your feet. Come on, show me!”

  I took a breath and pulled back the curtain. Nina and the salesgirl helping us were standing there. Both of their mouths dropped open.

  “Oh. My. God.” Nina shrieked. “You look fucking amazing!”

  “That is a great color for you,” the salesgirl said and immediately began pulling other items from the shelves. “You should try these on too.”

  By the end of the day, I had a brand new wardrobe full of sexy, slinky clothes, as well as more everyday items that fit better than my usual clothes. They also actually had color in them, and my sister continued to marvel at my change of mind. Though, when I tried on a black vintage cocktail dress, one that hit just above my knees and showed off my shoulders, nipping in at the waist, even Nina rescinded her “no more black” rule.

  Of course, when it came time for the competition, I was back to my black performance dress. But I made sure to wear especially sexy underwear, like the ones I had worn during my last date with Jake. Every time I walked, I was aware of my garters and reminded of how smoothly and expertly he had undone them. I also couldn’t help remembering the feel of his hands against my red lace thong and how I couldn’t wait to pick out a new pair of panties for our next date—ones that he could completely remove this time.

 
; That thought, as well as many other more vivid and naughty ones, was what I kept replaying in my mind instead of listening to Mark drone on and on about all the mistakes I had made in my last performance. Every so often a few words would break through and I’d hear that he was bitching about my being too “emotional” or “bombastic.” Screw you, Mark, I thought, amazed by how liberating it was to ignore him. I had decided that after this competition was over—whether or not I won the mentorship— I was finding a new teacher. Mark might be the best teacher in San Francisco, but I’d much rather find someone with less technical skill who treated me like a human being with feelings than put up with his arrogance and criticism. How had I allowed him to treat me this way for so long?

  The sad thing was, I knew exactly how. Every guy in my life had made me feel like there was something wrong with me. And I had believed them because I felt like they must be right. Because someone like Mark, handsome and talented, had to be right about all my flaws. But it only took one man—Jake—to make me question that.

  Standing in the wings, the usual feelings of panic rose inside of me. My heart was racing, my palms damp. But I tried to remember what Jake had said to me. “You’re amazing,” he had told me. Yeah, at that point he was probably referring to other, more intimate things we had done together, but I couldn’t deny that it had given me a thrill to hear that.

  And now, for a brief moment, I felt okay. Not calm or normal, but not like I was going to faint or puke or fall to pieces. I still felt uneasy, still wanted to run home and hide under my covers—especially if Jake was there—but this time, when I told myself it was going to be alright, that it was all going to be over soon, I seemed to actually believe it.