The Gamma’s Second Chance (Crescent Lake #3)

27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

CASSANDRA

The gentle plucking of guitar strings fills the house as I descend the stairs from the bedroom. I pause on the bottom step, hand curling around the post of the banister, where I find Nolan in the living room, sitting on the piano bench with the rest of the room—and me—behind him. He has the lid of the piano propped open. My vase of daisies sits in the corner, out of the way, and the sunlight glitters across the shining surface of the black piano. It reflects into the room, illuminating his skin and the daisies, creating a bubble of happy, sparkling light.

I watch his bare back as he plays his guitar with his chin ducked to see his fingers on the frets. The wings tattooed across his shoulder blades seem to flutter with the rippling movements of his torso as he plays, then pauses to jot chords onto the paper next to him on the piano bench, and then plays again.

A soft smile spreads across my face as I watch him, inching forward into the room on tiptoe. He doesn’t flinch or register my presence, too engrossed in his instrument and the simple tune he’s composing. My hand glides along the smooth surface of the piano, stopping and resting right above the keys as I pause and continue to stare at him in his quiet reverie.

He’s softer like this. Gentler. Still stoic and reticent but also at peace with himself and the world.

I slip between the bench and the piano, sweeping the skirt of my mauve dress off the surface as I sit beside him, playing a simple chord on the keys that harmonizes with the chords he plays on his guitar.

He lifts his eyes to mine, and they light up, glittering in the sunlight like two unique gemstones. “Don’t stop,” I say, lifting my hands from the keys and nodding at his guitar as he leans forward and sets it back on the stand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” he says, cupping my cheek and kissing my forehead. “It’s just a song I’m working on. I’m trying to get the pieces of it down when they pop into my head.”

I nod and tap out a scale on the keys with one hand. “I know how that is. I’ve even gotten out of bed in the middle of the night to work out a melody I randomly thought of just before falling asleep.”

“Your mother loved that, I’m sure.”

I laugh. “If by loved it you mean hated it, then yes.”

He swings one leg over the bench and smiles at me, playing the opening section of the higher notes of “Heart and Soul.” He pauses and nods at my hands, waiting for me to play the lower melody line.

I sigh and shake my head but begin the song for him, laughing as he bobs his head to the beat I keep as I play, jumping in with his part almost a hair too late.

“I’m a little rusty on this one,” he says over our duet.

“I can tell!”

He laughs with me, and we finish the song. I lean back against his chest as he wraps his arms around my shoulders, burying his nose in the top of my hair. “I’ve been wondering if you played,” I say, looking up at him from my cozy spot in his arms.

“I do. Not as well as you, but I do.”

I stare at the piano again, trailing my fingers over the black and white keys. “I thought you were mad at me that day.”

“When you played ‘Un Sospiro’?” I nod and bring my hand back to our embrace, stroking his forearm. “I was a little mad at first because you touched my piano without my permission. But once I heard and saw you playing, I wasn’t. How could I be? Everything about it was beautiful—ethereal.”

“Then why were you so tense?” I ask.

“I was holding myself back.” He trails his nose down my cheek, inhaling along the way.

I blink at him, feigning ignorance and innocence. “From?”

He growls and nips at my neck, yanking me tighter against his chest. I laugh, and he smiles against my skin, then presses a soft-as-silk kiss right above my marking spot. The kiss leaves me shivering and breathless and makes my heart skip a beat in my chest.

“Play something for me?” he asks, his deep voice vibrating against my back and his lips tickling my neck.

“You need to get dressed,” I remind him. “We’re supposed to be at the festival.”

“Play for me first.”

He traces my marking spot with his nose, and my breath shudders. I swallow back a moan, fingers digging into his skin.

Goddess, I love when he does that. He knows all the ways to turn me into a puddle of molten chocolate in his arms, all the ways to make me feel desired and beautiful and needed. He manipulates my body and my passion, molding them and devouring them, using me for his pleasure while simultaneously giving me everything I crave.

“Play,” he repeats a third time, nudging me with his nose and lifting my arms to the keys.

I open my eyes and sit as straight as I can, fingers floating over the keys as I play one of my self-composed pieces.

The melody swirls around us, painting an abstract picture in my mind, filled with greens, blues, and golds—the colors of Crescent Lake. They’re the colors I always imagined when composing this piece. But I never realized until now that they’re the colors of the forest climbing up the sides of the mountains, the lake rippling under the sunlight, and the sunset as it streaks across the sky and disappears behind the mountains. They’re the colors of the bark of the trees and the sand on the shore. It’s the training field that’s dotted with dandelions, and it’s the warm golden brown of the packhouse overlooking it all.

It’s home.

I pour my heart into the music as I play, and Nolan’s hands roam my body, caressing my waist and stomach and down the tops of my thighs. I bite my lip and tense a little, shooting him a glance as I pause my song.

But as soon as I stop the movements of my fingers, he stops his touches. “Keep playing,” he says, nodding at the keys.

I inhale through my nose and continue, and he inches the skirt of my dress higher with his fingers. It pools around my waist and exposes my lower half to his eyes. He teases my thighs with his fingertips. Up and down. Higher and higher, swirling and dancing, until they trace over his name near my pussy.

My breath catches, and my fingers trip over the keys, a harsh, dissonant note marring the otherwise soaring melody, and I slow the tempo to prevent another mishap. He frowns and grips my thigh in his massive hand, giving it a punishing squeeze.

“Don’t change your song,” he says, scolding me with his tone and his harsher touch. “And don’t stop either.”

I nod and bite my lip, holding in a groan and forcing my eyes to remain open. I pick the pace back up, and he resumes his exploration, brushing his knuckle over my pussy through my underwear. A slow, hissing exhale passes between my teeth, but I continue my piece with no misplayed notes and no slowing of the tempo.

“Good girl,” he says, praising me with his smooth, velvety voice as he slips his fingers under the hem of my underwear, circling my lower lips.

My legs quake, and my stomach clenches as I fight the urge to give in to the intimacy and end my song early. It’s difficult. His touches are decadent and sensuous, leaving me breathless and wanting more. It makes it challenging to focus on anything else.

He is the center of everything.

Nolan kisses down my neck and across my shoulder as I continue playing the piano. He continues playing with me, his other hand lowering the strap of my dress down my arm in front of the path of his lips. My breast slowly comes into view, my nipple already hardening from the attention I’m receiving on the rest of my body. Nolan’s eyes catch on it, lingering as he inhales the scent of my skin and my arousal permeating the air. He scoots the piano bench back as far as he can while still allowing me to reach the keys, and drops to his knees in front of me.

I gasp and fumble out the next few measures, a muddled mess of incorrect chords and faulty notes, as his hands glide up my thighs and his face hovers over my soaking wet underwear. “Nolan…”

My voice is edgy and needy, almost a whine. I’m begging him. Whether it’s to let me stop playing so I can enjoy his affections or to stop his teasing so I can finish my song and then let him play with me, I’m not entirely sure. But my plea goes unheard either way. He slides my underwear to the side and licks a line through my entrance, flicking his tongue over my clit. I cry out with pleasure, my hands hovering over the keys, fingers flexing and neck arching.

“Cassandra,” Nolan says, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You will finish your song. But every time you slow down or stop, I will slow down or stop. And I won’t fuck this pretty pink pussy of yours or let you come until you play the last note.”

His hands hold my thighs apart, his fingers digging into my skin and leaving bruises behind, and his mouth hovers over me, his breath teasing and tickling my pussy with every word he utters. I nod, my hands and body trembling as I repeat the last couple of measures, correcting my mistakes and continuing with my piece.

He chuckles and grins in triumph, then lunges forward, devouring me like I’m his last meal. His tongue swirls and tastes and his mouth twists and kisses, his fingers joining in on the fun. His shoulder and back muscles tense, creating ridges and valleys all over his torso, the sword tattooed down his spine sharpening with the tension of his features.

And I’m just as tense, teetering on the edge of losing myself completely to his ministrations while struggling to keep my brain and fingers on task. I want the prize he’s offering me; I covet it. But I can’t rush to the ending—he’ll know—and if I stop early, then all of this decadent affection will end as well.

I take a breath in, then blow it out, then take another in. I use each measure of the music as my timer. My hips jerk forward as his finger slips inside me and his tongue dances around my clit, but I don’t let it affect my playing of my music.

He groans as he tastes me, and I sigh with pleasure. Both sounds mix with my song, adding an erotic undertone to the piece, highlighting an innate sensuality within the music I never realized existed until now. A heady haze descends over us as the music crescendos and climbs to the pinnacle right before the end. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me to the edge of the bench, and he reaches up to cup my exposed breast, pinching the nipple between his fingers.

“Nolan!” I cry, fingers slamming down onto the piano keys.

The music comes to an abrupt halt, and a weighted silence falls as he tears himself from my pussy. He stares at me, pupils wide and eyes unblinking, his chest heaving and his body taut. I squirm under his gaze, twisting and writhing to try to make him resume his teasing of my body, but he grips my knees and spreads them wide, keeping me from moving or rubbing my thighs together.

“Nolan, please…” My nails scrape on the piano keys, and my foot wraps around him, pulsing forward to draw him back between my legs, but he’s adamant—a statue.

“What did I say?” he asks, his voice level and calm but tinged with darkness and predatory intent.

My tongue darts out to wet my drying lips, and I swallow. I know what he ordered me to do, but there is no way I can finish this piece, no matter what he threatened. “But—”

He inhales, muscles coiling. Then he rises to his feet, sliding between me and the piano and heading towards the stairs. “I’ll change then.”

I groan in frustration, rocking my hips on the bench and arching my neck as I reposition my fingers and start the last section of the song. The music flows down my arms without a second thought, and I lean into the tide of emotions roaring to life within me. The longing, the eroticism, and the love bring new heart and depth to this old piece of music, bringing it back to life in my soul. It always held a special place as one of my favorites, but now it will forever be tinted with Nolan and my time here at Crescent Lake.

Nolan’s fingers dance along the ridge of my shoulder blades as my piece finishes, his warm presence at my back providing the drive I need to press on. They trail down my arm and across the swell of my exposed breast as I play the last chord and the final note.

The sweet, chiming high note rings clear in the room, and as soon as I lift my hands from the keys, he spins me, his lips crashing down on mine. He lifts me from the bench, and my dress flows around us as his arms snake across my waist beneath the layers of fabric. He tears my underwear from my body, shoving them into the pocket of his sweats. I shrug my arms free from the flimsy straps, and the bodice falls to my waist, my breasts bouncing from the movement and our frantic passion.

Nolan kicks the piano bench away with me still in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and he lowers my ass onto the piano keys. Discordant notes spill into the room once more, but we’re beyond caring. The only thing that matters to us at this moment is each other.

Never have I so desperately needed someone the way I need him. It’s not about sexual release when I’m with him. It’s being in his arms, forging a connection, and being protected and owned by him. I submit to his claiming of my body and offer all of me in exchange—every broken piece, every sullied fiber. It’s all his. What we share runs deep, deeper than I ever thought possible, deeper than anything I imagined I would have with anyone.

He steps back, breaking our kiss and raking his gaze over my body as he loosens his sweatpants and tugs them down, letting them drop around his ankles. His eyes take their time to scan my body in all its haphazard glory, my dress around my waist exposing my bare, glistening pussy and pulsing clit and my breasts topped with diamond-hard nipples. I spread my knees further and arch my back and my neck, thrusting my breasts into the air and showing off my lower half, letting him see every inch of me in the golden glow of the sunlight.

“Fuck, Cassandra,” he growls, lunging forward and grabbing my hip with one hand while his other slides up the back of my thigh, hooking my leg around his waist. He pulses his hips, his dick notches at my entrance, and both of us lower our gaze to watch him push inside me. “Look how well your pussy takes my dick,” he says, eyes locked on where his cock slides into me. “Goddess, it’s like you… it is pure heaven, the way you feel around me.”

He thrusts hard, and I moan with uninhibited pleasure. My hands roam my body, caressing my breasts and playing with my nipples, before sliding down my stomach to my clit. I circle it and tease it as he fucks me hard, the piano keys clinking, our bodies composing their own song, a sequel to mine.

His dick fills me completely. A perfect fit. He slides all the way out and back in, over and over, my pussy stretching to accept him. My body bounces, supported only by the piano and Nolan’s hand on my waist, and Nolan drinks in the view of my hands on my clit and my bouncing breasts. He watches my every movement and expression as he takes me in hard, deep thrusts.

Our noises of passion and desire mix with the frantic music our bodies draw from the piano. I’m already on the verge of an orgasm, brought on by his edging during my song. He drives his hips forward, his dick going somehow deeper, and I can’t hold it back any longer.

“Oh, Goddess, Nolan!” I yell, and he drops my leg, wrapping his arm around my upper body.

I tremble and fracture in his arms, stars sparking to life behind my closed lids, his lips finding my neck and kissing it with tender sweetness. A sighing moan escapes me, and I clutch at him, my arms and my legs wrapping around his body. I dig my heels into his firm, muscular ass as he continues to pump into me, all semblance of control gone from his body. He clings to me as desperately as I cling to him, mouthing kisses over every part of my neck and chest that he can reach, his warm breath raising goose bumps on my skin with each of his panting, ragged gasps.

The release I find with him continues to ripple through my veins, a vivid painting of euphoria in the same hues of green, blue, and gold that my song painted. I move as one with him, matching the rhythm of his heart with the movement of my hips. A deep, heavy groan reverberates in his chest, and my breasts tighten as my pussy clenches around him once more. His deep thrusts switch to a subtle rolling of his hips, and his dick pulses inside me as he finishes, his body pushing hard against mine, leaving no space between us. He keeps himself inside me through each twitch of his dick, until he relaxes into me, his palm supporting him on the keys of the piano, his other arm around my waist.

Without words, we both twist our heads until our lips meet, giving each other gentle kisses between our uneven breaths. His hands explore my body, carefully stroking and soothing my pleasure-worn muscles as he gives me his sweet kisses. I love the contrast of the rough handling of my body when we’re fucking to the softness he gives me after. He always comforts me and cuddles me, stroking my hair and caressing my body with a dreamy tenderness. I reciprocate the warm compassion, teasing my fingers across his shoulder blades and down his spine, sinking into the satisfaction relaxing my body as our lips twist together.

The sun shines into the room, deepening the golden light playing through the windowpanes. The hint of faint, upbeat music reaches us from the festival, where we’re supposed to be headed to play more games during the day and eat and drink around fire pits later this evening on the shore of the lake.

“We should clean up,” I say, leaning back only far enough to speak. “We’re supposed to be at the festival.”

Nolan’s hand travels from my waist to my thigh, his thumb brushing over his name on my leg and his eyes latching onto my ravished pussy with his teeth clenched. “Right,” he says, backing away and lifting my straps onto my shoulders again, his jaw ticking as my breasts disappear from view. “But don’t get too clean,” he adds in a gravelly voice, massaging the tops of my thighs with one last glance at my pussy before helping me off the piano keys. My skirt flutters down, covering me once more as he yanks me to him and brushes my hair out of my face as he dips his mouth to my ear. “I want everyone to smell me on you.”