Charlie moved back and smacked her brother on the shoulder. She hated when he was in town visiting. He always cajoled her into running with him. “You’re a sadist, aren’t you?” She laughed. “Why can’t we just go warm up with some espresso instead?”
“Running is good for you. It releases all the toxins from your body and mind. Besides, we both know you couldn’t manage yoga like Mikki. You’d fall flat on your ass.”
Emerson had a point.
***
“You do this every day?” Charlie panted. She could feel a trickle of sweat from her forehead coursing down her neck.
Emerson nodded, looking like he was just out enjoying a brisk walk. Charlie felt like she was going to die.
“How much farther?”
He looked over at her, smirking. “Three-quarters of a mile.”
She straightened up. I can do this. “Great.” Her lungs seemed to have filled with lead, and she could only take shallow, gasping breaths. “Feels amazing.”
“So, not cold any longer?”
“Not a bit.” Charlie could hear the blood surging through her veins. Their feet pounded on the trail, and no, she definitely wasn’t freezing anymore.
“So, how is your boyfriend?” Emerson asked, his breathing not even the least bit labored. “Are you bringing him to Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Umm … he’s not exactly my boyfriend,” she gasped. “Besides, I don’t know if he’ll be back in time.” It was the truth after all, they weren’t exactly dating, and she worried that Mikki would confront him about the bruising. Moreover, she had a good excuse not to invite Declan; he was in Toronto working on finalizing some new distribution contract.
“Okay, completely your call. No pressure.”
Charlie collapsed to the ground, exhausted.
“It will get easier,” Emerson insisted, looking down at where Charlie sat, slumped over in a complaining heap on the ground. “Be patient.”
“Which, the whole Master/sub thing or the running?” She pulled a few blades of crunchy grass from the frost, mumbling. It was early, the sky was dull and gray, and she was sore in places she didn’t even know she owned.
“Both.” He stopped for a moment before adding, “And stop being so bratty.”
“What did you say?”
“Get your ass up here. Let’s go get an espresso and warm up.”
***
The door closed behind them, the soft snick echoing into the darkness as the latch caught.
His hand released hers without comment as she sidestepped into the bathroom, half-closing the door behind her. He made his way into the suite, flicking on the lamp, a subtle glow illuminating the room.
She heard the distant clink of glasses and the subtle pop of a cork easing from the confines of a bottle, as she prepared for the night.
She released her hair from the French braid she had so carefully wound only hours earlier for dinner, the pins dropping into the sink, one after another, allowing her thick dark locks to curl about her shoulders. She wiped the slick of red gloss from her full lips but left the traces of scent her perfume had imprinted on her skin. It wasn’t expensive—she’d picked it up at the counter on impulse when shopping for stockings at a local department store. He had liked it, and so it became her signature scent, replacing the more costly Chanel she was so fond of wearing.
They had spent a long time getting to know one another over the course of the summer, there had been no rush, no hurry, no pressure. She stared at her reflection in the mirror wondering how it was that she felt so safe with him, so tethered to him.
As she walked back into the bedroom, he moved to stand behind her, lacing his fingers through hers and wrapping her in both their arms. She relaxed into his embrace, dropping her head forward. He reached up and brushed her hair to one side, kissing her neck. She reveled in the pressure of his lips and the warmth of his breath as he murmured something.
She kept her eyes closed, and her head bowed, enjoying the pleasure of his mouth against her skin. She moved with him, offering no resistance to his direction. Holding her just a little tighter, his stubble brushed against her earlobe as he whispered, “Open your eyes, Emma.”
Emma lifted her head, taking in the room around her. The moment her gaze focused on the bed, she froze in his arms.
“Oh! I, umm, no … Please, not …” she choked out.
“Emma.” He spun her to face him, looking intently at her.
“Yes …”
“What do you think is going to happen? I’m not going to touch you unless you ask me to … ”
She watched him, struggling to regain her composure. His stare danced across her, and he inhaled slightly. Her mind searched to explain her own physical reaction, dismissing the dampness between her thighs as a consequence of his kisses, but knowing it wasn’t quite true.
An open cello case rested on the bed, nestling a beautiful dark cello within its plush velvet lining. It was just like the one in the picture she had sent him.
He smiled softly, taking both her hands in his own. “If you do ask me, then I shall play our own private concerto. I shall play you, Emma, just like in the picture.” He looked at her intently. “And if you don’t, I will pack the instrument away and we shall do whatever you choose for the rest of the evening … ”
“I don’t … I don’t know.” She stared at the cello and then back at him.
He walked slowly to the bench at the bottom of the bed and sat down, spreading his knees. He beckoned her with his stare.
She shuddered at the realization that she wanted this.
He smiled at her, picking a bow from the case behind it. He held it up to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Rosin,” he said nonchalantly. “Almost my favorite scent.”
She exhaled deeply and with trembling hands, fumbled with the little buttons on the front of her dress, turning away to ease the material from her shoulders and drop the dress on the bed. Emma stood in just panties and stockings, focusing on the wall in front of her, trying to ignore the sensation of his gaze trailing across her flesh. Her panties joined her dress on the bed and she turned to face him, wrapping her arms across her nakedness.
“Please, will you play me?” she requested in a hushed tone.
“Yes,” he spoke softly, “but on one condition. You have to let go. Let the tears flow and don’t try to hold back or wipe your eyes. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl, now kneel and ask me again properly.” He untucked his shirt from his pants and unbuttoned it.
“Please, Sir,” she pleaded, kneeling between his spread legs, her hands on his thighs, fingers lingering near his crotch. “Please,” she looked up at him. “Will you make me your instrument, Sir? Will you play me, please?”
Wordlessly, he reached around her neck, sliding her hair forward over each shoulder as he placed a light kiss on her forehead. His hand moved up to take a firm but gentle grasp of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.