Play Me

Content Advisory: Erotic

The ivory keys of the piano were smooth, cold beneath her fingers. Jill couldn’t get the melody quite right. She stretched her arms out and stood to cross the room. The floor to ceiling window of her loft opened to a view of Central Park where people bustled about, jogging, walking their dogs and feeding ducks.

In the distance, she saw his form. Zander Cates was unmistakable in his posture and gait. The black jacket he wore blew open to reveal a black t-shirt, his standard uniform. Shaggy hair hung into his eyes which were always hidden by sunglasses. She didn’t know if he needed them to see or if he just liked to be mysterious. Whatever the case, he intrigued her and plenty of other women, too. He attracted groupies simply because he was famous and they all wanted their fifteen minutes with a star.

Jill was no groupie, but a colleague, a composer. Despite her efforts to keep things professional, every time she saw him little butterflies bounced inside her belly. He wasn’t traditionally handsome but she was drawn to so much more than his face. The moments when they were alone and he shared his poetry which turned into lyrics and music gave her a glimpse into the real him and his psyche was beautiful. She tried to push out the prurient thoughts that littered her mind at times. She wondered if he noticed how she blushed sometimes around him or how she stared too long.    

The buzzer rang. She pressed the enter button to let him in. A minute later there was a knock on the door. She opened it and couldn’t contain the grin that pulled at the edges of her mouth. She smoothed her long shirt over her hips, hoping that she looked okay. She never wore much makeup and her hair hung loose around her face.  

He handed her a paper bag which she knew already contained a bottle of his favorite wine. Strawberry Hill. She’d never even heard of it before he came along but she’d developed a taste for it herself.  

“What’s up, J?”

“Not much. Come in.” She stepped aside.

“Looks like you’ve been working,” he said, picking up the sheets of music on the piano and studying the notes she’d written.

“I’m struggling with the melody on this.” She took two glasses from the cabinet in the kitchen and poured some of the pink, fizzy liquid into each. Handing one to him, she said, “I’m lost, I guess.”

They drank the whole bottle of wine while he looked over the pages, even the ones she’d crumpled up and thrown on the floor. “I think I know what the problem is here.” He straightened all the pages and stacked them on the floor.

Covered in soft, red velvet, the chaise lounge was her favorite piece of furniture in the house and they often sat on it to discuss their writing. She tucked her feet underneath her and rolled her neck. “What?”

“You’re not feeling it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

He stood in front of her and set his glass on the small end table. “Stand up.”

She scooted off the couch and stood before him, her hands fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

Dark glasses concealed his eyes and bridged his nose; full lips slightly parted. He almost looked like a predator ready to strike.

He touched her hair, tucking the strands behind her ears, his fingers lingering on her shoulders.

“Take off your glasses.”

He pulled them off and she saw his eyes for the first time. The pupils were almost indistinguishable against irises dark as ink. Such contrast against his pale skin. He began to hum the chords he’d played for her the night before when he penned the lyrics, simple yet beautiful.

The tension that lingered between them snapped. The butterflies in her stomach gave way to a deeper burn, a delicious ache.  

“Feel it?” he asked.

She nodded. The objects in the room faded away until she only saw his eyes, only heard his voice.

He took her hand and laid it flat in his own, using his other hand he touched her fingers as if playing keys on the piano. He mimicked the sound they would make in a light whisper. Then he placed her hand against his chest. “Touch is the strongest of senses.” His heart beat wildly against her palm. “The heart is like the percussion, the rush of blood is the rhythm, breath is the voice.”

   “Oh my God.” It made sense, she felt the music.

“Understand now?”

“Yes.” Her mind ran wild with the possibilities. What would happen if the feelings intensified?

He lowered his face to hers and stayed an inch away. “Shall we make some music now?”

She answered by kissing him. Initially, she only pressed her lips to his but her own heartbeat forced the crescendo in her mind. She needed more.

His arm circled her waist and his hand rested at the small of her back, gently pulling her closer.

She liked his hands, the agility and length of his fingers. There was a certain eroticism in watching a man strum a guitar with such precision. She imagined him strumming her body like that, making her sing on a breathless tone.

His tongue teased her lips before pushing between them, delving, invading.

She inhaled, catching the scent of something sweet, minty or maybe it was the taste of his mouth. Her senses went haywire and mingled together, melting her insides.

The evidence of his arousal pressed firmly against her stomach as his hips moved slightly in time with his tongue.

Her hand trailed down his chest to his belt. The metal studs layered in black leather were hard and smooth under her fingertips. She pulled at the buckle, loosening it enough to pull it off and drop it on the hardwood floor. There was something else hard and smooth she wanted to touch.

He cupped her breast, stroking her nipple through her shirt. The tip responded, hardening and tingling. She shivered and gasped against his mouth. Using both hands, she quickly unbuttoned his pants. Reaching inside, she found what she was looking for. His rigid cock emanated a delightful heat and she wrapped her fingers around it.

He stripped off his jacket and t-shirt before helping her with hers. His pants fell to his ankles and he toed off his shoes and kicked his jeans off. He wasted no time in peeling off her leggings and panties. “Jesus, you’re more beautiful than I imagined. Like poetry in motion.”

Standing naked in her music room, she moved closer. “Play me. Like you play your guitar, Zander.”

He licked his lips. “Lie down.”

She settled back on the chase lounge. He knelt between her legs and leaned over to kiss her collarbone. Warm lips made their way lower to tease her erect nipples. He pinched one between his thumb and finger, rolling it back and forth. His mouth closed on the other, sucking softly.

She moaned and tangled her fingers into his coarse hair. Her hips lifted involuntarily spurred only by primal need.

He kissed lower until his face was inches away from her mound. Those long fingers spread her folds open and he licked her from slit to clit. Looking into her eyes, he teased her with long strokes of his tongue.

Her breath hitched and her chest heaved. Bolts of heat coursed through her body. She squealed when he sucked her clit into his mouth. Her thighs tightened against his head and she pulled his hair.

He used his strength to hold her legs open and pushed a finger inside her. He sucked harder and moved his finger faster, stroking that magical spot.

Her abdomen tightened and she arched her back. “I’m coming.”

He continued to thrust and lick, his hair tickling her thighs.

The peak came sharp and unapologetically, tossing her into the abyss of pleasure. Every nerve in her body short circuited and she gave in to it. She moaned his name. Her heart no longer beat in her chest but squarely between her legs.

He crawled up her body and smiled. “Your moan is like music, Jill.”

She couldn’t speak and just nodded, breathing fast and uneven.

His width forced her thighs open further and his cock sat hot and heavy against her pussy.

She lifted her legs and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into her.

With one thrust, he buried himself deep. He groaned against her ear and ran his fingers through her auburn hair. Clutching her head, he stared into her eyes. “You feel so good, so slick and hot.”

“God, yes. Don’t stop.” A trancelike state descended.

His eyes burned into her, penetrating her soul as his cock pumped into her pussy, deep, hard and slow.

She lifted her head to kiss him, tasting the sweet remnants of herself on his lips and tongue.

He kissed her back, more aggressively. “Come again. Come with me.” He lifted her legs over his shoulders and gripped her hips.

She bit down on her lip and held onto his biceps for support.

He moved his hips faster, his dick sliding against that sensitive spot over and over.

Her pussy clenched as another wave struck her.

His arms stiffened. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. I’m coming, baby.” He plunged into her deep and gritted his teeth.

She screamed and dug her nails into his arms as her legs trembled and her pussy clamped down on his cock.

His hot release filled her and he collapsed on top her. He kissed her neck. “Damn.”

She laughed. “I think I can write that song now. Once I can feel my legs again, that is.”

Look for Melissa’s next short story on February 9, 2013!

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~ Melissa Ecker ~

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Copyright © 2013 Melissa Ecker

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.