Page 108 of Dark Notes

I’m not fooled. Everything he does is insidiously calculated. Like pairing his jeans and white t-shirt with a fedora? Seemingly harmless, as if he just threw something on. But dammit, he knew that sexy look would work me into a lusty froth.

It’s his steady stare, though, the deep oceans of his eyes beneath the brim of the hat, that makes me never want to look away.

The room dims around us until I’m only aware of him and the pulsing beats between us. I sink into the luring waves of desire, into that deliciously dark abyss that craves his punishing grip, growly voice, and vicious thrusts.

Not here.

With great effort, I pull myself back to the surface and take a deep breath. “You talked to your dad about us? What did he say?”

Does his dad condemn our relationship? Is Emeric having second thoughts?

The fingers around my wrist tighten, and he wrenches my arm behind my back. The movement shoves me right up against his swelling erection.

His eyes ensnare mine. “He wanted to make sure I have all my bases covered, that I’ve thought through everything.” With my arm pinned behind my back, he cradles my face with his free hand. “I’m working through a few cautionary measures to keep us safe until you graduate.”

“Like what?” I hate this constant looming threat of someone hurting us.

He brushes his mouth against mine. “Trust me?”

“Deeply.”

His teeth catch my bottom lip. “Let’s go home and take care of your pussy.”

I grin into the kiss. “Schubert?”

“Him, too.”

We say our goodbyes to his parents, climb into the car, and drive to his house without attacking one another. But the second the garage door closes behind the GTO, he gives me a look that liquefies every bone in my body.

In a fluidity of motion, he tosses his hat, releases our safety belts, and flings his seat backward away from the steering wheel.

His hands fly to his zipper, yanking it down and freeing his hard cock. “Straddle me.”

One gravelly command, and I’m instantly wet.

I launch at him, banging a knee on the console as I tumble into his lap. He wrenches my legs around him, my ass bumping the wheel and honking the horn. We laugh with our mouths melded together, his hands under my skirt and my fingers tangled in his sexy-as-hell hair.

Yanking the crotch of my panties to the side, he plunges a finger inside me. “So fucking ready.”

Then he slams me down on his cock.

I moan through the bursting sensations, clenching my inner muscles and arching my back. He grips my ass with one hand and the back of my head with the other, thrusting vigorously and holding me so tightly he’s the only thing that exists.

He bucks beneath me with hard-hitting drives as the hand on my head directs the angle and depth of the kiss. His tongue fucks my mouth the way his cock fills my pussy. Deeply, urgently, and completely unrestrained.

His muscles shake and contract. His hoarse groans harden my nipples, and the sensual, hungry roll of his hips reduces me to a trembling puddle of surrender.

I dissolve in the steel bands of his arms as he kisses me senseless, drags me up and down his length, and jacks himself off in the clutch of my body.

I come hard and long, my nails scratching his scalp and his name howling from my throat. He shoves inside me in a ruthless grind, drops his head on my shoulder, and chases his release with a deep, throaty groan.

When he lifts his head, we stare at each other, panting, clinging tightly together, lips touching and releasing. He trails his nose along mine, his eyes so close, never looking away. I’m so lost in this man, so over my head, heart wide open, and soul quaking.

We aren’t just a teacher and student, a Dom and submissive, a man and woman.

“We’re a timeless concerto.” I kiss his lips. “A musical masterpiece.”

He drags his mouth across my jaw, his cock jerking inside me. “Like Scriabin’s ‘Black Mass?’”

Too dissonant.

I arch my neck for his lips. “I was thinking along the lines of Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy.’”

“Lame.” He bites the skin beneath my ear. “We’re more like Van Halen’s ‘Hot For Teacher.’”

Oh my God. I stifle my grin. “You’re ruining my analogy. That’s not even a concerto.”

“We’ll compose our own masterpiece.” His mouth glides down my neck, kissing and licking. “A song that will never end.”

I love the sound of that.

Two weeks later, I trudge across the school parking lot, digging through my satchel for the car keys. The sun’s long gone, and the time is ticking somewhere south of sleep-thirty. Man, my ass is dragging.

At school, Emeric’s been working me hard behind the piano in preparation for the holiday performance this weekend. At home, he works me hard against the wall, strapped to his headboard, and kneeling beneath the heat of his belt. He’s an endless, high-intensity, cardiovascular workout. For the life of me, I don’t know where he finds his energy.