Dion hasn’t replied to my text messages all day, and I’m growing increasingly concerned. Val’s desperate plea has been on my mind all week, and I’ve been unable to push aside my growing anxiety. The anniversary of my mother’s death has always been a tough day for me, but I doubt it could compare to the torment Dion must be experiencing tonight. I’m scared he’s hurting all by himself, and I don’t know where to begin searching for him.
“Faye.”
My head snaps up, relief rushing through me when I find him standing in the doorway, his gaze unsteady. He takes a hesitant step into the living room, guilt flickering through his eyes. I can smell the liquor on him from all the way here.
He pauses in front of me, his gaze heated yet hesitant. He looks at me like he can’t believe I’m real, like I might be a mirage. I reach for him and wrap my arms around his neck, my face tipped up toward his.
“Where were you?” I ask, my voice soft.
He tries to smile for me, but can’t quite manage it. “My parents’ home. It’s odd, you know? That piano behind you always haunted me, but you took away its power and restored it to what it used to be. That’s what you do to me. You take each broken piece, and without even realizing it, you put me back together. I don’t deserve you, but fuck, am I grateful I’ve got you.”
I rise to my tiptoes and pull him down, my lips finding his. His touch is reverent, cautious, and I pull him closer, demanding more. He gives in for a moment, only to pull away and drop his forehead against mine.
“You are both my torment and my salvation, my muse and my damnation. For you, I’ll willingly go to the depths of hell. Did you know that?”
I smile and tighten my grip on him. The smell of liquor always used to scare me, and he took away its power the way I removed the hold the concert grand has over him. “I know, but I hope you realize I’ll be there every step of the way. You don’t want to lead me to hell, do you? If you burn, I’ll burn with you.”
His gaze flickers with a hint of disbelief and awe, and I can’t help but smile at him. “No matter where you go, I’ll be right by your side, Dion. You once told me that my broken pieces complete you, yet you find it hard to believe I feel the same way. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”
He sighs, his grip tightening as his eyes move past me. “Will you play for me, angel?”
“I’ll do anything for you.” I grab his hand and lead him to his mother’s piano. “Do you want to sit? We can play together if you want?”
He shakes his head and sits down on the floor, his legs extended beside my bench and his back pressed to the piano as he faces me. “No, I just need to hear you play La Campanella for me. Did you know that my heart nearly stopped that night I walked into the house to find you playing my mother’s favorite piece on her piano? I hadn’t been able to listen to it for years, but there you were, looking like a fucking goddess. I was powerless before you, unable to look away or speak a single word in defiance of your presence. Make me feel that way again, Faye. Enthrall me. Enchant me. Do to me what no one but you can do.”
My fingers tremble slightly as I begin to play Liszt’s famous piece, and Dion’s eyes fall closed, the edges of his lips tipping up into a smile. I watch him as I play the piece Tara Windsor mastered like no other, pure bliss on his face.
His eyes open as though he feels my gaze, and my breath hitches. He grins at me knowingly and reaches for me, his touch featherlight as his fingers graze over my thighs. I bite down on my lip when he parts my legs, his eyes seeking permission.
I nod sharply, and he nudges my bench a fraction, just enough to move between my legs. “Keep playing,” he pleads as he leans in, his breath dancing over my skin. “You take away the pain, Faye. You make me forget, and you give me hope I don’t deserve to have. When I’m touching you, everything else fades away.”
He kisses my thighs, slowly inching his way up. He looks at me with such desperation in his eyes that I couldn’t deny him if I wanted to. There’s such power in being able to provide consolation when all else fails.
His lips brush over my silk underwear, and he inhales deeply before pressing a soft kiss against it, making me miss a few notes. He’s already forced me to play without my pedals, but if he keeps going this way, the piece he wants me to play will end up unrecognizable. I doubt he cares, though.
His fingers wrap around the edge of the delicate silk fabric, and he tears it apart, pulling it off me with a sharp tug that makes me gasp. He smiles up at me before dipping in, his tongue brushing over the apex of my thigh, inching closer to where I want him at an excruciating slow pace.
“Again,” he orders when I play the final note. “Play it until it no longer hurts, Faye. Please.”
I start all over again, doing what he asked. I’ll play until this beautiful melody brings him joy instead of pain. I’ll take away its power and rewrite every emotion he’s associated with it.
Dion’s tongue brushes over my clit, and he chuckles when a soft moan escapes my lips. The sound of his laughter lifts the somber mood, and I tilt my hips a little to give him better access.
Soon, you’ll think of me every time you play, and each time I hear the sound of a piano, I’ll think of you.
That’s what he told me two weeks before our wedding, but I didn’t understand his words then, not truly. I do now.
“More,” I beg, my touch on the keys no longer as controlled, the volume varying far more than it should. His touch will forever change La Campanella for me — I’ll never be able to play it again without needing him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice filled with affection. “My beautiful, delicious wife.” His tongue rolls around my clit, not quite giving me what I need yet slowly, steadily, pushing me toward the edge. I’m so tempted to bury my hands in his hair and force him to give me what he’s keeping from me, but I don’t. If he needs me to play, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
My desperation bleeds into the music, the tone turning rougher, the pacing entirely off. He revels in it, loves the way I lose control for him.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asks as his tongue finally flicks over my clit. “You’re such a good girl, Faye. Tell me, does this good girl deserve to come?”
I moan, my hips restless and my hands shaking. The music’s pace is too quick, the piece too hard to play flawlessly when he touches me like that. “Yes,” I beg. “Please, Dion. I’ve been so good for you. Please.”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “You’re perfect for me.”
And then he finally lets me have what I’ve been begging for, just as I play the last few notes of La Campanella, my moans mixing in with the music, until it becomes something else entirely — something that’s uniquely ours.
“I love you,” he murmurs when I pull my hands away from the piano to bury them into his hair instead. “So much, Faye. You have no idea.”
I smile at him as he places his head on my lap, his arms wrapping around my waist. “I love you too, Dion. More than you’ll ever know.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’ve been so selfish today, angel. I know today is tough for you, too, but here I am, asking so much of you. Fuck.”
I shake my head and tighten my grip on him. “Don’t do that,” I plead. “This was perfect. It’s exactly what I needed, so don’t take this from me, okay? Don’t let your guilt warp an experience that’s bound to stay with me for years to come.”
He lifts his head to look into my eyes, his gaze burning with an emotion I’ll never get enough of. “I need to find a moment to thank your mother,” he says, his voice soft. “I’ve only ever begged for her forgiveness, but I realize now that I should be thanking her, too. For giving me you. I swear I won’t let her down, Faye. Every single day, I’ll do everything in my power to become worthy of you. I’ll never stop fighting for you, for us.”
I brush a hand through his hair and shake my head. “You don’t have to try,” I whisper. “You’re already beyond worthy of me, Dion. You always have been.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me, but I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing him of it. He doesn’t think he’s worth fighting for, and I want nothing more than to prove him wrong.
