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.

The bow began its pass, back and forth over her spine, in what she recognized as four-four time. She looked up quizzically at him, and he smiled, closing his eyes and rocking slightly with the motion of the bow as though he was losing himself in the unheard music.

Emma opened her mouth to speak but then thought better of it, giving herself over to the hypnotic movement of the bow as she floated into the sensations.

He paused a moment, tracing her spine with one hand. She heard a dull click as he released the second bow from the case. His fingers were gentle, whispering over her skin as he hummed.

The bow returned to her skin, but it felt different. She felt a scratch, but first dismissed it as fantasy, and then the itch burned. The sensation went cold, then warm, and then began to sting as she tensed and relaxed. She tried recapturing the trance, but it evaded containment, her pulse racing. The bow continued its passage back and forth across her back, increasing in pressure until a sharp bite caused her to tense again. It bit and cut over and over, her eyes brimming with tears.

He knew her pain. He restrung the spare bow with wire himself and cut his finger in the process. He marveled at her calm acceptance of this exquisite torture. Her maestro leaned down and kissed her cheek, fueling their mutual ardor.

She felt the warmth of her blood trickle down her back as he continued the same pattern of strokes across her spine.

Over and over …

Deeper and deeper …

He continued showering her with light kisses on her hair as she wept and shuddered. He played her as though he owned her, and for now he did. As her weeping turned to sobs, he set the bow aside and cradled her in his arms, brushing her hair out of her face, and holding her tightly. There is time for an interlude, and there will be more, so much more.

“Holy fuck!” Charlie’s hand clamped her mouth immediately after the words escaped her lips. She looked around to see if anyone heard her unintended outburst, laughing when she remembered she had the house to herself tonight. Mikki, Aaron, and Emerson were at the movies and Declan was out of town on business. There were no witnesses to her reaction.

She contemplated how to best research this portion of the book for a moment, and then decided perhaps she would find a cello concerto to listen to. Could something like a cello bring about such a hypnotic state of mind? She turned on her laptop, opened up Spotify and typed in “hypnotic cello concerto.” A long list of items appeared, so she scrolled until she found a composer whose name she recognized, Schuman, and selected the first movement from Fantasiestucke. Closing her eyes, she immersed herself in the fluid, rich sounds of the concerto. The lush swell of the notes sucked her under a wave of passion and emotion, and her thoughts traveled to Declan.

Charlie closed her eyes to imagine it better. Played … like an instrument … oh my God, people actually did that? She was unsure if she liked the idea or not; she needed to test it out and taste her initial reaction. People did that? Charlie didn’t think that people did that, but if anyone did do it, Declan definitely could. Maybe. Perhaps. And if he did it to me, would I like it? Maybe. Or maybe not. What if the pain overcame the pleasure, and then I hated it and him?

She found it all exhausting. She didn’t want to and didn’t mean to, but she drifted into a light sleep. An early evening nap of sorts, right? Nothing wrong with that, except she didn’t mean to do it. She had wedding favors to assemble and Mikki to answer to if she didn’t finish them. There were no attempts to fight it, only shallow breaths, and dreamy thoughts.

Charlie shifted in her sleep, reaching out for something. Mumbling through a yawn, she blinked her eyes, glancing around the room with a hazy, dreamy gaze.

“Declan?”

“Charlotte,” he whispered.

“When did you get here?”

“Just about an hour ago.” He tended to the fire as the snow continued to fall outside.

“It’s cozy. Lay down with me, please? We don’t need to … I would really love to take a nap with you though.”

“All right,” Declan whispered. “Only a short nap.”