MustLoveMusic (5 page)

“Never,” she whispered.

“One.” The whip rose and fell, the tips of the lashes
flicking across her shoulder blade before the body of the cat smacked her upper
back.

Gayle cried out in shock and surprise. She hadn’t expected
he’d hit her with no warning. But it hadn’t hurt.

“Two.” The lash tips flicked across her other shoulder
blade, followed by the heavy smack of the body.

“Eighteen more to go. Are you certain you don’t want to
beg?”

“Do your worst!”

Rikard laughed again, the low sound chillingly unlike his
normal melodic laughter. The cat smacked her shoulders over and over, as Rikard
counted his strokes.

“That makes ten.” He trailed the whip’s lashes down her
sensitive spine. “Halfway there.”

“You’ll never break me, Captain.”

“Your skin is a lovely shade of pink, blushing like a virgin
bride’s. Where else could my whip touch you? Where else are you a virgin?”

The lashes stroked down, feathering across her ass, and
tickling her crack.

“Are you a virgin here?” he whispered, one leather-clad
finger following the path of the whip to press lightly at her hole.

Gayle moaned, her ass clenching tightly in reaction to his
invading finger. What would it feel like to have him press his finger not just
against the entrance, but actually inside? Two fingers? His cock, slicking in
and out of her ass?

“Captain, please.”

“Please stop? Or please continue?”

“You’re right. I am a virgin, there.”

“And…?”

“You’re a pirate. I’m a lady.”

“No, I’m a pirate and you’re my prisoner. If I wanted to
slide inside that tight hole, pumping in and out until you screamed, I could do
it, and no one would stop me. I’m the captain of this ship. My word is law.”

His fingertip tapped lightly on her sensitive nerves. Gayle
gasped, her muscles tightening and contracting. More fluid trickled down her
leg.

“But you didn’t finish whipping me. Or do you want to leave
my challenge to your authority unmet?”

“I answer every challenge.”

The cat tickled and struck the firm globes of her ass, once
on each side. She didn’t think he’d hit her harder than he had before, but what
had felt like a weird kind of massage on her shoulders felt mildly painful on
her ass.

“Thirteen.” The whip hit her first ass cheek exactly where
it had struck before, wringing a soft whimper from her. It didn’t hurt, so much
as burn.

“Fourteen.” He slapped the cat against her other ass cheek,
again in the exact same spot as his first strike.

Gayle moaned low in her throat.

“Fifteen.” Another smack, falling on her already tender
skin, then again on the opposite side.

“Sixteen. Are you ready to beg yet?”

“Never,” she panted.

Rikard slapped her with his gloved hand. She clenched her
ass muscles, determined to resist him, even as her breath grew short, and her
body trembled, eager for him to claim her.

“I said I was giving you twenty strokes with the cat.” His
leather-clad palm smacked her ass with short, sharp strokes, rocking her
against the bench. “If I hit you with something else, it doesn’t count.”

“Vile pirate! I might have known you wouldn’t keep your
word.”

His right hand continued to fall rhythmically on her ass
cheeks, his left pressing lightly at the top of her ass, covering the base of
her spine, while his thumb gently spread her cheeks. Her ass burned, each
stroke a brief sting, followed by a glorious heat that spread down her thighs,
and pooled deep in her sex like a hot spring just waiting to burst forth into a
steaming geyser.

“Master…” she moaned.

Rikard’s next slap never fell. “Master…?”

Belatedly, she remembered she was to call him Captain, and
to call him Master Rikard would end the scene. She had not used his full name,
so he wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop or not.

“Captain. I mean Captain. You can spank me and whip me until
the deck of your ship runs with blood, I will never beg!”

“Oh, you will beg, my pretty slave.”

His fingertips smoothed across her stinging ass, cool upon
her heated flesh. She shivered beneath his soft caress, desire flaring hot and
wet, even as fear rippled through her, tensing her muscles.

“You will beg for me to let you come, for me to end your
torture. You will beg for me to hit you, again and again, until you explode
from the ecstasy. And if you beg sweetly enough, I just might give you what you
need.”

He slapped her ass, hard enough to hurt instead of just
sting. Gayle’s knees buckled, and all of her weight rested on her chest and
stomach, stretched across the bench. Warmth trickled down her inner thigh. She
moaned, crushed beneath a landslide of fear and desire.

“No. Never,” she whispered.

“Have I not warned you not to contradict me? That merits
another twenty lashes with the cat.”

Gayle whimpered. He teased her with the body of lashes,
stroking them over her hot and swollen ass. Was he going to whip her there?

He lifted the hand holding her down. Oh, God, he was.

The cat smacked her ass, wrenching a cry from her. She
couldn’t endure twenty of those. She couldn’t.

“Seventeen. Eighteen.” The cat smacked the other side of her
ass, pulling another cry from her lips. “We never finished the first set.”

She moaned. She was going to die. Her entire body was on
fire, rivers of flame coursing through her veins with every pulse, driven by
the beating tempo of his strokes.

“Nineteen. Twenty.” He paused, and this time, it was the
cessation of blows that made her give a pained cry of helpless need.

Rikard inhaled deeply, his shuddering breath hinting that he
was growing as excited as she.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You begin to understand.”

The cat’s lashes landed on her shoulder blade, harder than
the previous blows, and spreading further. The tips swept outward from her
spine, then outward from her spine on the other side, as if Rikard was tracing
giant figure eights. Sometimes harder, sometimes softer, sometimes faster and
sometimes slower, he varied the whip’s caress so that she never knew what to
expect. Then she stopped trying, and just allowed herself to feel.

Sting. Smack. Pain. Heat. Pleasure, thick and heady, coiling
deep within. She began to grunt, low and guttural, with each blow.

Rikard paused, his gentle fingers stroking soft caresses
over her ass, reminding her that she was still delightfully sensitive there.

“Do not grunt like a pig,” he admonished. “God gave you a
voice. Use it. Sing for me.”

“I don’t understand.” She nearly cried, devastated that she
might not be able to please him.

“Relax your throat. Open your mouth. Hold in your mind the
sound of a perfect high C.”

The whip fell on her ass, and she released a high, shrill
note of pain and pleasure.

“That was more like an E-flat. But much better.”

She was being ravished by a pirate with perfect pitch.

Then his whip landed on her shoulder blades, and she cried
out in joy, careful to lower her tone a minor third. Again and again, the whip
stroked her with flaming lashes, and she sang out in need and hunger.

She waited, trembling in anticipation, but the whip did not
fall.

“That was twenty,” he said softly.

“No. Please. Don’t stop. I’m so close. Please. Don’t stop.”

“Are you begging?”

“Yes. Please. Whip me again. Please. I’m begging you.”

Rikard stroked her shoulders with trembling fingers, then smoothed
her skin with his gloved palms. Gayle was certain that he molded her body anew
out of sheets of living flame, holding her untouched in the center of the
blaze.

“Please, Captain. Please. Let me come. Don’t stop.”

“I can refuse you nothing when you sing.”

The whip fell again, and she sang. Slowly, relentlessly, she
climbed the scale, a quarter-step at a time like some strange Indian
modulation. Each blow drove her higher, deeper into the heat and flames,
surrounded by music that pulsed and rippled like nothing she’d ever heard
before. Finally, with a long, drawn-out A above high C, she climaxed,
shuddering and shaking as the orgasm thundered through her body like a surging
series of arpeggios.

And then the music claimed her, and she was gone.

* * * * *

Rikard smiled at the limp, sweat-soaked woman sprawled
across the whipping bench. He felt sated with power, relaxed and replete. Her
charming insistence that she would never beg had made him as hard as the
leather-wrapped handle of his whip, eager to prove her wrong. And her voice as
she came! Perfection.

His lips twisted, self-mockery spoiling the moment. His
proficiency in playing the human body had grown over the past two years, after
he realized the scar tissue in his left hand would never allow him to play the
piano again. Like a blind man whose hearing grows acute to compensate, he’d
been given another instrument to assuage his loss. Sometimes it helped.

Now, though, his ears were filled with Gayle’s slow rise to
that final, drawn-out note. His mind stacked chord progressions beneath, with a
series of descending sevenths in staccato triplets as counterpoints.

He freed her arms from the restraints, then lifted her up to
lay her on her side on the bench. Popping the recessed latch on the concealed
closet, he retrieved a thick white robe in soft French terry. The logo of some
hotel he no longer remembered was embroidered on the breast in gold thread.

Carefully, he wrapped her in the fluffy embrace of the robe.
She gave no sign of awareness, letting him dress her as if she was a rag doll.

Another thrill of power surged through him, stiffening his
cock. He’d well and thoroughly pleased her, his touch shooting her deep into
whatever place subs went when their minds left their bodies. If all went well,
when she woke, she’d be eager for sex. He didn’t always want sex with his
submissives. Often, the rush of dominating them was enough. But he wanted sex
with Gayle.

He’d take her from behind, the reddened marks of his
whipping visible on her pale, perfect skin as he thrust into her, again and
again, driving him into a frenzy until she came in a crying symphony of
delight.

But first, she needed to rest in warmth and safety. Swinging
her up into his arms, he carried her from the room.

He was almost at the doorway to the home theater when an
annoyingly chirped rendition of an old Motown classic stopped him in his
tracks. What the hell was that?

“Shit!” Gayle’s cell phone.

Rikard hurried into the kitchen. Placing Gayle’s limp body
in one of the chairs, he held her steady with one hand while he dumped her
purse out on the table. There!

Grabbing the chirping phone, he flipped it open and took the
call.

“Hello. Gayle can’t come to the phone right now.”

There was a moment of silence, followed by a woman’s accusing
voice demanding, “Where is she, and what have you done to her?”

“She’s right here, but she’s asleep. And as for what I did,
I’ll say she enjoyed it, and leave it at that.”

“I don’t believe you. Put Gayle on the phone.”

Rikard took a deep breath, and flipped the switch in his
mind that engaged the other new instrument he’d been gifted with after his
accident. He’d studied self-hypnosis as a way to manage the agonizing pain of
the third-degree burns, working with the visualizations his therapists suggested.
It hadn’t been very effective until he’d tried recording himself, and playing
back his spoken suggestions. Then it was surprisingly successful. Even more
surprisingly, he developed the ability to hypnotize others into sharing his
visualizations—or any other belief he wanted them to hold.

“Gayle is asleep,” he repeated, his voice vibrating with
hidden emphasis. “She is safe, and you have no cause for fear. Call back in an
hour, and she’ll speak to you then.”

“Well, if she’s really asleep, I suppose you shouldn’t wake
her. I’ll call back in an hour. But if I still can’t talk to her then, I’m
calling the cops!”

“You are a good friend to her. She will thank you for your
concern when she wakes.”

“She’d better.”

The phone went dead in his hand.

He dropped it onto the table, ignoring the scattered debris
from Gayle’s purse, and lifted her into his arms again. That had been close.
He’d sworn that she’d told her friend all was well and not to call again. Then
again, he hadn’t heard her entire conversation, just snippets between the
sizzles of the tuna steaks. It’s possible her friend had convinced her to
continue the calls. Or else, her friend had called back despite Gayle’s request
to leave them alone.

Carrying her into the home theater, he sighed. He wasn’t
sure how long she’d sleep, but it would probably be long enough that any sex
would have to wait until after her friend’s damnable follow-up call.

He kicked out the recliner, then settled into it with Gayle
cradled in his arms. She snuggled closer, her cheek resting just above his
heart. One-handed, he flipped the top of the built-in table, exposing the
storage area beneath housing his remote controls, as well as one of his
ever-present notepads of staff paper. After all, inspiration could strike
anywhere.

The DVD in the player spun up.
Amadeus
. Damn, he had
been feeling melancholy the last time he’d watched a movie, hadn’t he? Well, he
wasn’t about to get up and disturb Gayle’s sleep again. And you couldn’t argue
with the beauty of Mozart’s music. He’d just fast-forward through the bits with
Salieri falling into a suicidal depression because he’d been given the desire
to create music but not the ability.

He was smiling, nodding in time with the music, until he
reached the scene where Mozart attended a party, and was asked to play a piece
of music in the style of Bach. When that triumph was not enough, the party
guests flipped him on his back and demanded he play that way, reaching behind
his head to the keyboard. He did, gloriously, until his father’s ominous displeasure
ruined everything.

Rikard thumbed the DVD off, his throat tight and his eyes
burning. He’d once tried that trick at a party. Had it been the tour in Munich?
Although not on a par with Mozart’s movie performance, he’d done a credible
job.

He’d had a gift, and he’d wasted it, playing tricks at
parties. What he wouldn’t give to just once be able to play the piano again, to
let his soul fly free on the waves of sound, and carry the audience with him to
heights they’d never dreamed existed. Hell, he’d play in a deserted basement,
as long as the piano was in tune. But that would never happen. The scarring on
his left hand had damaged his extensor tendons. He could hit the notes just
fine, but he couldn’t lift his fingers away from the keys, not at anything approaching
the right speed.

Softly, he began singing the Sondheim melody he’d played for
Beth earlier. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of the music he could no
longer play. It had been his life, his heart and his soul. Sometimes, he
thought it would be easier if he could just forget. But that way lay madness
and death. If he ever lost the memories as well as the music, he knew it would
kill him. A man may be able to live with a blade of ice imbedded in his heart,
but he could not withstand the removal of his soul.

* * * * *

Gayle woke slowly, aware of warmth and a soft thudding
drumbeat. And music. Rikard was humming softly to himself, occasionally
punctuated by “No, that’s not right”, or “Yes, that’s it”. A pencil scratched
frantically across paper.

Awareness returned to her body. She was sitting curled on
his lap, wearing something heavy yet soft, her cheek pressed to his chest. His
left hand was cupped loosely around her hip. Her ass throbbed in time with her
pulse, still sensitive from the thorough whipping and spanking he’d given her.

Experimentally, she rolled her shoulders. No stiffness
there, although she could feel the muscles, like the burn of pressing a stretch
when working out.

Rikard’s humming stopped.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No, that’s all right. I was just waiting for you to wake
up.”

Gayle sat up, hissing as her weight rolled onto her ass. The
brief flash of pain was followed by a delicious warmth, spreading out over her
skin while at the same time spiraling deep to ignite the slumbering desire
within her. She wriggled on his lap, stoking the flames.

He inhaled sharply, and tightened his grip on her hip,
holding her still. She recognized the firm pressure against the back of her
thigh as his suddenly hard cock.

“I don’t have any condoms in this room. And if you keep that
up, I’m not going to remember why I need to go get them.”

She froze at the low threat in his voice, more than the
words he used. When she remained still, his hold loosened and he released his
breath in a soft gust.

“Thank you.”

Careful to move only her head, she glanced around the room.
They were no longer in the playroom. He’d carried her downstairs, to the
reclining couch in the home theater.

Her glance dipped down to the fluffy white robe she was
wearing. The breast was embroidered in gold thread with a fat bird. A bird
wearing antennae. At least that’s what it looked like upside down. She
struggled to read the scrolling print beneath.
L’ Perdrix
. That didn’t
help.

She flicked her gaze upwards to Rikard, meaning to ask him
about the logo. His blue eyes watched her from within the dark depths of his
black mask.

“You’re still wearing your mask.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re still Master Rikard, and not just Rikard?” She
couldn’t explain the sadness this caused. After all, Master Rikard was the one
who had given her the best orgasm of her life in the kitchen, then topped that
with the full-body meltdown of ecstasy in the playroom.

Maybe that was it. Master Rikard was about the sex. Held
close in his arms, cuddled and cared for, she wanted an emotional connection.
If it had been Rikard holding her, she’d have thought that’s what he wanted,
too. But it wasn’t Rikard. It was Master Rikard who held her on his lap while
his cock pressed hard and solid against her thigh. Master Rikard who wasn’t
done with her yet.

Her breath quickened, her breasts tensing and tightening
despite herself. He was watching her reaction carefully. When her breathing
shifted, he slipped his gloved hand between the folds of her robe, the black
leather dramatic against the fluffy white terry.

His warm hand cupped one of her breasts, his thumb rubbing
gently across the nipple. Gayle arched into his touch with a sigh, her eyes
closing to focus all her attention on the feel of his hand upon her. Her nipple
tightened even further, to a hard point.

He tugged lightly with his thumb and forefinger, ripping a
gasp from her lips. Her hips bounced without conscious volition, pulling an
equally sharp gasp from him. His cock dug into the soft flesh of her thigh.

“Where are those condoms?” she asked.

“Upstairs, in the guest bedroom. But we can’t go up just
yet. Your friend will be calling soon, and she’ll be distressed if you don’t
answer the phone.”

Gayle blinked. “How did you know…?”

“She already called once, while you were asleep.”

The blood drained from her face. “Oh my God! What did you
say? What did she say?”

“It’s fine. I told her you were sleeping, and she promised
to call back in an hour.”

“An hour? How long was I out?”

“Forty, forty-five minutes. Something like that.”

“Wow.”

He tugged on her nipple again, soothing and inflaming her at
the same time. Gently, he untied the belt on her robe, and pushed the collar
off her shoulders, exposing her body to his gaze. His hand stroked her thigh
and hip beneath the robe, then glided up her rib cage to once again cup her
breast, while his head bent, and he pressed a soft kiss to the pulse point in
her neck.

She shivered and moaned. Reaching up, she thrust her fingers
into his thick blond hair, clutching his head and pressing his mouth against
her neck.

Rikard stiffened, just long enough for her to fear she’d
done something wrong, before he relaxed and resumed kissing and licking her
neck. His hand dropped away from her breast, making her whimper softly in
disappointment. He chuckled softly, the sound rolling through her like a wave
of pure delight.

“I’m not stopping,” he whispered. “Just moving us to the
kitchen, so we’re not unduly interrupted by your friend’s call.”

He slipped his arm beneath her thighs. Then, with a fluid
surge of graceful power, he rose with Gayle in his arms. He carried her through
the house, into the kitchen, and sat down at the table. Her purse was upended,
with the contents strewn across the glass tabletop. She had a brief spike of
worry. Was there anything in her purse she’d have preferred him not to see?
Although, since her cell phone was sitting on top of the pile, she doubted he’d
looked at anything else.

Then he lowered his head, this time covering her breast with
his mouth. His tongue swirled around the tight nipple, then he tugged lightly
on it with his teeth. She groaned, already hot and wet for him.

His fingers stroked up her thigh, making soft circles that
drove her insane with need. Then he slipped his hand higher, slicking his
fingers between her folds.

She moaned, letting her legs fall open, encouraging him to
touch her deeper.

“Are you going to fist me again?” she asked breathlessly.

“Would you like that?”

“Oh, yes. Please.”

“Then I will. But you must take your friend’s call when it
comes. Even if my hand is all the way inside you, and you’re writhing with
pleasure, you must take the call. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Master Rikard.” She’d promise anything to feel him
inside her again.

He stroked the circle of her opening with his fingers,
probing with first one, then two. “You’re not ready, yet.”

The leg supporting her jiggled, bouncing her up and down,
awakening her sensitive ass. Gayle moaned, and felt the change in his touch as
his gloved fingers became coated in her fluids. He found her clit with his
thumb, and worked her, swirling around the thickening bud, then brushing back
and forth across the tip, and finally pressing against it.

She gasped, and his fingers slid inside her.

“Now you’re ready,” he whispered.

Licking and kissing the tender tip of one breast, he built
her to a frenzy of need, then scraped his teeth across her nipple. When the
wave rippled through her, he slipped a third finger inside her. Shifting
position slightly, he turned his attention to her other breast, and repeated
the process. This time when the wave broke, he slid a fourth finger through her
opening.

He moved on to kiss and lick her neck, sensitizing her pulse
points with openmouthed kisses then blowing lightly across the damp skin to
make her shiver with need. Each time, his fingers pressed ever so slightly
further into her. His fingers were in her up to the second joint, his thumb
stroking her opening preparatory to joining them. Then the phone rang.

She didn’t recognize the cheerful chirping at first, focused
on the feelings coursing through her body.

“Answer it,” Rikard ordered.

Gayle fumbled for the phone and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Gayle! Are you okay? Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine.” She gasped as Rikard’s thumb joined his
fingers, stretching her even further. He wasn’t planning on stopping his
assault while she was on the phone.

A rush of wet warmth filled her, at how completely he
controlled her body and its response. His hand slipped further inside, almost
up to the knuckles, and Gayle moaned with pleasure.

“What’s going on? Are you sure you’re okay?” Carrie
demanded. She sounded ready to hop on a plane and check out the situation in
person if Gayle didn’t give her the answers she was looking for.

“What’s going on is we’re having sex, okay? Hot, sweaty,
kinky sex. And your call came right in the middle of it. Stop calling me. I’ll
phone you when I get home, and we can talk then.”

Carrie was silent for so long, Gayle was afraid they’d lost
the connection, then Carrie said softly, “I’m sorry. I was worried about you. I
didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, Carrie, I’m the one who’s sorry. You’re the best friend
ever, and I know I asked you to call. But your timing stinks! I’m halfway out
of my head with what Master Rikard is doing to me. I can’t talk now.”