I come home at half past midnight to a silent, pitch black house, and my fucker of an old friend, Regret, knees me in the balls because Sienna’s already in bed. After I flick on the light switches in the foyer, I find myself standing at her closed door, the faint scent of her apple perfume washing over me like poison.
“Fuck,” I growl through my teeth. I’d spent the last two hours at some strip joint with Wyatt and Cal thinking of nothing but her, and now that I’m so close I’m reminded of everything I’ve promised I wouldn’t do. No, I won’t touch her—not until she asks, and I won’t take her to bed until she’s begging me to—but that won’t stop this need.
It just makes it so much worse.
Silently, I take the stairs to the master bedroom. I keep my gaze fixated away from the bed because all I’ll imagine is what Sienna’d look like there—naked and damp, with her wrists pinned down by my hands and the black blankets bunched up between her fingers.
She’s gotten under my skin. To the point that not even a hot shower and music-fucking-therapy will help me
But I decide to try both anyway.
I stay in the shower until the water runs cold, and I’m still partially wet when I drag on a pair of jeans. By the time I grab my notebook from its spot under the mattress and head downstairs, to the music room, it’s one a.m. For a long time, I stare at the door because I want to go back upstairs, to Sienna. I want to wake her up and feel her wrap those long legs around me.
It’s this want that finally fuels me, forcing me to turn around on the bench. The first lines come easily, followed by the music, and before I know it, my fingers are on the keys.
I’m so into it, so oblivious to anything but what I’m writing and playing, that I don’t realize she’s down here with me until I hear her breath catch.
All of my muscles tighten into knots, but I make myself relax. I don’t have a goddamn choice. She doesn’t need to see what she does to me, so I don’t look up to take in the sight of her right away. Bending forward, I glide my pen over the page, writing out what I need from Sienna.
“You know what I need to hear,
Beg me to consume you tonight.”
I stare at the words until they blur together and only then do I toss the pen onto the music stand and lift my gaze. She leans against the doorway, with all that red hair falling over one of her thin shoulders and nothing but a tiny robe covering that body I want to slide inside of. The corners of my mouth twist into something like a smile just as my dick grows hard.
“I didn’t call for you,” I tell her. “What do you want?”
Her blue eyes dip to the floor and a delicious flush slinks up her bare legs, disappearing under the hem of her robe. “I didn’t realize you played,” she says in a breathless voice I need to hear over and over again as she digs her fingernails into my shoulders.
“Google is your friend.” The moment I say it, though, I feel like a dick. When she turns to go, I panic. “Stay. I don’t want to . . .”
Let you go.
Go to sleep with another fucking regret that revolves around you.
Sienna pauses, gives me a tiny nod of her head, and turns around, walking toward me in slow, unsure steps. Seeing her like this sends hundreds of thoughts spiraling through my head, and I reach out for my notebook.
“How long do you need me for?” she asks when she comes beside the piano. I don’t answer her until I’m finished writing, and when I lift my eyes up the length of her body, she crosses her arms protectively over her chest.
“Long as it takes,” I answer.
I cock an eyebrow. She doesn’t want the answer to that, even if she has always begged me for honesty, so I turn my attention down to the keyboard and began playing. When I start to sing—when I say “I’m going to fuck you with every light on”—she makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat.
After I finish, I find her eyes again. “Well?” It’s never mattered with anyone else, but I give a shit what Sienna thinks. I always will.
She traces the tip of her tongue over her lips, causing my back to straighten. She’s got to know she’s screwing with me. There’s no way in hell she doesn’t realize what she does to me, no matter how innocent she seems. “The end is wrong. Too happy. It should be this,” she says, bending until her hair is in my face, teasing me with its fucking apple scent. She replays the last few measures and looks at me, her big blue eyes waiting.
“You play?” I demand, and a smile flirts at the corners of her pink lips.
“Google is your friend, Wolfe.”
My words don’t sound nearly as amusing coming from her, and I get up and point down. “Play it again.”
She doesn’t go against me like she normally would. Instead she moves close to the piano and plays the ending once more. I don’t want her to stop.
“Again. Slower. And this time, close your eyes,” I growl.
And when she does I take a step toward her, until I can feel the heat coming from the back of her body. She hits a flat note. I hear her teeth sliding together, but before I can admonish her and tell her to stop grinding them, she sighs nervously.
“This is when you tell me to have sex with you and then make me run out for Cheetos to cure your munchies, right?”
I laugh, despite wanting nothing more than to bend her over right here. “Cheetos fucking suck,” I say, my breath fanning the hair at the nape of her neck. “And you know what you have to do for me to have sex with you.”
She jams both hands down and looks back into my eyes. “Since you don’t need me, can I go to bed, Mr. Wolfe?”
No. Because I don’t want to let you go tonight. I narrow my eyes and give her a cool reply, “Abso-fucking-lutely not. Look Sienna . . . all you’ve got to do is say the words.”
“And what would those be?”
“Take me all the way, Lucas,” I say, mocking her soft accent. I lean my face down so that our lips just about touch. I need to taste her. “And that’s what you’re going to say the first time we fuck. My name. Just Lucas.”
“Fuck you, Lucas,” she hisses, drawing a half-grin from me. She looks like she’s about to say something else, but then her mouth is all over mine, and I’ve got no other choice but to shove my tongue between her lips, claiming her.
When I clench my hands by my side, she releases a frustrated groan.
“Your hands . . . I want your hands touching me from now on,” she moans.
I pull her to me before she’s got a chance to change her mind. My fingers devour her body, not stopping until I find the space between her long legs that’s already slick. She shudders as I press my palm against her panties. She’s so wet. And she’s mine.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
I pull back and stare down into her eyes. “I want to take you all the way, and I know you want me inside of you. Say the words,” I urge.
Sienna shakes her head to each side. “No.” But it’s not what she means—I can fucking tell, because she shudders and squeezes her eyes together when I glide my knuckle back and forth across the center of the skimpy cotton fabric I could rip apart with just my thumb and forefinger.
“You sure?” I question. She nods, and my throat tightens. “Turn around, and play. Same as before and don’t stop.”
She complies, leaning over the keys and playing the melody slowly, her forehead knitted together in concentration. I must take her off guard the moment I push my fingers inside of her panties and rub my thumb across her clit because she lets out a harsh gasp. I grin and carefully glide a finger into her body, gripping her ass with my other hand when she tightens herself around me.
God, she feels so fucking good.
She bucks her hips and glances frantically over her shoulder at me, but I shake my head. “Don’t. Stop,” I growl.
Sienna’s got to be the most talented person I’ve ever met because she keeps playing, not stopping even when I glide another finger into her or when I circle my thumb around her center and she’s left clenching her teeth. It’s only after she comes undone a few moments later that she falls against the keys and relaxes her body against mine.
I bury my fingers into her robe to keep from touching her again.
Or from spanking her.
When her breathing finally slows down, she pushes her hair back from her forehead and turns a little to meet my stare. “Lucas, I want you—”
I know what she’s about to say—she’s going to ask me to fuck her. But I also know she’s not ready to give me everything. And no matter how bad I want her in that bed upstairs tonight, I need all of her before I take her under.
“Go to bed, Sienna,” I say, cutting her words off. Reluctantly, I pull my fingers away from the warmth of her body, making her shudder once again.
She turns to face me, her movements slow and controlled. “No.”
This is the first time she’s put up much of an argument with me tonight, and I grit my teeth into a tight smile. “Let’s try this the way you’re familiar with then: Get the fuck out. I need to work and like I’ve told you before, you’re fucking horrible for music.”
A look of pain crosses her beautiful, flushed face, but she immediately puts on an emotionless mask. It doesn’t matter because I already feel the regret. Sienna’s got a way of pulling every emotion from me and making me feel, and I hate it. She gives me a quick nod and is already slinking toward the door when she mutters, “Good night, Mr. Wolfe.”
My eyes follow her, and I find myself staring at the doorway yet again. I want her to come back, or for me to pull my shit together and go after her, but finally, I slam down onto the piano bench and open my notebook. I manage to write the title of the new song across the top of the page before I break the pen in half because of that fucking regret that seems to be the story of me and Si: