My Sweet Songbird: Requested Trilogy - Part Three Page 4

  The way he’s stalking toward me has my heart pounding with fear. I keep trying to get away, scrambling backward along the floor, slipping and sliding on the material of my dress, but there is nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

  “No,” he corrects. “Master is what my father’s girls call him. I don’t want to be reminded of that fool when I’m with you. Call me Maestro.”

  “Please,” I beg, my hand involuntarily going to my neck. “Please don’t hurt me again.”

  “Again?” He laughs, but instead of the carefree one of before, this one is filled with malice. “I barely touched you last night. I was being nice, trying to prove to my father that I could control myself, but I’ve had enough.” He grabs a fistful of my hair and my hands fly up to relieve some of the pressure on my scalp as he drags me along the floor. “I’m going to do things my way now because clearly you’re not learning. Ryker’s training was useless. I should have known better than to let someone else do what only I can do.”

  He drags me back over to the piano and releases my hair to pull a strip of material out of his pocket. Yanking me to my feet, he turns me around and twists my arms behind my back, wrapping the silk around my wrists over and over until they are painfully tight. Jerking me to face him, he pulls me flush against his hard body, tilting his head to hiss into my ear.

  “Perhaps you prefer something more modern, something darker, my sweet songbird.”

  Grabbing the neckline of my dress, he rips it down the middle, freeing my breasts and exposing my nakedness. “That’s better,” he says, running his tongue over my collarbone. “Now I can see you. I can taste you.”

  Sitting back on the piano stool, he claps his hands together and yells, “Lights!” into the silence. The room falls into darkness save for a single spotlight illuminating the piano. Some of the light splashes over my body, causing my skin to glow with its reflection.

  Sebastian begins to play. He thumps down on the keys, bold and loud chords that strike fear in my heart. He looks over at me once before closing his eyes and playing the higher notes over and over, accented by the vibrations of the bass. As the tune turns almost gentle, my skin prickles with goosebumps, the softer sounds entering my mind and reverberating through me, filling me with dread for what’s to come once the music stops. As my heart races, his playing grows louder before slowing to its end. And then there’s nothing but the echo of the final note.

  I’m trembling, my nipples peaked with fear, my skin prickled in terror. Without realizing it, I’ve closed my eyes, too scared to open them and find his ice-cold gaze staring into my soul.

  Then I hear the scrape of his chair and I drop to my knees, head down, kneeling in submission, hoping my actions will appease him. His steps echo loudly as he walks toward me. His finger presses under my chin, urging me to look up at him.

  “Look at me.” His voice is commanding but more gentle than it was before.

  Lifting my eyes slowly, they travel from his shiny black shoes, over his perfectly pressed pants, his dark shirt that magnificently embraces his sculptured body, to the open buttons which show just a hint of his marble skin, and finally to his eyes. The ones that gleam in the darkness. The ones that are so cold, and yet they burn.

  “Yes, Maestro.” My voice is just a whisper in the silence.

  He cups my cheek, running his thumb over my jaw before dipping it into my mouth. He forces his thumb to the back of my throat, making me gag, before pulling it out and running his hand down the material of my dress, yanking it open further.

  “Good, my little songbird, very good,” he says. “This is all I ask of you. Obedience. Submission.”

  He steps behind me, his body pressing to my back, his hands wrapping around my waist and traveling up to cup each breast. He stays like that massaging my flesh, twisting and pulling on my nipples, rolling them between his finger and thumb, causing something to stir deep down and moisture to pool between my legs. Sebastian pushes closer and I feel the thickness of him between my restrained hands. He rotates his hips, grinding into me and I close my eyes, wanting to take myself away. There is nothing but the sound of his breathing and mine. But the darkness takes me back to that night with Marcel. He stood behind me in the same way. Rubbing himself against me, his fingers exploring my body.

  I jerk my eyes back open and lock them on the bloom of light on the piano. One of Sebastian’s hands snakes down my body, over my stomach and between my legs. He groans, the vibrations dancing over the skin of my neck.

  “So wet,” he murmurs. “You’re so wet for me.”

  A single tear rolls down my cheek at the spoken truth. Even though I’m begging my body to stop betraying me, the way it responds to his touch is nothing but treachery.

  But at least it is better than pain.

  His finger rubs over my clit before sliding further and slipping inside. I gasp, and his cock pulses in my hand. He jolts his hips, driving into me as he finger-fucks me, moans of pleasure falling from his lips.

  His hands leave momentarily as he fumbles with his pants, pulling them down and stepping out of them before coming back to me, his naked cock now rubbing against my fingers. “Spread your legs. Lean into me,” he says as his fingers find me again.

  I do what I’m told, not wanting to risk his wrath and he pushes another finger inside, plunging them in and out, my moisture making a squelching sound that joins the music of our breathing.

  “Touch me,” he orders, pushing himself harder against me. “Take me in your hands. Grip me.”

  Swallowing my resistance, I wrap my fingers around his steel and he uses the friction to wank himself.

  “I was going to show you pain, my songbird, add some rawness to the sweetness of your voice, but your submission has softened my heart. I want you to come for me. I want to feel your release on my fingers and then I’m going to lick them clean.”

  His fingers are inside me. His palm pushes against my clit. But it’s the sound of his voice that sends me over the edge. So dark. So seductive. So wrong.

  Tightness coils. It builds and builds until pleasure erupts, spreading through my body likes sparks of fireworks lighting the night sky.

  I cry when I come. Giant tears roll down my cheeks and splatter onto my breasts. His fingers disappear, leaving me feeling empty with the loss of them.

  “Good girl, my sweet songbird.” His lips brush over my ear and then the sound of his sucking replaces his words as he licks his fingers clean. His cock pulses between my fingers as he works himself between them, his hips rocking back and forth. I hear him inhale, holding his breath as his tempo increases and then he convulses, shooting warm liquid over my hands.

  Gripping my shoulders, he twists me around, crashing his lips against mine. I taste myself on him as he claims my mouth, moaning as the last of his release smears across my stomach.

  Then he pulls back, gripping my chin between his finger and thumb, and demanding I look at him.

  A slow smile spreads over his face. “What do you say?”

  “Thank you, Maestro.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  MIA

  I stand at the window and look out over the blades of grass blowing in the breeze. There is a horse in the paddock today. One that is dappled with gray. It has a dark mane which it tosses as it runs, circling the edges of the field, running the length of the fences over and over. Occasionally it stops and whinnies into the air, head thrown back and hoofs stamping at the ground. It longs to be free.

  I know how it feels.

  Sebastian sits on his throne, one leg draped over the armrest of the chair. “You haven’t sung for me, yet.” He inspects his fingers, turning them over repeatedly before looking back up. “You will tonight.”

  “Yes, Maestro,” I say, my eyes still stuck on where the horse sings to the breeze.

  My stomach growls loudly and I cover it with my hands as though it will stop the sound from escaping. I’m so hungry my stomach twists in pain. All I’ve been allowed since I arrived is a few glasses of
water.

  Getting to his feet, he steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and embracing me as though he cares. “You must be starving.” He takes my hand and tugs, spinning me to face him. “Come on, it’s time for dinner.”

  I want to cry with relief; instead, I give him a hesitant smile, and he beams back at me, reaching out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. His eyes fall to my mouth and he leans forward, hovering his lips over mine, waiting for me to make the final move. I tilt forward, pressing my lips to his and he sighs into my mouth before breaking the kiss and tugging me toward the door.

  “Let’s go.”

  The way to the dining room is just as confusing as it was to the music room. Hallways and doorways dart off in varying directions and there seems to be no pattern to the ones which Sebastian chooses. But occasionally I get a glimpse of a staircase that climbs up the center of the mansion, the main thoroughfare for people to navigate the house. If I could make it there, I could find my way out. But if I make it there, it would also increase the likelihood of being seen. It’s only when we’re on the bottom floor and we pass the bottom of the grandiose staircase that I actually see the main entrance to the house. It is gilded in gold and white. A stuffed horse elevated on a platform stands in the middle, the name Grace displayed on a plaque on the bottom. Large paintings cover the walls and detailed ornaments sit in the hidden alcoves. Sebastian drags me past it all, his eyes firmly ahead, not acknowledging the beauty around him. It amazes me that people live in such places as this. It reminds me more of a museum than a house, each treasure lit for maximum exposure.

  I’m craning my neck around, up and down, trying to take it all in when we enter the dining room. A large table, almost as long and narrow as the room, sits in the middle of the floor. A man with under wrinkled and over-tanned skin sits at the head, while a severely beautiful lady sits to his side. She’s the woman from one of the photos of Sebastian. The one with ice-blonde hair and eyes paler than her son’s. Those eyes turn to me, starting at my feet and lifting slowly until they meet my gaze. One brow lifts in what I assume is surprise, but it’s hard to tell. She is breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair is pulled into a tight bun on top of her head. Her make-up is dark and dramatic. She wears the faintest of gray outfits which match her eyes.

  His father, the Mr Atterton I’ve only heard about but never seen, looks over, boredom showing in his expression as his son pulls out the chair beside his mother and motions for me to sit next to him. It seems odd that we would sit down to a family meal. Strange to be expected to do something so normal.

  An array of food is spread over the table, entirely too much for the number of people present, and my mouth waters at the sight. My stomach gurgles again and Mr Atterton’s eyes float over me lazily.

  “Dear,” Sebastian’s mother says, nodding slightly in greeting. “What, may I ask, is she doing here, hmmm?”

  “We’re here for dinner, Mother. It is dinner time, is it not?”

  Sebastian senior grunts and nods to the waiter to begin serving his meal. I sit next to Sebastian junior and the smell of the food drifts over. I inhale deeply, wishing I could just reach out and grab one of the dinner rolls sitting so temptingly in front of me and stuff it into my mouth.

  “Yes, my dear, it is.” Mrs Atterton smiles tightly at the waiter as he re-fills her glass with wine. “But we don’t allow whores at the table.” She takes a sip of the blood-red liquid.

  Beside me, Sebastian draws in a deep breath, his chest rising, and then he holds it in for a few moments before letting it out slowly and turning to his mother.

  “She is not a whore.” His words are clipped and tight as though rage is bubbling just under the surface and he is doing his best to keep it contained.

  His mother takes another sip, the food the waiter placed on her plate ignored. “I’m sorry,” she purrs. “Would you prefer me to refer to her as a slut, hmm? Or maybe a harlot, a wanton woman, or a skank?”

  “That’s a little hypocritical, is it not, my dear?” Mr Atterton peers at her over invisible glasses.

  The tremor of Sebastian’s hand vibrates through the table as he grips it. “Yes,” he says between gritted teeth. “We’ve all seen the way you fawn over Ryker, running your hands all over him like a pet.”

  My throat closes at the mention of Ryker and my breath leaves my chest.

  His mother’s voice remains impassive, her features perfectly arranged into blankness. “And yet you don’t see me locking him up purely for my pleasure now, do you? I prefer my animals wild, not caged, my dear.”

  Ryker and Sebastian’s mother? A small wave of nausea washes over me but I’m too hungry to care.

  Sebastian’s chair falls to the ground as he gets to his feet. “Mia! We’re leaving.” Grabbing my elbow, he yanks me upward. My eyes dart over the food as he begins to drag me away. My hand pounces on a dinner roll and I grab it hungrily and grip it between my fingers.

  “How dare she!” Sebastian seethes as he hauls me down the hallway.

  I shove the roll between my teeth so I can use both my hands to hold the material of my skirt off the ground and not stumble as he pulls me behind him. He jerks me, tugging my elbow as we wind our way through the house. I chew on the bread, swallowing painfully but savoring the feeling of something sliding down my throat and filling my empty stomach. The dark eyes of his family bore down on me as he drags me along a hallway I’ve never been along before. Or, at least, I don’t think I have.

  A dark shadow appears before us and Sebastian growls. “Move the fuck out of the way.” The figure ducks into a hallway to allow us by and, as I’m dragged past, I catch a glimpse of his ocean-eyes.

  “Ryker?” I stop, barely believing my eyes. “You’re here? You’re okay?” Without thinking, I reach out and stroke his face, pushing my fingers through the strands of his beard.

  His eyes bounce between mine, a storm of emotions battling for control. “Mia?” His hand hovers in the air, wanting to touch, but his gaze flicks to Sebastian and I tense, the cold feeling of terror creeping up my spine.

  “Don’t fucking touch her.” Sebastian slides between us, his body a hard wall of disdain. His hand still grips my elbow tightly, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arm so hard it feels like they’ve drawn blood.

  I lock eyes with Ryker over Sebastian’s shoulder. He chews his bottom lip, his eyes jumping between us before a smirk covers his face and he holds his hands up.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Although his hands are lifted in surrender, everything about his stance claims otherwise. His chest is puffed wide, his shoulders broader and larger than Sebastian’s. The smirk that covers his face is one of arrogance, not defeat, but he’s careful to keep his gaze away from me, choosing instead to lock it on Sebastian. They stand like that for a while, glaring at each other, their bodies both tight and taut, lusting for a fight.

  Just the sight of Ryker makes my heart sing. I want to race to him, wrap my arms around his neck and lose myself in his kiss. I want to melt into his embrace, cower in his arms and stay there forever. I want his fingers to trace patterns over my skin and his tongue to lick my flesh until I beg for more. I want him. All of him. Any of him.

  “Well? Are you just going to keep standing here or am I free to continue on my merry way?”

  Sebastian’s face twists with hatred. “Stay away from her.”

  Ryker lifts his hands higher as he winks, as though the thought would never enter his mind.

  Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “And don’t go running to my father telling tales, either. She’s none of your business anymore. Remember who you are. Remember who I am.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ryker claps him on the shoulder. “I won’t say a word.”

  ryker

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RYKER

  I wake to the sound of beeping. It’s a small but constant beep. A repetitive blip through the haze of my mind. Light floods my vision, making everything blurry. I blin
k a few times, waiting for my world to come into focus, but it remains obscured, only dark and light shapes, nothing defined.

  “He appears to be waking,” a female voice says.

  “Mia?” Her name comes out as barely more than a croak and I swallow, my mouth dry and my saliva thick.

  “I’ll take it from here. Go fetch the doctor, would you?”

  There’s a squeak of shoes against linoleum, the sound of curtain rings pulled across a rail, and then the click of a door shutting.

  “Ryker?”

  I blink a few more times for my eyes to adjust and try to lift my hand to wipe them, but something is restricting it, holding it tight against my chest.

  Senior’s face blocks the overhead light. “How are you feeling?”

  “Confused.” I try to pull myself up on the bed, pushing off with the one hand that works, but my body is heavy. Rubbing my free hand over my face, I’m surprised to find a drip inserted in my arm. My memories are fuzzy. They’re there, but the edges are slippery, confusing me. “What happened?”

  “The bitch stabbed you, that’s what happened.” Senior chuckles and walks over to the window, cracking it open. “It’s hot in here, don’t you think? Too stuffy.” He loosens his collar.

  I can’t tell if it’s hot or cold. My body just feels weighed down in the bed, slow to respond to my wishes. Closing my eyes, I think back to lying on the floor of the cell, the blade stuck at an awkward angle in my shoulder, and completely unable to move my body.

  “Did she get away?”

  Mr Atterton paces in front of the window. “Don’t you worry yourself about that. You just worry about getting better.”

  I attempt to sit up again but fail miserably and lie back on the bed. “I’m sorry I let you down, sir. You trusted me, and I didn’t live up to your expectations.”