Cassian
Control yourself, for fuck’s sake, Cassian. "First rule," I murmured, leaning slightly closer to reach for the keys. I saw the visible shiver that ran down her spine as my shoulder brushed against hers. "Relax your shoulders. You can’t play if you’re tenser than the piano wire."
"I’m... I’m relaxed," she muttered, staring straight ahead at the sheet music resting on the stand.
A quiet chuckle escaped my throat one that made her breath hitch again in surprise. Well...even I was surprised that I literally chuckled at this point.
"Liar," I said smoothly. Without thinking, I lifted my hand and rested my fingers gently against the small of her back, applying just enough pressure to guide her posture forward.
Elvie went completely still, her chest heaving as she let out a shaky exhale. Through the thin fabric of her shirt, her skin felt warm against my palm. My thumb twitched, wanting nothing more than to slip beneath the hem and trace the delicate curve of her spine.
I forced my hand back down to the keys before I lost my head entirely. "Hands on the keys," I instructed, my voice surprisingly steady despite the fire racing through my blood. "Let me show you."
**
"Place your index finger right here," I instructed , tapping the middle C key. She nodded, placing her small finger on the ivory.
Over the next twenty minutes, the initial stiffness between us slowly melted away. I guided her through basic scales and simple finger placement, watching closely as her initial fear gave way to genuine focus. Soon enough, she stopped flinching whenever my frame leaned in close to adjust her hand. She was so absorbed in getting the notes right that she barely even noticed our shoulders continually bumping together, or the way the side of her leg brushed against mine every time she shifted.
I, on the other hand, was acutely aware of every single point of contact.
My eyes kept sliding to the side of her face—the long sweep of her lashes, the bite of her lower lip when she missed a key, and the soft flush on her cheeks.
I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. The raw, heavy attraction burning in my chest was undeniable, but it felt dangerously wrong.
It wasn’t just the professional boundary of being her professor. It was the history. She was young, and I had known of her existence since she was practically a kid running around Norman’s house. Crossing this line felt like playing with fire, yet every time she breathed, the flame only grew hotter.
"Cassian?"
Her quiet voice snapped me out of my trance.
I blinked, pulling my gaze back up to her wide, dark eyes.
She had stopped playing, her hands resting on the keys as she looked at me with genuine curiosity. "Why didn’t you become a full-time pianist? You’re so good at it. Honestly... you’re a really good teacher, too."
A dark, dangerous thought instantly tore through my mind. A good teacher? God, Elvie, if you only knew the kind of lessons I want to teach you.
My mind flashed with dirty, unbidden images. Teaching her how to surrender beneath me, guiding her hands somewhere far more sinful than piano keys, breaking through all that sweet innocence until she was gasping my name.
I swallowed the sudden dryness in my throat, forcing my expression to remain perfectly cool as I leaned in just a fraction closer.
"Is that so?" I asked, my voice lowering into a quiet, velvet rasp. "And what kind of lessons do you think I’m best at?"
Elvie’s lips parted slightly and her eyes darted down to my lips before locking back onto mine.
"The art ones, of course,"
A slow smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I realized how innocent her mind was compared to the filthy thoughts racing through mine.
"I want to see you paint," I said, changing the subject before my self-control completely snapped.
Elvie looked down at her hands, a hesitant look crossing her face. "I... I mostly just sketch lately. I’m not very good at actual oil painting yet. I still need a lot of practice."
"Then practice here," I said simply, gesturing to the open space around the easels. "You can come into the study whenever you want to paint."
For the first time since she had arrived at my house, a genuine, radiant smile broke across her face, showing a glimpse of her white teeth and lighting up her entire countenance. My heart gave a heavy, unfamiliar thud in my chest.
"Thank you, sir—I mean... thank you, Cassian. But... can I play the piano, too?" She caught herself instantly, her cheeks flushing deeper.
Every rational part of my brain screamed at me to say no. The only reason I had invited her onto this bench in the first place was because my mind was messing with me, desperate for any excuse to keep her from walking out that door. Having her in this room regularly was a terrible idea.
"Sure," I found myself saying anyway, utterly defeated by the hopeful spark in her dark eyes. "You can. But only when I’m not working."
She nodded quickly, her smile lingering. "Alright then. Thank you. Goodnight, Cassian."
"Goodnight," I muttered softly.
She gathered her new paints and the canvas, turning around to head out. The moment the warmth of her body left my side, a cold emptiness settled over the bench. I couldn’t stop my eyes from tracing the gentle sway of her hips beneath the jeans she wore as she walked toward the door.
The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone in the silent room.
"Fuck!" I cursed aloud, leaning back against the bench and dragging a hand down my face.
I looked down at the prominent front of my trousers, where a heavy, persistent ache throbbed against the fabric. I had gotten a full, agonizing hard-on simply from having her sit beside me for twenty minutes. This was going to be pure torture.