Derek pulled back with a smirk. "I thought so. You want me to use you, don't you? You need an excuse, right?"
"Derek, I..."
He backed Layla up toward the piano, his movements full of intent. Every nerve in her body on fire with a need to be touched by this man. Just one more time.
Just one more time and maybe she'd have enough of him. Maybe, finally then he'd realize he had enough of her.
"No. I'm done with trying to talk to you. That's never been what you really wanted. It took me awhile, but I finally see that." Derek's jaw ticked. "I'll be your excuse. I'm fine with that."
Her back hit the edge of the piano near the keyboard. Derek pushed the bench out of the way with a booted foot and stood before her, pinning her against the dark brown wood. He was so close, she had to arch her back to look up at him.
"You don't know what I want." Her voice came out all husky, and he smirked again.
"I don't?" Derek cupped her sex with one hand, rubbing the heel of his hand over the flesh that concealed her clit before giving her pussy a gentle squeeze.
Layla sucked in a ragged breath, her hands gripping the piano behind her.
Derek leaned down and dragged his teeth up the side of her neck. Her internal muscles clenched at the wet heat of his breath in her ear as he spoke. "I had to have this piano, Ms. M. Do you want to know why?"
He squeezed her pussy again, and she whimpered in response. She could feel herself getting wet, and if he kept squeezing her like that, he'd be able to feel it too, right through her shorts.
Derek kept his hand on her sex as he unbuttoned his pants with the other. "Because I jack myself off to sleep every night imagining that I'm fucking you on this piano. I can't let anyone else have it after you kissed me right there on that bench."
His cock sprang free of his pants, bobbing long and hard against her abdomen. She glanced down at the velvet smooth skin and the glistening pearl of moisture on the tip. When she looked up at his face, his features were hard, pained even. His brow cut a severe slash across his forehead. His lips pressed together in a frown that looked more like a grimace.
Layla reached up to touch his face, words of comfort, of contrition, of something forming on her tongue, but he spun her around, replacing her view of his face with a view of the top of the piano. The lid was propped open, the smooth expanse of brown wood stretching before her, shiny as glass and rich as chocolate.
With a hand on her hip, Derek angled her behind the keyboard. He moved his hand between her shoulders and pushed her down, bending her over so her breasts hit the keys and her ass was aimed right at him.
"I'm tired of fantasizing about it, Ms. M." He jerked the crotch of her shorts to the side, hooking his fingers in her panties and pulling them aside as well. He slipped a finger between the swollen folds of her labia, letting out a male sound of approval when he discovered how wet she was.
She'd only been with him a few times, but she felt like her body knew him. As if she was ready at the mere sight of him. She bit her lip as he shoved one finger inside her, then another.
"Derek..."
"Spread your legs."
Layla obeyed as he nudged at the back of her legs with his knee, his fingers curling inside her. He pushed on her feet with his until her legs were spread wide. This roughness was exactly what she wanted. But she had the feeling that whatever he did, whenever he did it, would always be exactly what she wanted.
Derek yanked at the crotch of her shorts and panties again, holding them out of the way as he replaced his fingers with the head of his cock. "Tell me to stop."
When she didn't say anything, he grabbed her hips with both hands, and with a quick, hard thrust he was inside her. Filling her and stretching her in the most delicious way. She cried out as her stomach hit the keyboard, releasing a jangle of discordant notes that mingled with the sounds he wrung from her. He didn't move yet, just stayed there, buried as far as he could go.
"Layla..." His voice was as raw and ragged as she felt.
She closed her eyes and rested her face against the carved music stand. Her fingers clutched the keyboard, drawing out smatterings of dissonance that sounded beautiful to her ears.
He fucked her then. No tenderness, no build up other than the short work of his fingers when he primed her.
He fucked her, slamming into her over and over, his fingers digging into her hips so hard it hurt. With each thrust, he pulled her back to meet him so that he pounded into her. The dull thud of their bodies setting a tempo under the jangle of the piano keys as she tried to gain some control.
Layla tried to move her hips, to arch her back...anything to take a little possession of what he was doing to her, but he wouldn't allow it. He just gripped her tighter, holding her exactly where he wanted.
Finally she gave in, friction of his cock ramming so deep and so hard turning into a pleasure too intense to focus on anything else. Tension coiled in her belly until she was stretched as tight as the strings inside the piano.
Blindly she watched them, wishing she would snap. She knew it would take a touch only, a single brush against her clit, and it would happen. But Derek wasn't thinking about her clit, and she didn't want to touch herself. She liked this.
Layla wouldn't say it out loud, but she'd taken what she wanted from him enough. It felt good to give him this, to let him take what he wanted, how he wanted.
His pace changed, still deep but faster now. The sound of his breathing, amplified with his exertion, added another layer to the sounds that had begun to form a song in her ears. She moaned, teetering on the edge but unable to fall over it.
"I'm sorry, Ms. M. This is what you've always wanted from me...you should have touched yourself while you had the chance."
Derek relinquished his grip on her hips, and for a second only she thought he might give her some relief despite what he'd just said.
But he didn't.
He grabbed the end of her ponytail, and she could feel him wrapping it around his wrist until his fist was almost flush with the base of her neck. He pulled her back toward him so she had to raise her torso off the keyboard and tilt her head back to accommodate the pressure. He slid his other arm under her hips, half-lifting her off the floor so he could pound into her once, twice more. He was so far inside her, she thought she was going to tear in two.
With a groan, Derek emptied himself into her. He held her in place as he came, his cock pulsing against her inner muscles.
He stilled behind her. His grip on her hair loosened. His fingers lingered in the strands before letting them fall against her back.
When he pulled out of her, a keening noise escaped her throat at the sudden emptiness. It sounded desperate, but that shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did.
She felt desperate. Desperate for release, for satisfaction.
Desperate for more of him.
Derek grew quiet behind her, and she could sense his hesitation even without looking at him. She was suddenly embarrassed by the noise she just made.
Desperate or not, she'd exposed herself too much. Her face burned and her clit ached. She couldn't stand up. Not yet. She couldn't face him.
He'd just called her out on all her shit, flipped her inside out and showed her what a hypocrite she was to resent assumptions, just not enough to stop her from making her own.
Layla could feel his eyes on her, and it made her chest ache.
He sucked in a ragged breath before speaking in the voice of the asshole she once told him he was. "Time for you to go. I'm not one for cuddling and small talk after a quick fuck...but I bet you already know that. You can spot a guy like me a mile away."
Tears stung her eyes, blurring the piano keys into a wash of black and white. His footsteps retreated into the other room.
No. She didn't know.
She didn't know anything.
Layla felt like she'd been wearing a blindfold her entire life, and he'd ripped it off only to show her that she might need someone to help her find her way. Maybe it could have been him, but now...
She straightened, swiping away the tears the rolled down her cheeks. Tears of frustration and anger. With him, with herself. She didn't know which.
Tears of embarrassment...of a sadness over something lost when it never was hers in the first place.
She'd thought she wanted him to use her--and maybe she really did--but not like this, with him not being able to even stand being in the same room with her afterward. But wasn't that exactly what she'd done to him, not once but twice?
Layla straightened her shorts and hurried to the door, as ready to be rid of him as he was to be rid of her. A sound drew her attention from the hall behind her, the creak of wood under a soft footstep.
She told herself not to look back, knew it was almost as bad an idea as ever talking to him in the first place. That day in Chuck's seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had only been a couple weeks. That's how much he'd affected her despite her resolve not to let him, that the life she'd led before she met him seemed to belong to someone else.
Before she could stop herself she looked over her shoulder. She was frozen in the open door, frozen except for the useless tears that kept coming. She hated herself for those tears. Tears led to pity, and she'd had enough pity in her old life before Derek to last through this new one after him.
Their eyes met across the entryway. When he saw her face, his features, so cold and impassive as if he truly didn't give a damn that he'd hurt her or that she'd hurt him, flickered for the briefest of moments.
He opened his mouth as if to say something, but she ran outside, slamming the door on him as he tried to do to her when she first got there.
Layla didn't need to hear what he had to say. She didn't want to know what the flicker in his eyes meant.
Anger she could live with. Disgust, too. She could use them to remind herself why she had to forget about him.
She hadn't known Derek through the lens of pity that had distorted her life since the fire, and she never wanted to.