“Better. But try to use your arm more. Get some more weight in.” He scoots onto the bench behind me, caging me in with his long legs, pressing his strong chest against my back.
My breaths shorten as he repeats the line a couple of times and explains how he uses his arm weight to gain more power. I barely pay attention; all I can focus on ishim, surrounding me on all sides, commanding the very air that I breathe with his sheer calm confidence.
Killian’s music might seem like it’s all about showing off and proving he’s the best, but I don’t think it is. Not anymore. He’s too grounded—too aware of his masterly control of the instrument.
His masterly control of me.
Swallowing hard, I ignore the thought and focus on the movements of his fingers and arm.
“Your turn,” he says, resting a hand on my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I draw a shuddery breath, unnerved and unraveling at the heady proximity. But also strangely calm, his confident gravity steadying me. The strength I manage in the deep notes is staggering, and I smile when I finish on that sharp note.
“Good,” Killian says, voice still factual and focused. No idle praise here. What I see is what I get. It’s comforting, feeling him like this, and I want to lean into him and soak him up. What I get instead is almost as good as a deepened physical connection. Killian has me playing the left hand while he fires off rapid sixths like it’s all he’s ever done. Feeling his chest moving against my back as he breathes in time with the music sends me deeper into the nightly storm, making me feel the power with an intensity that nearly draws tears to my eyes.
“Now, the whole thing, both hands,” he says.
Placing my right hand in a wide spread over the keys, I prepare to play the con fuoco section, but Killian stops me.
“From the top.”
He’s still on the bench with me, and I feel like a vulnerable child against the wide expanse of his body, caged in between his legs, wrapped in the comfort of his control. The position hinders my movements when I start playing, yet the music comes more naturally than anything. Killian’s heartbeat, his breath, and his touch give rise to a well of emotion that washes through me,straight into the music, lending a new softness to the opening melody and a new fury to the thunderous storm.
When I finish, I feel broken open, almost even worse than when he humiliates and hurts me. I’m not ready to lose him, so before he can send me away, I say, “Will you play for me?”
His hands remain on me—one on my waist, one on my thigh. He never leans into me or gathers me to him, but the closeness is startling even so.
He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, and I fear the moment he’ll break the silence with harsh words and demands for me to go away.
But it never comes. He just nods, then places his hands on the keys and starts playing.
I immediately recognize the music: Schubert’s “Erlkönig.” Only, it’s not just Schubert—not only the piano part made to go along with the singing. It’s Listz’s transcription. The already virtuosic piano part combined with the melody.
The sight of his hands vibrating with the speed of the octaves steals my breath. I don’t understand how he can play it, much less with me in front of him. Despite the hindrance, he hits every note and effortlessly crosses his arms in front of me when the left one jumps over the right one.
But it’s not just the music that makes it hard to breathe. It’shim. To feel him all around me. The vibrations rolling up through his arms, his sharp breaths punctuating the music, and the twitches as his whole body becomes one with the music. I’m part of it. Killian, his music, and his emotions are all around me, letting me into his closed-off world, letting me feel everything in there right alongside him. I can’t imagine a situation more intimate. I thought screaming in Ian’s arms that first day would be the pinnacle, but this… nothing compares.
When his hands work at the center of the piano, it’s like the one thing I crave from him the most: a tight, comfortingembrace. I melt into him. I can’t help it. All my emotions drift to the surface, right there for him to take—right there for me to give.
At that moment, it strikes me just how good Killian is.
Ian has mentioned that Killian needs to improve his expressive skills to reach greatness, and I realize that he doesn’t just mean greatness in the regular sense. He means greatness in the sense that the gods would envy him. The realization does nothing to stir the jealousy from before. I don’t need it, because I’m no longer an outsider looking in. I’m part of it. And I relish every single moment and every deep-felt note.
When the piece comes to an end and Killian lifts his hands, placing them in my lap as if it were his own, I’m shaking all over. I can barely even breathe, and tears pool in my eyes from the sheer overload of intensity. I just stare at the keys, unable to move a single muscle.
“Why?” I finally manage.
“Why what?” he asks softly.
I turn, trailing my gaze over him, having no idea how to make sense of this otherworldly creature. “Why me? I mean, I can’t possibly compete with that. You…”
“You’re not here to compete.” He brushes the hair from my neck, and with a gentleness so soft it hurts, he presses his lips to my sensitive skin. “You’re my muse,” he whispers against my skin. “The one who makes this possible.”
“Makes what possible?”
He doesn’t answer, just lingers. His lips are no longer touching me, but the proximity—his hot breath against my skin, the very energy rolling off him—is more intense than any touch. It tickles and shivers on my sensitive skin, sending bursts of hope and longing through my very bones. He remains there, keeping us locked in the intimate bubble, yet not quite together.
After what seems like several minutes, he breaks the spell, gets up, and offers me his hand in an uncharacteristically gentlemanly gesture. “Go sleep, Jenna,” he says softly. And that’s it. He leads me on my way, out of the room, across the landing, and sends me downstairs. My heart shudders and aches, hope rising and falling as I can’t decide whether that hope is the most dangerous or promising thing I’ve ever felt.