The Villain Duet by Bella J.

Chapter 19

Elijah

Buried to the hilt inside her cunt was better than I imagined. Not only did it feel good, having her wrapped around my cock, but it felt fucking right. As if her body had been made for me. I chose to believe that, convinced that Charlotte was mine.

The Musician wanted to hunt and slice the throat of the fucker who tore through her virtue, claiming her first. But a part of me loved that I could fuck her the way I wanted to without being gentle, without worrying about hurting her. The only way I wanted to hurt her was having her body ache for me, her pussy soaked and swollen for my cock.

I pulled out of her and winced, my entire body alive with sensation, and I felt this primal sense of ownership staring at her swollen pussy creamed with my cum. God, it was the most erotic thing I had ever seen in my life, and I couldn’t fucking wait to be inside her again.

Charlotte collapsed onto her stomach, my red handprint still blooming on her ivory skin. It was fucking beautiful.

I lay down on top of her, her ass spooning against my cock. I brushed her hair, sweeping it to the side so I could kiss her shoulder. “You okay?”

She nodded, her eyes closed and lips parted, still panting.

I continued to pepper kisses along her naked back, caressing her skin with a single fingertip. She shivered, and I bit my lip. “You have five minutes to catch your breath and ready yourself for me again.”

Her eyes shot open, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Death by orgasm. Sounds like a good way to go.”

She writhed beneath me, trying to turn, and I lifted myself before lying down beside her, watching as she settled on her back. She pulled the sheet to cover herself, but I grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.”

Her gaze locked with mine, her cheeks flushed. “I’m shy.”

“Don’t be. Not around me.”

“Especially around you.”

I leaned in and kissed her, my cock twitching at the thought of her tasting herself on my lips. “You don’t ever have to hide yourself from me. Your perfection is breathtaking.”

I loosened her grip on the sheet, letting it fall beside her before weaving my fingers with hers. “Does it hurt?”

Her chest rose as she breathed. “Not today.”

I glanced in awe at her delicate fingers, knowing the beauty it could create. But, by God, I cursed the irony of having such enormous talent tainted with blight.

“Some days I’m able to forget about it completely.” She twirled her fingers alongside mine. “Other days I can barely hold the bow.”

I remembered the day she found out, the day her doctor informed her what was causing the pain in her fingers and hands. It was raining as if the weather were a precursor of the bad news she’d receive. But even through the storm and the rain, I could see her tears, feel her pain, and I almost slit her doctor’s throat that day. After she left his office, I stormed in and demanded to know what was wrong with her. It took a violent threat and a sharp blade to get her doctor to talk, but that was something I knew how to do.

Make people talk.

Her diagnosis gutted me as if it were my own. As if it was my love for making music that hung in the balance. That night at the Alto Theatre, I waited for her, sitting on the edge of my seat in the back row, shrouded with the familiar darkness. I wasn’t sure she’d come, and when she did, I felt the kind of relief that could mend a man’s soul. Only, she didn’t play that night. Instead, she just sat there on the stage with the cello between her legs. Not once did she lift the bow or caress the strings with her fingers. She remained still, eyes closed, and the neck of the cello resting against her heart. It was as if she created music inside her mind, feeling it in her soul without making a single sound.

It was one of the most powerful moments I had ever been a part of without her consent. We were worlds apart even though I was right there with her, feeling her, wanting to comfort her. But it pained me just as much as it did her because her music had become my heroin. My drug. My addiction.

Silence settled between us as we both stared at our joined hands. I silently vowed to get the world’s best doctors, spend every cent I had in the quest to cure this disease that slowly caused the beauty of my cellist to wither away.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, still staring at her fingers—hating that her talent was slowly becoming her worst enemy.

“I don’t need your pity.” She unlinked her hand from mine, and I smirked.

“Yet you expected me to accept your pity earlier at the dinner table.”

“That was different.”

“How so?”

“You were just a child. Both you…and Ellie.”

A sharp pain shot across my chest hearing her say my little sister’s name.

“It’s different when it comes to children who can’t defend themselves,” she continued. “I’m a grown woman, strong enough to carry my own cross.” She gazed up at the ceiling as she folded an arm across her breasts.

“I told you,” I took her arm and eased it down her side, “do not hide yourself from me.”

She huffed, blowing a stray curl from her face, and I leaned in, smoothing my lips against hers, beckoning for her to open for me. Our tongues danced, slow and sensual, allowing me to savor her taste, committing it to memory. My fingers stroked up her arm, leisurely making their way over the swell of her breast, drawing lazy circles around her pebbled nipple. “Play for me.”

Her eyes studied me as she bit her bottom lip, the silver-blue of her irises reminding me of a cloudy sky in May. I half expected her to counter my request, knowing she found it hard to play while someone watched. But instead, she nodded, and my body hummed with the anticipation of hearing her play.

I sat up on my elbow, palming her breast before taking her rosebud nipple in my mouth, gently sucking while teasing with the tip of my tongue. My cock stirred to life, and by the way her back arched, pushing her tit deeper into my mouth, I knew she was ready for me again. The sheets smelled like sex and cum, fused with the scent of her skin.

I wanted to take her again. Claim her. Fuck her until my name was carved on her bones and inscribed on her fucking soul. There had to be no doubt about who she belonged to, who owned her. And I wanted her to be reminded of that every goddamn day, living a life where not a single day passed without me being inside her at least once.

But right now, I needed her to play for me. I let go of her nipple with a pop, and a moan brushed past her lips. “Soon,” I promised as she stared at me with disappointment swirling in her eyes. “But first, you’re going to play for me.”

“Why?” she whimpered, clenching her thighs, fighting the lust.

Wanting to tease her some more, I reached down and dragged a finger through her soaking slit. “Because I need to be that man again.” I touched her clit. “The man who watches you play, a witness to your most vulnerable moments.”