Carved in Her Bones

Peter

I could feel her eyes on me the entire drive to my apartment, a heated intensity that wrapped around us like a thick fog. I noticed the way she pressed her knees together, seeking some kind of friction against the very essence of her desire. To say Rhian was responsive would be the understatement of the year.

She clutched my shirt, pulling me closer as I claimed her mouth, our kiss deepening with each passing second. There was a hesitance in her movements, a hint of inexperience that only fueled my desire. It pleased me—the way her soft moans filled the space between us when my tongue danced around hers, teasing and exploring. That sound shot straight through my veins, igniting a fire in my groin that I couldn't ignore.

I could tell she felt my arousal when she pressed her body against mine, instinctively seeking to close the distance, to become one. And when my hand tightened around her neck, she didn't flinch; if anything, it only made her moan louder, the sound spilling from her lips like a delicious secret.

Goodness, this girl would be the death of me.

I pulled into the underground garage, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nerves. Earlier, I had called the cleaning service to ensure my apartment was spotless. I wanted to impress her. I needed to impress her. My assistant had grumbled her way through the call when I practically begged her to pick up some groceries. I had half-expected Rhian to suggest spending time at my place. If I'm being honest, she had even texted Oliwia to ask if it would be too forward to propose my place for a second date. Oliwia's response had been quick and emphatic: "Yes, too forward, but you need to be forward, Rhian. Go have adult fun." At that moment, Oliwia was definitely my favorite human.

Rhian climbed out of the car, seeming more confident and less stressed, though she eyed her surroundings warily. With my hand on the small of her back, I led her to the private elevator that opened directly into my penthouse. The absence of buttons caught Rhian's attention as she lifted her gaze and asked, "Is this like a house?"

"No, it's my private elevator. My family owns the building," I wanted to add but decided against it, not wanting to come off as a privileged show-off.

"I see," she replied, her curiosity piqued. The elevator doors opened into my spacious hall, and with zero hesitation, she waltzed in, not bothering to take off her shoes. I smiled at that.

Her eyes immediately landed on the wall adorned with art. I didn't know much about it, thanks to my mom's redecorating, but kudos to her—the art seemed to draw Rhian in. She stood, mouth agape, staring at what I assumed was my mom's latest acquisition: a Monet.

"That's a Monet," Rhian whispered in disbelief, her tone more of a statement than a question.

"You know your art," I remarked, and she flashed a small smile.

"My dad is an art broker," she murmured, her eyes never leaving the painting. That bit of information hadn't shown up in my research; I made a mental note to polish up on that. I knew Rhian came from money, which contradicted her constantly empty bank account. I just never imagined it was the kind of wealth that made her intimately familiar with Monet.

As she walked further into the living room, her gaze landed on the piano, and I felt her noticeably stiffen. "That's a Bechstein D 282. Do you play?" she asked, eyeing the piano my mom had gifted me a few months back when she found me asleep listening to Rhian's music.

"Not well. Do you?" I mirrored her question, already knowing the answer. I wanted to see if she would lie to me.

"Yes, I do," she smiled, a look of distant pride washing over her face. I liked that look; I decided right then that I wanted to see more of it.

"Play something for me," I urged, giving her my best please do this for me; it would make me happy smile.

She took off her purse and placed it on the couch beside us. "I haven't played in a while. Any requests?" She looked up at me, waiting for an answer. Reason number one million why I was obsessed with this girl: the way she looked up at me as she spoke, because I was a good foot and a half taller. "I'm not too picky," I said with a smile, hoping she would play the one piece she performed with the Philharmonic in November of 2020. It quieted my thoughts and worked better than all the meds they pumped into me to coax me to sleep.

She perched herself on the stool, her fingers running over the keys to check their tuning. "I haven't played in a while. I haven't written in a while, too."

"Play me anything you like," I encouraged, standing right behind her, trying to gauge if she was nervous or excited.

"Okay, so this is my take on Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor."

Watching her play live was a vastly different experience than seeing her on video. Her fingers belonged on the piano; she played as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I couldn't believe a human could be this talented. I watched her dissolve into the music, her eyes closing slightly. She was mesmerizing, utterly otherworldly as her fingers glided through the keys. You could see she felt the music in her blood.

A serene smile played on her lips as she glanced up at me, our eyes locking as her hands moved effortlessly to bring the piece to an end. In that moment, I kissed her. I had no words. My lips found hers softly, and I wanted to appreciate her talent, but Rhian's hands found their way to my chest, deepening the kiss as her tongue explored my mouth. I let her lead, savoring the moment before breaking the kiss, not wanting to go any further yet.

She looked at me, her gaze drifting down to my slacks, which had tented. A smile spread across her face. "You are insanely talented, Thandaza," I said, my voice unintentionally hoarse. That earned me a blush.