Chords That Bind Ch 13

Dear Readers,

I know it's been awhile. (And I know that's an understatement.) In gratitude to your patience, I've set this chapter to be the longest one yet. Lots of story and plot, some hot and heavy moments, a few newer characters... hopefully you'll forgive me for my inconsistencies in updating. It's hard to maintain a regular writing schedule. Gratitude goes out to the fans that have nudged me into posting. I'm still so amazed you've enjoyed it this far. I hope it doesn't turn out to be a disappointment. Please remember to suspend your disbelief where appropriate and also know that as fun as fantasy is, that I do not condone anything done to another person without their consent. Comments, votes, and feedback are icing on the cake...

Xoxo

Poeticlicense91

This was one of James' favorite parts. The end of the second movement was so charged. Everyone in the audience held their breath. The dramatically spaced chords promised virtuosity. James closed his eyes. He knew this part by heart. In front of hundreds of listeners, he let the greatness of Beethoven flow through him and imagined Cecilia kneeling in his studio. He'd been playing the same piece,

The Pathetique,

when she tempted him so dangerously. James breathed deeply, and his fingers flew to start the third movement.

This part demanded his full attention, and he tried to banish Cecilia from his mind. She was such a distractingly fascinating creature. Even with his head fully engaged with the music the thought of her lingered. The thought of her calm and serene submission that day gave him an ounce more command over Beethoven's Beast... She knew just how to enchant him, by giving herself over entirely. It burnished his ego, knowing that somehow

she

had tried to seduce

him

.

James pushed the guilt of his fantasie aside and let Cecilia be his muse for the rest of his performance. She wasn't leaving his mind, so rather than let the piece and audience suffer he let the last of his mental restraints go.

There was something freeing in letting Cecilia's spiritual presence finally reside in his mind with no self-recriminations. Flawlessly, he played the piece to its conclusion.

Applause filled the concert hall. James closed his eyes, nodded approval to himself, and arranged his face in an appropriately pleased, yet humble countenance. He stood and stepped in front of the Steinway G. James swept a bow and reached a hand over to the left-hand side, ushering Natasha onstage.

Natasha sauntered in with her cello. She was wearing a slightly scandalous gown in crimson. The asymmetric neckline and high slit were more daring than was customary for performances at this level. Most female musicians worried about their ensembles upstaging their performances. Natasha didn't seem worried. In fact, the sex appeal she brought was part of her brand. Her exacting performances were also almost "too perfect" for anyone to accuse her of getting by on looks alone.

She bowed and took her seat a bit in front of the piano, near James. They locked eyes, nodded together to each other, and began Rachmaninoff's third cello sonata.

Something different happened. As James played, he noticed a heaviness lift. There was a continued sort of comfort in his playing, left over from his newly freed psyche. He felt it and most certainly heard it. He closed his eyes and was certain that Natasha sounded different too. It was easier to play, he wasn't fighting her exactitude, and instead the resonance in her instrument reached new heights. He looked to her and noticed her body language change. He swallowed. The rigidity he'd come to expect from playing with Natasha was gone entirely. In its place was a fluidity, a purpose.

Natasha was enjoying this performance immensely. It felt as if she'd reached her peak of understanding with the music and with James. Their practice clearly had paid off. She closed her eyes and was able to hear the music in the present. She was unconcerned with the next phrase or run. She knew the piece too well by now to be concerned. She knew James' playing so well, she could lean on him.

The music flowed around James and Natasha. And as the piece built, a sort of sameness of mind came to both of them. By the third movement, even the audience knew something special was happening. The piece reached its final climax and left everyone shattered. James breathed deeply and gathered his composure. He stood to take his bow with Natasha. He gripped her hand feeling triumphant, and smiled.

***

After James and Natasha finished their performance, took their bows, and finished the necessary small talk, they were left to their own devices. They had performed exceptionally, even by their own standards.

Natasha tossed back her sheet of blonde hair as she packed up her cello. "James" her Russian accent made even his name sound like a demand, "where are you staying?"

"I'm at the Mandala, Natasha. Why?"

"Because I thought we might share a cab. We can ride together, yes?"

Suddenly, James wasn't ready to turn in yet. "I fancied a walk... maybe some dinner. Join me?" But it wasn't much of a question.

"Oh," a slight frown momentarily crossed Natasha's features as she looked down at her stilettos. "I can't. Not in these shoes. Besides. You may not be carrying a piano, but

I

have my cello."

"Ah. Right. Well... Why don't we take a cab to my hotel for dinner? How does that suit?"

Natasha beamed. "Perfect. A—as you say—capital idea."

***

It was a bit outlandish to order a 2 Michelin-star dinner at this hour, but that's exactly what they did. FACIL was the restaurant at James' hotel and he was grateful it was still open.

When they entered the room all the wait staff paused in their duties to stare. Natasha had that affect on people. Her height and striking features usually garnered quite some attention. But it was her icy demeanor offset by the fiery red gown that gave her a compelling aura.

After they were seated, James ordered a bottle of Chablis without consulting Natasha.

"Oh James, we finished work. I was ready for some chilled vodka with dinner," she whined. James smiled wryly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been out with a beautiful woman. He also couldn't remember spending this much time alone with Natasha. Usually there was a piano, a cello, and scores of sheet music between them.

Natasha might have complained about the wine, but she loved watching James take the chilled bottle from the ice bucket and top off her glass. He seemed more convivial tonight, and surely they had never "gone out" like this before.

When the waiter came back to take their order, James cut her off. "The lady will have the duck terrine to start, and then the artic char."

"Very good sir, and for you?"

"The tuna tartar followed by the lamb, medium rare, please."

The waiter nodded his approval and briskly turned away. James raised an eyebrow and waited. Natasha did not disappoint.

"James!

I

was going to order something else."

He smiled blandly, as if he couldn't see anything wrong with the situation. "I'm sure what I ordered will be delicious."

Natasha was flustered. "But- that's not fair."

"I know. But I invited you to dinner, I'm just making sure you enjoy it." Natasha was confused, but her complaint was more for show than genuine objection.

"I thought tonight went well," James said changing the subject. "You were more interactive than when we were rehearsing.

"I'd say you were more expressive too. I'm not sure Rachmaninoff would have entirely

approved

of that interpretation, but it was more..." she was searching for the English word. James supplied it: "Fun."

"Oh, no. No... not fun..."

"Compelling," James offered again.

She shook her head, but James cut off her objection.

"Yes Natasha. Interacting musically like that is fun. Rachmaninoff would have liked people

enjoying

the playing experience with his music. I heard

you

tonight.

That

was compelling. Usually, I hear what your music teachers drilled into you. But tonight it was," he sipped his wine "exquisite. You played with more fervor than I've ever heard before."

Natasha wasn't sure she agreed with this flippant attitude towards musical interpretation, but she liked how James made it sound. She gave a little. "Maybe it was more

fun

as you say, but it was also..."

"Passionate." James kept finishing her sentences.

"Yes."

They locked eyes and felt a charge run through them. Natasha shuddered. Her voice caught in her throat. Before she figured out what to say, the waiter appeared with the first course.

"Frauline, the duck terrine."

"Danka," she replied without breaking eye contact with James. He nodded his thanks as well.

When they were alone again, James was the first to break the silence. "Taste it."

Natasha would have argued with being told what to do, but she didn't know what

else

to do. She took a bite and closed her eyes. It was excellent.

"See?"

Tension built over the meal and James felt the long-forgotten headiness of stalking his prey. He was close. He hadn't bargained on this, but his blood was running hot and Natasha's guard was down. He knew through reputation that Natasha was notoriously exclusive about the company she kept, but she had never once refused to perform with James, and more than once had sought his company only for him to rebuff her advances. As he let the fancy of the situation carry him off, he couldn't remember why he resisted her charms before. She had many.

Natasha really

could

have been a super model. As it was, she sometimes had cameos in Russian perfume ads, playing the cello and looking dangerously seductive. Her musicianship was in a class of its own. She understood music in a ruthless, intellectual way that was unusual in a woman. It was sometimes a detriment to her performance; Natasha's playing and understanding was a crusade to attain perfection. The only problem was that she often delivered on that perfection. Her icy persona sliced through music that should be passionate. Instead, she left the true appreciators in awe, but cold, as if she had robbed the music of something in her deliberateness.

James savored the medium-rare lamb and decided on his next course of action. "What did you like about playing tonight Natasha? Tell me more."

She paused for a moment. "There was less... difficulty tonight. It was more... fluid. I adore when the practice builds into something with momentum like that."

James didn't care particularly why Natasha thought it was better. He knew: It wasn't about rehearsal. It was that he had broken through his emotional barrier. Feelings like that, when amplified through music, are communicated and internalized. Natasha felt the release and responded in kind. It had been the best they performed because an electrical understanding connected them while they played. James liked that she had been able to respond to it.

With Natasha, that response was akin to submission. She thought interaction or stylistic interpretation fought with what was written. Natasha's adjustment in response to his emotional interpretation was a major victory. She followed his lead, and the results were astonishing.

When they finished, the waiter tried to offer them dessert. James asked the waiter to charge dinner to his room and left a crisp fifty-pound note. He picked up her cello case and escorted Natasha into the hotel's swanky lobby.

He didn't say a word or ask her if she wanted to follow. The beauty of James' seduction was that usually, at some point, he could stop pursuing and let attraction take its natural course. She followed him to the elevator bank, and stepped inside the brushed stainless steel car.

Natasha was such a confident person, haughty even, but now she felt her self-assurance waver. Some of her coolness thawed as she looked at James. Her eyes questioned him, but now he turned cool, daring her to ask the question that hung in the air.

It was a tonic to his nerves to see someone as beautiful and talented as Natasha falter, even for just a moment. She wanted this, he could tell. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt command over a situation like this. He'd had to control himself over the past few months. He'd had to wrest control from the Welsh bastard, he'd had to control Cecilia's environment, and he'd had to control himself around Cecilia—Cecilia! The last time he felt this way . . . he wouldn't think about it now. But, the solace he craved was now here, blessedly uncomplicated and blisteringly hot: He had someone he could control, and he felt no qualms about the direction he was taking.

Natasha had been watching James' unnerving calmness from the opposite corner of the elevator. He crossed the space between them in an instant.

Natasha, in her heels, was actually taller than he was, but she didn't feel the advantage. James kissed her neck urgently. She purred and he nipped her earlobe. Coming to meet her lips he felt Natasha surrender and willingly return his kiss.

Ding!

They were at his floor. He grabbed her hand (and her cello) and led her purposefully to his room. Her long strides kept up with his. When he got to his locked room Natasha started loosening his tie. James slid the electronic key home, and pulled her in after him.

The gorgeously appointed suite was the last thing on Natasha's mind. She kicked her shoes off, and now at eye-level with James, resumed unbuttoning his shirt. He kissed her and ran his dexterous fingers across her one bared shoulder. James shirt was unbuttoned, but his jacket was still on. In one movement he shucked them both off. Natasha admired her handy-work for a brief moment before James stepped around and behind her, looking for the zipper to Natasha's dress. "Don't move." Natasha had been about to help him undress her. "SShhhh," he breathed. She had been about to say something.

"Just like tonight. Just let me take you where I want to go."

"But- James-"

"Hush," he said. With that he gave her a sharp swat to the behind. It made Natasha gasp and start. Then she laughed in spite of herself. James ignored her outburst of laughter as he found the zipper and tugged it down with a single motion.

James wondered if she had planned this. "Natasha..." he breathed somewhat in awe. As the silky material pooled to the floor she was left in scarlet lingerie.

"'Tasha,' James." She corrected him and stepped away from the red satin on the floor. Her movements challenged his. James had every intention of stripping her bare before he'd let her continue removing his clothes, but clearly she had other plans. She raked her fingers through his hair and kissed him. All the ice had gone from her; she was fiery now.

Natasha's seduction was very direct. She continued to kiss him as she tugged at his belt buckle and unbuttoned his trousers. She broke the kiss to kneel down, trailing her fingers down James' chest and tucking her fingers underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. James admired her enthusiasm. With the removal of his clothes she set straight to work licking his hard cock. He couldn't start counting all of his rules that she'd broken, but as she took the head of his cock into his mouth, he couldn't remember why he cared.

James looked down at the blonde bombshell. He was in a dream. He exhaled deeply through his nose. When Tasha started to struggle to take him deeper down her throat he thought he would come just from the sight of her. She pulled back though, and practically skipped over to the bed and started removing her scanty covering. Then she laid back and her hair fell around her like a golden halo. She was anything but angelic as she licked her fingers, looked James straight in the eye and started to rub her pussy. She stared moaning, beckoning him over with her movements. For an interminable space of time he watched. This side of her was so different. The restrained cellist was gone. In her place was a new and different performer.

James was in unfamiliar territory. He was ready to play, but Tasha seemed to have her own rules. He wanted to spank her for being a tease. He went to the bed and hovered over her for a minute, deciding what to do.

"Fuck me James." It was a demand, but he had no reason to deny himself, so he crawled over her, kissed her roughly and entered her swiftly.

She was wet from playing with herself moments before. "MMmm. James... so good..." James agreed. She was warm and tight around him. He started to build a quick pace. Tasha wrapped her legs around him trying to draw him in further, shifting her hips with his movements.

For all her complaints about too much emotion in the music, and her shock at how much passion with which they could perform, Tasha was a surprisingly sensual lover. James felt her claw at his back. He wanted to feel her yield to him the way she had when they played earlier, only more. He wanted a physical surrender now.

He bent over her to kiss her. Closer, God she felt so good. She was hot and alert. He watched as he thrust powerfully, and she gasped in response. He tried to hold her arms and pin her wrists, but she resisted his guidance.

"Fuck me harder James. Ahhh... Yes. Like that. Again!" James did as she requested, glad that he didn't have to be gentle at the moment. It had been a while since he'd last been with a woman, and Natasha's teasing made his need all the more urgent.

"Ohh. James! More like that! Mmmm. So good James, just a bit more..."

Natasha was a more demanding lover than James was used to, but it was a breath of fresh air to have such uninhibited physical intimacy.

All the effort Natasha exerted in her quest for musical and technical perfection was gone. The Tasha beneath James was a different being altogether, and James liked the change. He ground into her sex and heard her moan more approval. She might be a demanding lover, but it wasn't hard for James to figure out what she liked.

Her lusty vocalizations drove James on, until finally he could hold off no longer. His release was what Tasha needed. Her whole body grew rigid and she arched her back. James felt the uniquely masculine triumph of bringing a beautiful woman to climax. He held her face and kissed her, ravishing her mouth as he had just ravished her body.

Tasha hugged James close, pressing him even closer to her. Sweat and lust were all that were between them. She rocked her hips rhythmically, stirring up another round of desire from James. With considerable eagerness, Tasha rolled them both over.

She straddled James' waist, smoldering. "And now it's my turn." Her accent was thicker, making it sound like some dirty language made for the two of them. James growled. Tasha squeezed him, and if anything, fanned his ardor, which hadn't even begun to wane. His blood was so hot that he gladly let Natasha continue to have her way. He never usually had a woman on top, but then, none of the submissive women he'd been with had been allowed to take command of this particular situation. He found that it wasn't entirely objectionable. But that was the last thought he gave to it as Tasha started to ride him in earnest, leaning forward slightly to leverage herself.

It was so good. James lay back and watched quite a show as Tasha's exertions showed her gorgeous figure off to full effect. Her generous breasts bounced lewdly and her soft stomach fluttered with her own excitement. She applied herself admirably, playing James with a mastery typical of such a perfectionist. He closed his eyes for a moment and let the sensation overwhelm his usually ceaseless thoughts. He was startled by a sharp pain on his left nipple. "Argh!" He jerked sharply, nearly toppling Tasha off the bed. He caught her instantly and she grinned at him. He couldn't believe she bit him!