Page 31 of CurVy Forever

I follow her.

Then I stop in the doorway.

The sustain pedal in my mind presses down suddenly, the dampers lifting off the strings, the notes singing and singing and singing out…

I turn to stone as she slowly approaches the Steinway and Son’s grand piano that sits royally in the centre of this room. Nothing else surrounds it.

It’s a temple.

It faces the window, overlooking the east side of the forest. The glass always seems to disappear in this room, the mauve carpet giving way to green grass and foliage in a way that makes them become one. And I remember my music flowing into the forest.

I’m so clear…

My music was ribbons of red, sometimes pink and orange, that twirled through the trees. Complimentary opposites to the greens and browns of the lush woods. It’s why my blood is red. Why, when I bleed my talent out, the red seeped from me, the red ribbons— I blink the daze away, quiet detached notes hum in my mind.

I know that’s not right.

I know blood is red regardless of my talent.

I focus on Vallie again. Her footsteps are hesitant, a light tinkering that doesn’t match my fiercely pounding heart. I can’t move as she reaches out her soft hand and touches the lid. I groan from in my chest.

Obviously, thinking she is alone, she continues to admire the graceful instrument. She caresses the sleek mahogany curves, and my cock thickens against my thigh.

But… then Vallie lifts the lid and—

My heart skips, adrenaline surges inside me, and my world narrows on the ivories—a line of black and white teeth.

Bile hits my throat.

Martha stabs at the piano’s open mouth in one powerful motion, her fingers glide effortlessly, arrogantly along its teeth, too skilled for her own good because no one can live up to her, not her crescendo of perfect sounds. Not them. Not her. Not me. I can’t.

“Don’t touch it!”

Vallie clutches her heart, spinning to face me. Her chest moves beneath her palm, hammering away. “You scared me…” She takes a big breath. “Can I play it?” she asks.

“No.” I am surprised I manage to speak when my body is paralysed. Frozen in fear. Of what? I don’t know… I am fucking terrified that I’ll walk over and touch it.

Touch it…

I steel every part of me, but my heart is a siren between my ears, reminding me that I’m still just a scared little boy, disappearing into sounds and notes that aren’t being played.

Vallie’s eyes slide down my body and stop at my crotch. I manage to lower my gaze enough to watch my hand rubbing my cock through my pants.

“Tyler, your hand is always down your damn pants. Dirty boys can’t play piano.”

“Ty,” Vallie breathes, her soft voice reaching me even as my heart threatens to deafen me forever, blowing my eardrums out so I’ll never hear Martha again.

I look back at the piano.

In case it moves or… plays.

She walks to me and grabs my hand from my cock, holding it in hers. She sweeps her thumb over my knuckles, purposely touching my scars, owning them. Accepting.

It’s the smallest gesture, but it reminds me that she is different. That she is mine. And I am hers.

“Play something,” she pleas, and I look from the piano to her soft gaze. “Just sit there. I’ll sit with you, Ty. I promise you’ll be okay. You’re in control now. This is your piano. And I am your girl.”

“I can’t.”

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