Dark Notes

by Pam Godwin

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Good girl.” His praise wraps around me like a warm hug. I can’t remember the last time someone embraced me without hurting me, but if Mr. Marceaux spends the next nine months calling me a good girl, I might never need a hug again.

In the depraved innards of my soul, I thrill at being the thing she fears. I want to claim her apprehension, dread, and uncertainty. I want to take ownership of all of her emotions and be the sole reason she trembles and cries.

“I trust your brother didn’t touch you last night.” Her grin is reluctant, dimpling the corner of her mouth and crawling across her lips. “Shane stumbled in with a broken nose, whining about a headache until he passed out. Guess that’s karma, huh?” “Yes.” My mouth twitches. “Karma.”

Beyond my hunger for discipline and pleasure, I feel this deep aching desire to provide for her in all ways.

I remove the softened gum from my mouth and place it inside hers. She jerks back, but I hold her head and set the cinnamon adhesive between her molars with a swipe of my finger. “Bite down.” I stroke her jaw as it flexes. “Good girl. Now hold it there. No screaming.”

She’s made for me, to be instructed and punished and enjoyed. I want inside her with such agonizing intensity my body quakes. I want in her mouth, her cunt, and her soul. I want to rip her apart with my shaft, piece her back together, and do it all over again. Fuck, I need this girl. And I can’t have her.

“You’re the kind of man that sets his sights on something and doesn’t let go till he possesses it.”

“Sometimes you love people you shouldn’t, and in the endless space of that love, nothing else matters.”

That’s when I hear it. The tempo of our breaths. The drum of our heartbeats. The crackle in the air. The exquisite cadence pulses through me, awakening sensations I’ve never felt, composing a melody I’ve never heard. Our hypnotic, dark notes. This is so much more than punishment or forbidden pleasure. She could never be a mistake.

Christ, this girl… She’s my music, my place in this life, my part in it all.

“I’m afraid of hurting you.” He tilts his head in the opposite direction, a new angle, eating at my mouth as if he can’t reach deep enough. “But I’m not stopping, Ivory.” Another hungry kiss. “You’re mine.”

As I stare at her, I realize with startling clarity she doesn’t need me to slay her past. She’s already lived it and came out the other side with more fortitude than any person I know. But she does need me to listen, to support her without losing my head, and most of all, to protect her from future harm.

“You’re mine. That means every inch of your gorgeous body, every thought in your head, and every word out of your mouth impacts me. Calling yourself dirty or any other offensive adjective is an insult to my girl, something I will not tolerate. Tell me you understand.”

She’s in my veins, fiery and weightless. She’s in my head, like a whisper of promises. She’s in my heart, softening it, mending it, and making it pump again.

I died somewhere between my release and his. And now I know how it feels to be alive.

“It’s against the law. You’re my teacher!” “You’re my girl.” He lazily swipes the screen on his phone. “That’s the only law you need to worry about.” What? My head hammers. “You’re insane.” “You’re mine.” “What if someone finds out?” He scrolls through his email, not a care in the world. “My problem.”

Her emotional strength is one of the many reasons I’m so wildly attracted to her. Yes, she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, but I’m spellbound by the entire package. She stands up to me when she thinks I’m wrong, yet grows wet beneath the force of my voice and the heat of my belt.

“You’re sort of charming when you get all serious and bossy.” She lowers her chin and deepens her voice. “Like I’m the man, laying down the law, and this is how it’s going to be.” Cute. I shake my head, fighting back a grin. She tightens her fingers against my scalp and moves her mouth a hair’s width away. “But I have my own mind and voice, and you’re going to hear it whenever and however I want.” I stare at her lips, amused and aroused. “I expect nothing less, Miss Westbrook.”

The power is mine. I bask in it. His hands tremble, and I grab them, hold them, our fingers intertwined. I have him.

“No sharing. Ever. You’re mine. I’m yours. That is my hardest limit.” “You’d rather I shit on you than have sex with someone else?” “Yes.” His gaze flies to mine, the hardening blue depths cemented with a biting tone. “If another man so much as touches you, my reaction will be murderous. Remember that.”

We aren’t just a teacher and student, a Dom and submissive, a man and woman. “We’re a timeless concerto.” I kiss his lips. “A musical masterpiece.”

Her feistiness might be my fuel, but her obedience is my fucking fire.

Sliding my hands over her arms, I hook my thumbs beneath the shackles and lace our fingers together.

physical. We need each other, not because our bodies fit so well together, but because our hearts beat the same tune, for the same reason.

All roads, however perilous and winding, lead to this man, my teacher, the music of my soul.