Tuneful Trio: The Pianists Pleasure in the Hands of Two Gangsters

BustyWorld

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The final, resonant chord from the piano still hummed in the air, a ghost of the beautiful melody she had conjured for them, when Vince’s hands, once clapping in appreciation, found their way to her shoulders. His touch was a slow, deliberate promise that melted the last of her professional composure into a warm, liquid vulnerability. He turned her to face him, his dark eyes holding hers captive before his lips met hers in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and raw desire. Lost in the sensation, her fingers fumbled with the fastening of his trousers, a silent surrender to the heat coiling low in her belly. The sudden creak of the door broke their rhythm, and she looked up, flushed and breathless, to see Erik filling the doorway, his gaze a smoldering mix of surprise and sharp hunger. Without a word, he moved to join them, his own intentions clear in the intense stillness of his body. The world narrowed to that shadowy room, the scent of old wood and their cologne, and the overwhelming feeling of being utterly claimed. Whispers and soft sighs mingled as hands, rough yet surprisingly gentle, explored the landscape of her body, leaving trails of fire on her skin. A single, happy tear escaped her eye as she was swept away by a current of dual affections, each touch a new note in an illicit, passionate symphony. She was the instrument, and they were the masters, playing her until she sang with pleasure, completely enveloped by their shared, possessive ardor.