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“You can’t be serious,” she says cuttingly. Her fingers cradle the belly of her glass—swirling counterclockwise before she takes another generous sip of cabernet.

“She’s good, Eve. She does good work and you’ve seen it, though I suppose you didn’t realize it at the time,” Bill explains over speakerphone. The clicking of a ratchet sounds in the background followed by some hollow thuds and the twang of piano wire. “The Steinway you played for Rach. III? Symphony Hall last spring? That was her.”

There’s a long, extended pause. Then a small gasp.

“Oh!” There’s a sudden clink of glass on marble. “She’s the tech that fixed the broken damper for that buzzing D string! She did it right in front of me, cut the felt freehand and everything.”

“Yes,” Bill says with relief.

“That was impressive…” Eve remembers her clearly now.


How could she ever forget walking out onto that empty stage to see a beautiful woman in overalls, a floral button-down shirt, and black Doc Martens, leaning over a 9 and a half foot grand piano, her back turned to Eve while she tinkered and tested. The blonde jumped when she heard Eve behind her, and whipped around to stare wide-eyed—a black tuning fork stuck between her teeth. How strange...

“It’s so I can hear it better,” the piano tech blurted nervously before Eve could even ask. “You know, for bone conduction? Much better resonance.” The way her voice curled on the ‘r’ was…delicious. She watched, entranced, as the blonde tapped the tuning fork against her lips nervously. She smiled curiously at her, the hint of a blush warming her cheeks. Eve couldn’t take her eyes away from the blushing blonde in the Carhartt overalls, pockets full of tools. She knew she was staring just a little too long to be considered polite, but it was hard to look away. Her hair glowed a golden yellow under the stage lights.

A solitary note rang out, snapping Eve out of her reverie.

“I’m just fixing that buzz on the middle D.” She hit the key a second time with her thumb to demonstrate, never taking her eyes off Eve.

The buzz registered at the end of the note but Eve could only hear that lovely voice. The accent was eastern european, maybe, but with softer edges. Eve swallowed hard and gave a nod of approval as if to say, “go on then.”

The tech drew the pointed handle of her tuning fork sensually across the cupid’s bow of her lip—a nervous tick, perhaps. Up and down, up...and down. She had an impervious look on her face as she turned back around to study the piano, exposed and shining. Her head snapped back to Eve.

“Would you like to watch?” She asked with authority, like a dare.

Eve’s breath hitched and she felt a small smile quirk at the edge of her lips before she could stop herself. She wondered if this girl even knew who she was. “Yes,” was all she could say.

Villanelle preened.


“She’s young...and blonde, right?” Eve asks excitedly. “I think she had an accent. Does she have, uh...large, expressive eyes?”

Bill scoffs and the sound reverberates against the wood frame as he leans his head into the piano. “I suppose she does though I’d never put it quite like that.”

Eve ignores his teasing. He was always giving her a hard time. “I didn’t realize she worked for you, I assumed she was on retainer with the BSO.”

“No, no, Andris asked for her personally. I’ve talked her up quite a bit. We don’t really have prodigies in this line of work, but if we did, she’d be one of them.”

“That’s some very high praise there mister Pargrave. And you trust her with an Imperial? Has she even worked on a Bösendorfer before?”

“She has, in Vienna, in fact. Observed a lot of the manufacturing process, met with their techs, etcetera,” Bill says proudly.

Eve sighs. “But why can’t you just do it?”

“Because I’m out of town refurbishing the SFO’s stock of concert grands. It’s a big job as you well know, whereas you; you are a house call, Eve. A standard tune-up. I hope that doesn’t deflate your ego too much.”

Now it’s her turn to scoff. “You’re lucky I know you so well otherwise I’d actually be offended.” She drums her fingers on the kitchen counter, frowning at the now empty wine glass. She hears the faint click of her nails and makes a mental note to trim them later.

“You know, I've adored you ever since our first days at Curtis—even when you sat in on my first jury and told me I played Bach like a monkey, whatever the hell that means. God, you were such an asshole...sorry, I mean, you still are.” He chuckles into the phone.

“There’s no way I said that!” Eve laughs before she can sound apologetic.

“Honey, you had the biggest stick up your ass that first year and you know it. Good thing you had me to loosen you up.”

“By ‘loosen up’ do you mean getting me wasted in the practice rooms?”

A beat of silence goes by.

“I think it really improved your tone,” Bill deadpans.

They both burst out laughing. Eve has to lean over the counter to keep from keeling over in a fit of giggles.

“You’re a dick.”

“Boo-hoo my name’s Eve Polastri, I have two Grammys and I’ve never done anything wrong in my entire life come fix my $500,000 Bösendorfer,” Bill teases.

“UGH, you’re impossible.” Eve wishes he could see her epic eye-roll.

The line is quiet again, though it’s not an awkward silence. It’s comfortable, a contented pause between old friends.

“Let Villanelle take the job.”

“Fine,” Eve says nonchalantly. She doesn’t bother to complain this time. She’s still smiling.

“I’m serious. Don’t be a dick when she shows up. She’s a talented girl, and smart. Be. Nice.”

“Oh my god I will, christ!”

“I know you, Eve,” Bill says.

“I’ll be good. Promise.”


Villanelle’s hands shake slightly as she holds the tuning hammer over the second pin of E3. She’s so distracted she nearly drops the tool on the Grotrian’s action frame—which, knowing her luck, would have damaged a fair amount of the 150 year old agraffes carefully screwed into the plate. They were most certainly irreplaceable given the instrument’s age. She’s never made such a costly mistake of course, but she’s heard the horror stories. Wippens cracking and ruining the entire mechanism of the hammer. Strings snapping and lacerating fingers or worse. It was easy to forget how many pounds of tension just one of the 230 strings held—unless of course, you were on the wrong end of one.

She needs to take a break before she does something stupid. It’s Bill’s fault her nerves are shot to hell—he sent the text five minutes earlier. She had to read it three times before she could fully understand it. Her brain kept tripping over the words “Eve Polastri,” “her home,” and “Bösendorfer.” It sounds like an incantation: Eve, home, fancy piano. Eve. Eve’s home. Fancy, fancy, fucking piano.

She suddenly feels uncomfortably warm and realizes her hands are sweaty—no wonder she almost dropped the hammer.

As she paces the workshop she shares with Bill, she wonders if Eve even remembers her. It’d be a fluke if she did; she’d only spent five, maybe ten minutes sitting in the flute section while Villanelle meticulously tuned and re-tuned the Steinway while addressing the broken damper. She wasn’t sure why Eve stayed to watch her. She guesses maybe Eve was curious because of the tuning forks. Most in the profession use electronic tuners. Villanelle does things old-school. Or maybe Eve was just being a control freak, staying to ensure Villanelle completed the job to her satisfaction before the big performance. Whatever the reason, it's difficult not to be intimidated around her. Eve is at the top of her game. Well accomplished. Distinctive style. And gorgeous as ever at the age of 43. Most consider her one of the greatest solo pianists in the world. She has performed with every major orchestra, has dozens of solo albums—and a few Grammy’s as a result. Everyone wants her. She’s a guaranteed full house.

Villanelle sighs heavily. Fucking up this job was not an option.

It isn’t productive, but she keeps thinking about that day Eve watched her work on that Boston Symphony stage. She remembers with aching clarity the feel of Eve’s eyes on her back, how she could feel them follow the movements of her hands as she listened and adjusted, listened and adjusted. She remembers how warm she felt—heat radiating in waves from her stomach to the tips of her ears, how she could smell the coiled metal and resin of the obstinate strings as they creaked under the twist of her hammer. Villanelle burned under those lights, under Eve’s gaze. It was difficult not to turn and look. But occasionally she managed to steal a few glances. And of course every time she looked, she found Eve staring right back at her. The moment was for the briefest of seconds and Eve would always turn away feigning disinterest.

And when Villanelle had finished the job, when she asked Eve if she’d like to play something on the keyboard to test her handiwork, Eve declined. Instead, she smiled appreciatively, stood, and walked briskly away toward the wings of the hall (impressive, considering the 4.5” Jimmy Choos), while throwing a hand over her shoulder in a simple gesture of goodbye. Villanelle’s heart sank as she watched Eve walk away. The flutters in her chest swooped low and caught in her lungs. She wasn’t expecting that. Her lower lip curled, threatening to turn into an all-out pout. Ridiculous. But she quickly schooled her features. She was not being very professional. Villanelle prided herself on her professionalism. But still, she couldn’t help but cherish that last image of Eve as she walked away. Bouncing black-auburn curls under hot stage lights, the swing of her ass on her small frame. Those damn Jimmy Choos.

No, it’s unlikely Eve will remember her and that is just as well. Bill entrusts her with this gig and she plans on doing the best job possible. So what if Eve makes her nervous? She’s good at hiding her anxiety behind an obnoxious wall of confidence. Eve is not going to remember her and Villanelle will do her job very well. End of story. What could go wrong?


There’s a crisp knock at the door.

Eve adjusts the collar of her Erdem floral print blouse tucked into navy high waisted Fleur du Mal trousers and lets out a heavy sigh. Why was she so nervous? The girl's a piano tuner for god’s sake.

She steps into her Gianvito Rossi black leather ankle boots and fumbles with the zipper. She’s reaching for the other boot but loses her balance on the three inch heel and nearly falls to the floor. Thankfully there’s a wall for which she gracelessly slams her shoulder into with a heavy thud. She hopes Villanelle didn’t hear that. Such a klutz. So embarrassing.

She makes a final adjustment to her hair and schools her face into what she hopes looks neutral—bored, even.

She’s just a piano tuner.

The deadbolt clicks heavily as she turns the lock and swings the door open.

She’s met immediately with wide hazel eyes and full lips slightly parted by a forgotten smile as she stares back at Eve in equal measure. They’re frozen in place as they take each other in. Minutes seem to go by before the blonde breaks the silence with a soft, “oh.

Eve resists the urge to laugh. ‘Oh’? How endearing... She clears her throat. “Hello, I’m Eve Polastri, welcome to my home. And thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, come in and if you don’t mind taking off your shoes…?” She moves against the open door to let the tech pass. She’s still buzzing with nervous energy and feels uncomfortably warm. She didn’t expect the piano tech to be, well, hot. Of course she remembers the honey-hair, the wide eyes, and lovely cheekbones but that leather jacket...the simple designer t-shirt tucked into black skinny jeans. Holy shit. Isn't it illegal to be that attractive?

“Thank you,” Villanelle says softly, head bowed low. She crosses the threshold and gently rests her leather valise against the wall by the door and begins to unlace her Doc Martens, looking around the house curiously. “You have a lovely home.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ve put a lot of work into it.”

The silence is heavy.

“You’re still wearing your shoes,” Villanelle gestures her head down to Eve’s feet.

Shit, she’s right. Such an idiot. “Ah yes, I am. Um, that’s because I just got home myself,” she squeaks out.

“Oh ok.”

They’re back to staring again.

The blonde holds her valise at her side and tilts her head. “Should I—?”

“Yes, of course,” Eve answers quickly. She pulls off her boots and drops them on the shoe matt. “Follow me.”


“Well,” Eve pauses to steady her voice. She is so anxious. “Here she is. My pride and joy,” she says with a nervous laugh.

Villanelle looks at Eve and then back to the Bösendorfer, trying to hide her smile at Eve’s awkwardness. She places her valise full of tools down on the piano bench and moves to raise the lid to its full height. Next is the music stand that slides out to reveal the tuning pins but Eve rushes to Villanelle’s side just as she has a hand on it.

“Oh, no, let me help you,” Eve says.

Villanelle, a little surprised, moves her hand back and accidentally brushes her fingers against Eve’s palm.

They freeze for a few seconds, both pretending they didn’t just touch each other and that it certainly is not sending warm waves throughout their bodies.

Eve makes the first move after the awkward moment and gets both hands on the stand, flattens it, and slides it out to lean it against the wall. She turns back to look at Villanelle and notices her breathing has quickened and she’s wringing her hands. Maybe it’s time to give her space. Besides, Eve needed to leave and sit with her feelings. They were starting to concern here. This person was practically a stranger. A very attractive stranger, though.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll just be upstairs in the loft. Let me know if you need anything and thank you again.”

“It’s no problem,” Villanelle replies softly. “Happy to do it. It’s an incredible instrument.” She pauses, looking like she’s dazed. Her eyes come back into focus and she turns her back to Eve to look at the piano. “...Beautiful.”

Eve climbs the stairs and looks over the banister. She notices the tech is now reverently stroking the extra nine, all-black keys at the bottom of the keyboard. It's what makes the piano so unique—instead of the typical 88 keys, there's an extra octave totaling 97 keys. Eve doesn’t blame Villanelle for the fascination. Eve did the same thing when she first played an Imperial Bösendorfer. They are remarkable instruments. She knows she shouldn’t but Eve keeps watching, high on her perch of the loft landing. Unfortunately, the piano isn’t the only thing to look at. She catches herself staring at Villanelle’s smooth, golden hair hung low in a ponytail. She catches herself staring at her hands, her long, long fingers as she plucks and prods inside the instrument studiously. And god, she catches herself staring at the girl’s amazing ass in those tight jeans. She’s appalled at her body’s reaction. Her heart rate is up, her palms are sweaty, but most concerning is that she’s pretty sure her clit just throbbed and she can now feel herself getting slightly wet.

This was ridiculous. The girl had to be at least 15 years younger than her. She has never been attracted to women younger than herself; it was consistently older women, or to be more accurate—very successful, powerful women. What has this woman accomplished? At most, maybe she’s the best piano tech in the North East? Maybe? And yes, that took a great deal of talent and skill but she’s no CEO, not an esteemed conductor, or doctor or whatever profession she’s dated in the past. Why was this person special? Because she couldn’t deny the flutters low in her belly or the blush on her cheeks when she imagines what it would be like be with her.

Oh god, this was not good. Definitely not good.


Chapter Text


440 cycles per second.


Concert pitch.


Sleek black tuning fork held between her incisors, sticking out the side of her mouth like a cigar—she hears the pure, dulcet tone ring loud in her skull. She hits a key, listens for the beats, the clash between sound waves against her steadfast A440hz gripped in her mouth. A slight tremor between waves, an adjustment needed. A few cents sharp. She loosens the string with her hammer by a millimeter. Strikes the fork again, presses the key. Holds the fork just next to her ear, listening intently.


It wasn’t a difficult job, the piano being only a few years old and unmoved. Plus, Eve kept a humidifier in the room, conscious of any fluctuation throughout the seasons. She begins to collect her things, dusts the keys and polishes the fingerprints she’s left on the high polish finish. Last, she replaces the piano stand that covers the pins and lowers the piano’s lid gently so that it’s completely closed. She regards the instrument reverently, all 9 ½ feet of it.

She looks around for Eve but doesn’t see her and thinks she must still be upstairs. Her heart rate picks up. She knows what she needs to do next but she’s self-conscious. She needs to test the piano, which means she needs to play a piece which further means the Eve Polastri will hear said piece. Fuck.

When she was younger, Villanelle aspired to play half as well as Eve. She did well as a performance major at the Conservatoire de Paris but happened upon a different passion when she reluctantly enrolled in Piano Tech 101 her senior year. She found that she loves working with her hands, loves the pride she feels after fixing something that was broken, loves perfecting the sound and touch of such a powerful, beautiful instrument. But most of all, she loves pleasing her clients and listening to them play her handiwork. Apprenticing with Bill in the states was one of the best decisions she’s ever made.

Until now. But fuck it.

Villanelle places both hands on the keyboard, closes her eyes, and imagines the orchestra’s introduction to Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto, No. 1—fierce, resounding french horns blast in her ears and then it’s her entrance. She confidently hammers out those first few iconic major chords—fortissimo! Bright and magnificent. She digs her fingers into the keys, revelling in the power she feels echoing through the belly of the Bösendorfer. The vibrations rattle in her chest. Glorious tone, powerful dynamic range. She imagines the languid strings of the orchestra supporting her with their accompanying romantic theme. Then it’s time for her first solo of many, a variation on the theme. It’s still commanding, but has a sweetness now to the phrasing. Double octaves and block chords, easy enough but the tempo is fast and the next phrase starts to heat up, and soon she’s arrived at the descending double octave triplets running down the length keyboard into the poco riten Bdim7/D which she arpeggiates into a sustain before moving on to the much more difficult passage. Now the real solo begins. She gracefully transitions into the arpeggiated ascending lines up the keyboard. They are fierce, blistering—64th notes covering four octaves in a single beat, but she executes them perfectly. She’s building momentum, tension building until the release of the cadenza—rapid-fire triplets starting at a whisper quiet pianissimo that makes its way quickly down the keyboard into a roaring fortissimo. She’s in the zone, her mind blank except for the music. Out of the corner of her eye she sees movement—it’s Eve. She’s come down the stairs and seated herself on the couch off to the side of the piano. But Villanelle doesn’t stumble, she’s locked in, she can hear the orchestra’s pizzicato entrance in her head. She knows Eve can hear it too—she’s probably been playing this concerto since she was in high school.

It’s not until she sees an olive skinned hand rest at the top of the piano stand that Villanelle stops playing. How long had she been going? Villanelle swallows, heart pumping madly, and looks up at Eve.

“You play beautifully...” Eve takes in the form of Villanelle, back straight, hands still resting gracefully on the keys.

Villanelle marvels at the simple compliment, it’s said with such genuine kindness, but there’s something else in her tone—she can’t quite place it.

“May I?” asks Eve, gesturing to the piano.

“Yes, of course,” Villanelle says hurriedly and makes to move off the piano bench, but she’s stopped by a hand on her thigh. Villanelle looks from Eve’s face, down to the hand on her thigh, and back up at Eve in confusion.

“Sit. We’ll share.” Eve’s voice is smooth, steady. She sits on the edge of the bench and scoots next to Villanelle, bumping at the hip, their arms and shoulders pressed together. “So where did you study?” Eve begins playing more of the concerto in her right hand as she asks, her eyes now on the keyboard.

Villanelle is burning up inside. Eve’s left hand is still on her thigh, the weight of it—heavy and lovely sends shock waves down her body. “I—uh, the Paris Conservatory,” she mumbles. She realizes she’s incredibly nervous, even though she knows she just played a flawless excerpt in front of a world class musician, in her own home, on her own piano. But she’s nervous all the same, her breathing has definitely quickened, and though she knows it’s not possible, it feels like her heartbeat is literally vibrating her entire body like a struck bass drum.

She looks down to stare at Eve’s perfectly manicured fingers splayed against her black skinny jeans and her breath hitches as she sees—oh my god, feels that hand dance elegantly up her thigh. “You could have been a concert pianist,” Eve says softly. Villanelle snaps her head back to Eve, eyes wide, wondering what was happening, knowing how pink and flushed she must look. But Eve’s focus is still on the keyboard, her fingers deft and precise.

“I discovered I could do more talented things with my hands,” Villanelle says, hoping her nervousness wasn’t obvious. It was a come-on, but timid for her standards. With Eve, things were different. The woman made her feel crazy.

Eve glances at Villanelle out the corner of her eye, eyebrow raised in interest. She’s still playing, eyes focused on the keys but her mouth quirks into a small smile. She licks slowly across her bottom lip and glances again, but this time down to Villanelle’s mouth before looking back to the keyboard. Villanelle feels herself grow wet in that very moment and now she’s aching to touch her, wants to lean in and kiss that beautiful neck from ear to collarbone. Wants to remove Eve’s hand and place it directly between her legs where she needs her. But Eve’s focus is still on her right hand as it travels lightly across the instrument’s upper register; she’s casually playing themes from the same concerto, sometimes substituting left hand melodies with her right. Eve’s other hand is still otherwise occupied with Villanelle’s thigh, fingertips lightly brushing at the inseam of her pants. Her hand moves higher, and higher—until it’s right there at the apex of Villanelle’s thigh. She’s not sure this is truly happening. It all feels like a dream. She has to say something or she’ll hyperventilate.

“Do you even remember me?” It’s out of her mouth before she can stop herself. It comes out as a gasp. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. She also hadn’t realized how much she wanted this woman, come to think of it.

Eve doesn’t move her gaze away from the piano. Did she not hear her? She’s still playing, her tempo looser and less precise until finally coming to rest at a natural cadence point. She sighs, calmly turns to Villanelle, their faces inches apart due to their proximity on the bench. Eve’s right hand comes up to cup Villanelle’s cheek, thumb sweeping lightly across a chiseled cheekbone.

“Of course,” Eve says. She brushes a strand of hair behind the blonde’s ear.

Villanelle can’t help but gasp, her heart beating wildly. She’s never been this turned on before, she’s also never been more intimidated. Perhaps the two are connected? She doesn’t know what to do, what to say. She just stares into Eve’s hooded dark eyes.

Eve’s hand on her thigh suddenly squeezes tight. “Of course I remember you,” she husks seductively.

Villanelle can’t recall what she even asked in the first place, because warm, soft lips are on hers—a tongue slipping against her bottom lip asking sweetly for access. A hand threads through her hair and tilts her head to deepen the kiss, tongue still teasing at her lips. There’s no time for shock, only response. She opens her mouth and moans.

Eve licks into her once, twice, before capturing the blonde’s bottom lip and sucking gently. She releases her mouth for a fraction of a second to look up into hazel eyes for permission. The look sends Villanelle into a fit of madness. She grips Eve aggressively by her hair at the base of her neck and pulls her desperately back for more, kissing deeply, taking control with an overwhelming hunger. Eve whines in supplication, pressing up into the blonde’s mouth as she feels Villanelle’s tongue claim her while a hand grips the curve of her waist. They eventually break apart for air, gasping as they look desperately at each other, choosing not to talk, both knowing what they want.

Eve rises from the piano bench and Villanelle turns her body to face her, still seated, her back to the keys of the piano. Eve stands above her, looking down, hands resting in her trouser pockets as she drinks in the image of the blonde panting and licking her lips below her, waiting for Eve’s next move. Small fly-away hairs float against Villanelle’s neck. Her hair has come loose, her face is flushed, her supple mouth slightly parted while her chest rises and falls rapidly. Eve thinks she’s never seen anything more beautiful.

She’s surprised when Villanelle suddenly is peeling out of her leather jacket and ripping off her t-shirt, throwing them forcefully onto the floor like a tossed gauntlet. A challenge. There’s a cheeky grin on her face. Eve’s eyes widen as she watches the blonde slowly unclip her bra, slide the straps down her arms and lets it fall to the floor without breaking eye contact. Her breasts are perfect, large and perky, nipples hard, rising and falling with each breath. “Oh my god you’re beautiful,” she hears herself say. It’s intoxicating to watch this lithe, gorgeous woman look up at her, panting with desire.

Eve...” It’s said with such lust and need that Eve feels her cunt throb, her mind running through scenarios of what could happen next. What she wants to happen next. She’ll have to decide quickly because Villanelle’s gaze has turned predatory. She looks like a cat waiting to pounce, coiled with desire. But Eve won’t let her, not yet. She moves quickly and straddles the blonde, forcing the woman to fall back—her elbows crashing down onto the keyboard to support her weight. They barely register the loud clash of keys, a clanging of cluster chords as Villanelle wastes no time kissing up the length of Eve’s exposed throat. Eve quickly removes her blouse and her bra and tilts her head back to give the blonde more access, moaning as Villanelle delivers a sharp bite to her neck rather than a kiss. She threads her fingers through golden blonde hair to bring Villanelle’s face toward her breasts. “Fuck yes,” the blonde husks before immediately licking and sucking at Eve’s nipples, worshiping them.

It feels so good, better than she imagined. She can’t believe how turned on she is and her pants aren’t even off—she feels like she could come just from Villanelle’s mouth on her tits. She grabs her by the hair to pull her away, looking down at a helpless Villanelle, pinned against the piano’s keyboard—all she can really use is her mouth. She whines in protest as Eve teases her by grinding down onto her lap.

“I want you,” Eve growls. “Right. Now.”

“Where?” She says breathlessly. The aggression in Eve’s voice has her pussy throbbing. She’s wildly excited.

“Right here. Get up. Pants off.” Eve removes herself from the blonde’s lap and slaps the top of the piano right above the keyboard.

Villanelle’s mouth drops in shock. She gulps, “You want me want me on the piano??”

“Obviously,” Eve says, grinning—thoroughly enjoying the look of shock on the piano tech’s face. “Pants off, please,” she says, sweetly this time.

“Are you crazy?” Villanelle hisses. “Your piano—it’s…” she takes a deep breath and gestures toward the instrument, “it’s a half-a-million dollar Bösendorfer for fucks sake!” She’s not yelling but definitely sounds exasperated. She stares at Eve, waiting for an answer. She starts to laugh nervously as she realizes Eve might really be serious.

“Yes..” Eve says, voice pitched low and dark. “And I’m going to fuck you on it.”

“Holy shit…” Villanelle says under her breath, staring slack-jawed at Eve’s imposing figure, toned arms crossed over petite, perky breasts—waiting. “Jesus, you’re not kidding.” The piano tech begins unbuckling her jeans. “Fuck, ok...ok,” she says to herself and steps out of her pants, now only in her lace underwear. She can’t believe Eve Polastri is going to fuck her on her own fucking piano but she can’t find it in herself to say no. It’s fucking hot, if she’s being honest with herself. She hooks her thumbs onto the sides of her underwear and slowly pulls them down. She steps out of them and uses the piano bench to hoist herself above the keyboard to sit, legs dangling over the edge. Sensing this is no time to be shy—she’s fully committed now, she leans back on the palms of her hands, chest out, and opens her legs unabashedly. She looks Eve straight in the eye with a look of pure want, reaches up to cup her own breast and twist her nipple, letting out a small whimper.

The sound hits Eve like a freight train and she moves quickly to stand in front of Villanelle seated on the piano, standing between her open legs. She can smell the blonde’s arousal as she leans to suck at her breasts. “Oh my god,” Eve says in awe, her hands sliding over bare thighs and nails raking down her back. She collapses onto the piano bench and is met with Villanelle’s cunt, right at the level of her mouth—so wet and pink and shining. Perfect.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Eve says, looking up at the blonde. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

Villanelle hums, excited, her heart racing. “I can’t either, just please, touch me.” Her hands are in Eve’s incredible hair and she looks down to see that Eve’s face is only inches away from her pussy, breathing heavily and stroking the inside of her thighs—deft fingers tracing lightly at the outside of her lips, up and down, dipping in briefly to feel her wet heat. “Please, Eve..” Villanelle whines, panting, thrusting her hips forward in offering.

“Please what?” Eve asks, a slight tremor in her voice from her excitement. She parts Villanelle’s outer lips with her hand and starts teasing her fingers around the blonde’s inner lips, tracing her opening—arousal coating her fingers and sliding down into her palm. “My… you’re so wet for me. Fuck.” She starts stroking Villanelle’s sex with three fingers, up to her clit and back down to where she’s wettest. “So, so fucking wet for me,” Eve moans.

Villanelle bites her lower lip to keep from crying out in anticipation. She grips the front of the piano, knuckles white, the piano’s lid cold and hard underneath her ass, her pussy positioned just over the edge. She watches Eve kiss and lick the insides of her thighs, her fingers opening her up but avoiding where she needs Eve most. “Fuuuuck Eve…” She rolls her hips in desperation, so eager for the woman’s touch, but Eve pushes her thighs down aggressively and throws both legs over her shoulders, looking up into Villanelle’s eyes with an expression of pure desire.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Eve says, looking up at the flushed and panting blonde, “and you’re going to come so hard you’ll be screaming for me to stop.” She hears Villanelle gasp and moan with need. “And if you get come all over my piano,” she pauses and smiles wickedly, “you’ll be cleaning it with your tongue.”

“Oh GOD!” Villanelle cries out, head thrown back as she feels a strong lick start from her core to her clit. Eve’s hands grip possessively around her thighs, holding her down at the edge of the piano as Eve presses into her pussy. She opens herself as wide as possible for her, leaning back on her forearms, pressing into Eve’s mouth. She can’t help but moan in time with each ministration of Eve’s tongue, how she would lick a steady, hard rhythm on her clit only to stop and dip down, thrusting in and out of her dripping center. At some point she replaces her tongue with three fingers deep inside her and hooks them, searching for her G-spot.

Villanelle has never felt this good and never felt like she was going to come in such a short amount of time. But she can’t stop now as she reaches her peak. “Eve...I’m gunna.. Eve..” Her body burns with pleasure as she feels her climax rising. “Fuck Eve, fuckkk..” She grips Eve by the hair and fucks her face shamelessly, possessed by her pleasure as her orgasm rips through her body. She strikes the lid of the piano with her fist as each wave overtakes her, the lower strings echo inside like thunder. Eve hums between her legs in satisfaction, licking slowly, mindful of Villanelle’s come threatening to drip down onto the keys.

She wants to take the blonde again, this time from behind, but Villanelle is already up and pushing Eve away so she can lift herself off the piano. She leans down and captures Eve’s mouth with her own, gripping her chin to hold her mouth in place as she brushes her tongue inside to taste herself. She loves tasting herself on a beautiful woman.

“So…” she hums. “Did I come all over your precious Bösendorfer, Miss Polastri?”

Before Eve can answer she sees that Villanelle has lowered herself onto her knees between the keyboard and the piano bench Eve currently occupies. She looks down to see a naked, kneeling Villanelle unbuckling her belt and undoing the fastenings of her trousers. She’s got them halfway down Eve’s legs before Eve asks her what she thinks she’s doing. Villanelle looks up at her with the sexiest pout and says in her most innocent of tones, “I’m preparing you for your performance, Miss Polastri.”

Eve quirks her eyebrow at this but her pants and underwear are already on the floor, and she finds herself naked atop the piano bench with a hot-as-fuck 20-something piano genius inches away from her pussy. What the fuck.

“Play for me,” Villanelle asks calmly, now resting her head on Eve’s knee, looking up at her with such a sweet face.

“Excuse me?”

Villanelle reaches a hand up above her head and behind her, curving her fingers and manages to hit a major triad. “Like this.” She bites her lip, trying to look demure. Big hazel eyes staring up at her, her breasts swinging hypnotically as she moves. “I want to hear you play.”

Eve sucks in a deep breath at the sight below her. She reaches a hand down and cups her chin while dragging her thumb across Villanelle’s lower lip. “So beautiful…” Eve sighs as she slowly moves two of her fingers between her lips and into the blonde’s mouth, then slides them back out. “Clean them for me?” She asks gently, it’s not a command but an invitation. Villanelle practically purrs and licks her lips as she brings her mouth back to suck on Eve’s fingers, taking them in deep. Eve adds a third and watches in pure lust as Villanelle begins to fellate her fingers, eyes staring up at her in submission as she licks and sucks.

Eve knows she’s ruined the leather lining of her piano bench, she can feel how astoundingly wet she is. This woman below her is too perfect to be real. She’s never experienced anything—any situation or person—more arousing in her life. It’s absolute perfection. Eve loves perfection—thrives on it, makes a living on it. She finally removes her fingers from Villanelle’s mouth and lightly touches them to her own clit, groaning at the contact. Villanelle stares up in wonder, eyes blown with desire.

“What would you like me to play?” Eve says as she strokes herself directly in front of the blonde’s face, wet with her saliva.

Villanelle swallows hard, overwhelmed by the sight of Eve stroking herself. “I...I don’t know,” she says carefully, eyes locked onto Eve’s hand in her pussy. “Maybe Bach. A Bach fugue?” She sounds dazed.

Eve spreads her legs wider for Villanelle to see and moans as she starts to fuck herself. Panting she says, “Ok, but I choose.” She takes a moment to close her eyes, thoroughly enjoying herself before removing her wet fingers. She sets her hands on the keyboard, ready to play and looks down at Villanelle. “Well? What about you?”

“” she says coquettishly with a grin, moving closer on her knees, right between Eve’s legs. “I’m going to play you, dear, and nothing else,” and then she’s parting Eve’s outer lips with her tongue, sinking into wet, silk-heat and brushing lightly over her clit—hands spreading Eve wide on the piano bench. “You have to play, Eve.” she purrs, between licks, her tone darker, insistent.

Eve gasps and tries to snap her mind into focus. She places her fingers on the keyboard, takes in a deep breath just as she feels Villanelle suck on her clit, “Shit…” and begins to play Bach’s C# Major Prelude and Fugue, Book 1. BWV 848.

Villanelle moans in agreement when she hears it, it’s one of her favorites. She decides to tease Eve nice and slow so she can enjoy the performance before Eve is too overwhelmed to keep playing. She’s curious to see how long she will last.

Eve plays through the prelude well enough, only fumbling a few notes as the woman below her licks and sucks gently. She thinks it’s actually kind of nice—relaxing, she smiles as she runs through the alternating lines of shifting counterpoint. If I don’t look down, I might be able to get through this, she tells herself. But then she’s moving on to the fugue, more difficult, a lot of staccato attacks and difficult melodic voices to keep seperate. She feels a tongue trace around her opening and Eve sighs in exasperation but also pleasure. This is a delicious kind of torture.

Part of her brain is locked into the music, she has played through the Well Tempered Clavier more times than she can remember, she’s a world class musician, she could play both books blindfolded, in sequence—but now she feels two fingers circle and tease her before entering slowly and her hips thrust involuntarily. She misses a modulatory response of the left hand in the exposition before recovering again. She can’t help but make soft noises and short whimpers as Villanelle begins stroking in and out of her while rubbing her clit with a now hard, flat tongue. It feels so, sooo good and her focus is starting to drift, her tempo is inconsistent now and the accents have lost their punch. Three fingers enter her and she hisses with the stretch and groans after the first thrust. There’s more force behind them, they’re getting stronger. She wants to stop now, this is too much. “Villanelle, I don’t… ahh,” she struggles to speak, “don’t think I c-c-can keep going, mmm feels-s’o good.” She doesn’t receive a response except for a strong hum into her cunt as the blonde’s tempo increases, tongue in sync with her thrusts.

“You gunna come for me, baby?” Villanelle says quickly in between thrusts.

“Mhmm…” she whines, still playing, though uncoordinated. The idea of a steady tempo—laughable at this point.

“But you sound so good, I want to hear more,” she chuckles between Eve’s thighs before diving back into her pussy.

“I….” Eve trails off, eyes closed, playing by rote now—fingers on auto pilot. Her mind feels every stroke and every flick from Villanelle’s mouth and...

Eve immediately lets out a loud, strangled groan. Her pleasure reaches a new peak, her body vibrates with it. “Gunna come..” she says between Villanelle’s thrusts. “Gunna….oh FUCK!” Villanelle adds another finger, the burn from the stretch is so sweet that she can’t do it anymore. Her fingers freeze over the keys and she looks down. She sees honey-blonde hair and a perfect mouth licking at her cunt and a hand pumping into her core and she’s moaning in pleasure and she’s so gorgeous she.... The sight is too much, her orgasm hits her hard, head thrown back and she’s yelling Villanelle’s name between chants of “yes” and “fuck yeah” and “don’t stop” as she rides into another peak, it’s indescribable—the pleasure is overwhelming, she’s stopped breathing. Her arms buckle, her head drops forward and she crashes onto her forearms across the keyboard, hips rolling to meet Villanelle’s thrusts as she screams out her second climax accompanied by the chaotic ringing of dozens of keys. It feels like an explosion. She gasps in a huge lung-full of air like a person drowning, thrusting her hips as she spasms with aftershocks, and laughing—she feels high, she’s falling back down to earth and she can’t believe how good it was, and she can’t believe… she can’t believe….she.

She looks down again.

Villanelle is panting and smiling, wiping her hand down her face to try and clean herself and it’s hopeless, really, but Eve’s no longer looking at Villanelle, she’s staring at the floor because there, on the hardwood, lies a small puddle. Eve’s eyes go wide. Villanelle is chuckling—she’s absolutely giddy, whispering “holy shit” to herself as she wipes at her face and stares at the floor. “Wow, fuck Eve. I can’t believe many times did you come? Holy shit...” she says again in awe. She smiles up at Eve, tongue licking around her lips.

“Come here,” Eve says softly and Villanelle complies, straddling Eve on the piano bench. She tucks her head in the curve of Eve’s neck and wraps her arms around her, chests pressed together. Eve strokes her back, still catching her breath. “How’d I sound?”

“Amazing,” Villanelle murmurs. “My favorite part was you screaming my name...never heard that version before. A bold interpretation, but I like it.” She leans back to look into Eve’s eyes, hears her throaty laugh, her smile full of mirth. She holds Eve’s face in her hands before kissing her deeply, her rhythm slow but intent. She feels like she’s floating when she kisses Eve, her lips are so soft and her tongue is so sweet, it’s hard for her to stop.

When Eve pulls away she holds Villanelle by the hips and stares into her eyes. “There’s something else I want to do.”

Villanelle quirks an eyebrow. “Tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me on top.”

There’s a pause. Villanelle furrows her brow. “You want me to top you? Baby, of course I will. I know it might not seem like it but I’m actually a—”

“No.” Eve cuts her off. “I mean, yes, please but I meant up there.” She gestures her head toward the Bösendorfer.

Villanelle turns to look at the piano behind her, then back to Eve with a look of shock and concern. “You can’t be serious.”

Eve kisses her softly on the lips, gently pulling and nipping. Then moves down Villanelle’s jaw and behind her ear. “Please,” she whispers. She holds Villanelle closer and their nipples brush and the blonde sighs as Eve continues down her neck. “Please. It’s my piano.” She bites at Villanelle’s collarbone and the blonde hisses in response.

“You’re a little bratty, aren’t you?” she says teasingly and before she knows it, Eve gives her ass a hard smack and a squeeze.

“Maybe,” Eve deadpans, grinning. “But it’s still my fucking piano.” She grips Villanelle’s ass with both hands now, giving a good squeeze before she practically pushes Villanelle off her lap.

Villanelle grunts in surprise as she staggers back against the piano and watches as Eve hoists herself on top of the 9 ½ foot long concert grand, gets on her hands and knees, and begins to crawl seductively across its lid, stopping in the middle on all fours, staring at the blonde.

“Well?” Eve asks impatiently.

Villanelle’s eyes go wide and her pupils dilate as she looks upon what might be the sexiest thing she’s ever seen: a naked, gorgeous, phenomenaly talented woman on top of a mother fuck’n 9 ½ foot long Imperial Bösendorfer concert grand piano.

“Holy fuck.”

Eve smiles. She knows what the piano tech is thinking. As encouragement, Eve lies flat on her stomach and lifts her chest off the lid of the piano, arms straight and palms flat in what a yogi might consider Cobra Pose. Not only does this pose stretch out her chest and ab muscles, it also happens to be a great way to show off her breasts.

Villanelle’s facial expressions move from shock, to admiration, to lust in a matter of seconds before she’s moving quickly to Eve, lifting herself onto the lid and crawling to hover over the pianist who’s now lying flat on her back, looking up into hazel eyes. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” Villanelle says reverently, burying a hand in Eve’s hair before tracing down the length of her body, stopping just underneath her breast to cup it in her hand. She lowers herself onto her forearms and elbows, body pressed above Eve’s, their face inches apart.

The skin to skin contact is perfection. Villanelle’s sex is straddled over Eve’s thigh and she can feel how turned on the blonde is, wet and hot. She wraps her arms around the tech’s shoulders and rakes her nails down her back, causing her to shiver. Villanelle leans down to kiss her slowly, slipping her tongue in against her own. It’s sensual in a way their kissing hadn’t been earlier. There’s emotion behind it beyond just lust, and Eve finds herself pulling the woman closer, kissing her harder with more need. She lifts her thigh between Villanelle’s legs and feels her bite down on her lip in response, letting go with a small gasp to roll her hips against Eve’s thigh. A hand moves down to caress and knead Eve’s breast and pinch and pull at her nipple while they continue to kiss, Villanelle all the while continuing to grind against her. She’s overcome with a new wave of arousal when she hears the blonde’s wet pussy slap against her, gliding back and forth, seeking friction. Eve holds her leg steady for her and presses up to meet the woman’s thrusts. She’s panting and moaning into Eve’s mouth as she continues to kiss her, but the kiss is broken and suddenly the blonde’s face is turning a slight shade of pink above her. A vein rises against her neck as Eve’s strong fingers squeeze at the sides. “Do you want this? Is this ok?” The blonde nods her head quickly and closes her eyes, grinding into Eve even harder. “Do you want to come?” Another nod, her face turning pinker. The woman ruts against her a few more times and then her eyes shoot wide open. Eve takes this as her cue. “Come for me baby,” and she feels the blonde spasm above her, coating her thigh as Eve releases her grip. She watches the blonde’s eyes roll back in her head as she’s overwhelmed with pleasure followed by her quick, heavy gasps—color returning to her face.

“Oh god… oh god…” she murmurs as she comes down. “Oh my god, Eve.” She collapses on top of her, letting the endorphins continue to rush through her body.

Eve holds her through it, buries her face in the hollow of the woman’s neck, kisses and licks at the marks she’s made. “So beautiful…” She kisses and nuzzles, reaches an arm down the woman’s back a grabs a perfectly toned ass cheek. “So fucking hot…”

Villanelle moans on top of her, in pleasure or agreement—it’s not clear, but she’s recovered enough to lightly nip at Eve’s neck and prop herself back up above her. “Your turn,” she grins.

Eve doesn’t respond, but reaches behind Villanelle’s neck to sweep her long golden hair out of her face. She’s smiling so hard, so genuinely as she brushes the back of her fingers across the blonde’s jawline. “I haven’t felt this happy in a long time,” she says, softly cupping Villanelle’s cheek, rubbing her thumb against a prominent cheekbone. “We should…talk, about things. Do that ok?”

Villanelle stares down at Eve, unguarded and full of some kind of feeling, it’s heavy in her chest but it feels welcomed. She smiles and kisses the inside of Eve’s palm, “Yes, I’d like that. I’d like to do a lot of things with you.”

“Me too,” she says simply, pulling Villanelle down for a long kiss. “We could watch a movie, eat some pasta?” Villanelle giggles above her at the randomness of the suggestion. “There’s also a really nice bed upstairs that’s a lot softer than this piano lid.” Villanelle rolls her eyes.

“Was it worth it?”

“Worth what?” Eve asks, pulling Villanelle back down against her.

“The piano,” she says against her neck, nose buried in her dark curls. “Was it worth the money, the time it took for them to build it, the maintenance…”

“Worth every penny.” Eve pauses, stroking Villanelle’s back. “You know, I’ll probably need it serviced again, I’m worried we might’ve uh, been too hard on it today.” She smiles and hears Villanelle chuckle.

“Ok, but I’m charging extra next time I come over.”

“Oh, I won’t be paying you.” Eve says nonchalantly. “In fact, you won’t be working on that piano at all when you’re here.”

Villanelle is silent, she can feel Eve’s pulse underneath her lips. She’s starting to love the smell of her skin, of her hair. She loves being this close, loves the sound of her voice, the way it resonates against her chest and sends tingles down her spine. She clears her throat and asks, “Oh, well, what would you have me do next time?”

“Next time, you’ll be here and you’ll...” she turns and faces Villanelle, looks into her soft hazel eyes and says, “you’ll just be mine.”