Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“No. I’ll tune her,” Jackson says.
“Pfft …” Frankie rolls her eyes. “Only one person in this room can properly tune this piano.”
The two men nervously eye Jackson. He gives them a slight headshake, discouraging them from engaging with Frankie. Nothing good will come of it.
After the men leave, Jackson walks around Beauty, gently dragging his fingers along her smooth wood the way Frankie used to do. “I’ll let you tune her,” he says as a peace offering.
Frankie stands in the corner of the room, arms crossed, lips in a hard line.
“I’ll let you play her first.”
Frankie doesn’t blink.
His shoulders drop into a hard surrender. “What’s going to fix this?”
She rubs her lips together while snatching the tuning kit off the table. “You told Wylder you would teach him to play the piano.”
“Yeah …” Jackson replies with caution. He doesn’t trust Frankie. She’s too much like … him.
“I’ve decided I will teach him.”
“What if we alternate who—”
“I,” she snaps, “will teach him.” She sits at the piano and lays out the instruments like a surgeon.
He'd have to kill her if he didn’t love her beyond reason. Wylder is his mini-me, despite Slade’s ridiculous protests of the claim. It only makes sense that Jackson should teach Wylder to play the piano.
The problem is that Frankie has a look. A come-hither look. And she has perfect tits. An unforgettable ass. Don’t even get him started on her pussy.
Jackson begrudgingly nods a silent acquiescence. Maybe when Wylder’s old enough to understand the magic of a woman’s body, he can tell his grandson that he wanted to teach him, but … tits and ass.
“Why are you—”
Frankie gives him an outstretched arm with a flat hand. “Shoosh.”
The man without a submissive bone in his body sits in a chair and watches Frankie tune Beauty for the next hour. It’s confusing. He’s not sure where the greater jealousy lies. Beauty? Because Frankie’s hands are all over her. Or Frankie? Because she’s playing Beauty?
“Okay, maestro … play something.” Frankie steps away from the piano.
Jackson grins, standing and stretching his fingers in a dramatic display while strolling toward the piano.
“Take off your clothes before you play for me.”
Jackson squints at her. “Is that your kink?”
“I’m too fucking sophisticated for kink. I simply know what I like.”
Jackson tries to hide his amusement while he shrugs off his shirt.
Jeans.
Underwear … depositing them on the floor by the piano bench. “And you like watching me play the piano naked?”
Frankie leans against the back of the sofa and crosses her arms. “We’re about to find out.”
Jackson smirks, taking a seat. “I fucking love you.”
“Because I’m so smart and talented?” She pushes off the sofa.
“Nope.” He starts to play a concerto in E minor.
“Because I challenge your stubborn ass?” She ambles closer.
“Nope.”
Frankie runs her fingers along Beauty. Then she teases the nape of his neck while her lips settle beside his ear, and she whispers, “Because I’m the girl you kiss good night.”
The End