Rafayel had no plans today. No paintings to finish. No fan meetings to attend. No gallery showings demanding his presence.
Just this—lying with his head in Nana's lap, staring up at her face like he was memorizing every detail for his next masterpiece.
She looked like a doll, he thought. Too perfect to be real. Her delicate features, her small frame, the way she absentmindedly munched on macarons while pretending not to notice his intense staring.
The soft piano music playing from the speakers mixed with the sound of waves crashing outside their beachside home, creating the most peaceful atmosphere he'd experienced in months.
"You're staring again," Nana said without looking down, though her cheeks were pink.
"I can't help it." His hand reached up to brush a crumb from the corner of her mouth, his touch lingering. "You're too beautiful. And I like this. Just us. No distractions. No world outside. Just you and me and this moment."
She smiled, setting down her macaron box to trace the features of his face—his high cheekbones, his elegant nose, those striking dual-toned eyes.
"You're beautiful too," she said softly. "Like an angel. Sometimes I forget you're real."
His heart squeezed. How had he gotten so lucky?
"Husband," Nana said suddenly, her innocent voice breaking the comfortable silence. "Do you know what Mina said yesterday?"
"What did your troublemaker friend say this time?" He was already amused.
"She said I should put kiss marks on you. So your fangirls will see you're taken!"
Rafayel's chuckle was low and dark. His hand moved to cup her neck, pulling her gently down toward him until their faces were inches apart.
"You can put kiss marks on me, cutie." His breath ghosted across her lips. "Anywhere you want. You could even put kiss marks on my—"
He leaned closer, whispering the explicit suggestion in her ear.
"WHAT?!" Nana's face turned bright red. She smacked his arm with the macaron box. "Rafayel! You're so—so—"
"Freaky?" He grinned unrepentantly. "I prefer 'creative.' And you love it."
Before she could protest further, he sat up and plucked the last candy from her favorite box—the one she'd been saving—and popped it in his mouth.
"Husband! That's my candy!"
"Oh?" His eyes sparkled with mischief. "I guess I already ate it. Oops."
"Hmph!" She crossed her arms, her pout deepening. "That was the last one!"
"Then," he stood, towering over her small frame as he cupped her face, "let me share it with you."
"How?"
His thumb brushed her lower lip, gently encouraging her to part them. "Open, cutie. Let me show you."
She did, and he slipped his thumb inside. The feeling of her tongue swirling around it, the small whimper she made—it went straight to his groin.
"That's it," he breathed. "Just like that."
Then he bent down—quite far, given their height difference—and kissed her deeply, passing the candy from his mouth to hers with his tongue.
But just as she thought she'd gotten it, he stole it back, his tongue chasing hers in a game that was more about teaching her to French kiss than actually sharing candy.
"Hmph! You stole it again!" She pulled away, stomping her foot adorably before dramatically throwing herself onto the carpet and rolling around in frustration.
Rafayel watched, utterly enchanted. How could one person be so devastatingly cute? He wanted to capture this moment in paint. Or better yet—
"Cutie..." He knelt beside her, pulling her into his arms from behind. "I want you."
She froze, her face turning completely red. "Want me? Like... like last night?"
"Exactly like last night." His lips found her ear. "Let me make love to you. Let me worship you."
Before she could even respond—or demand her candy back—he scooped her up and carried her to their bedroom on the second floor. But instead of the bed, he sat her on the piano bench.
"I'm going to play for you," he said, his voice low and promising. "Make music while I make love to you. Let every note be a testament to how you make me feel."
He positioned himself behind her on the bench, his hands moving to lift her dress. She wore nothing underneath—a habit he thoroughly appreciated—and he groaned at the sight.
"So perfect," he murmured. "My beautiful bride."
His fingers found her core, already wet from their earlier kiss. He stroked slowly, teasingly, while his other hand reached around to play the piano.
The music started soft and slow—a gentle melody that matched the lazy circles he drew on her clit.
"Rafayel—" she whimpered, her head falling back against his shoulder.
"Shh. Just listen. Feel." He added a finger inside her, curling it just right. "Let the music guide us."
He played and touched, played and touched, building her higher with each note. When she came the first time, crying out his name, he smiled against her neck.
"That's one."
The music shifted—becoming slightly faster, more passionate. He added another finger, stretching her, preparing her.
"I'm going to take you now," he said, adjusting their position so she was in his lap, facing the piano. "And I'm going to keep playing. Can you handle that, cutie?"
"I—I don't know—"
"You can." He positioned himself at her entrance. "Because you're perfect. And you're mine."
He lowered her onto him slowly, both of them groaning at the sensation. She was so tight, so warm, so perfect around him.
"Oh god—" Nana gasped, her hands gripping his thighs. "So deep—you're so deep—"
"That's right." He began moving her slowly, his hips rocking up in time with the piano melody his hands were still playing. "Take all of me. Feel every inch."
The dual sensation was overwhelming—the beautiful music, his cock filling her, his breath hot on her neck. She didn't know where to focus, could only surrender to the pleasure.
The piano music grew wilder, more untamed, matching the increasing desperation of his thrusts. His fingers flew across the keys while his body drove up into hers with increasing force.
"Rafayel—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His teeth found her shoulder, biting down. "Come for me again. Come while I play for you."
She shattered with a cry, her second orgasm ripping through her. But he didn't stop playing, didn't stop moving.
"That's two," he counted breathlessly. "Let's see how many I can give you before I finish my song."
The music became a symphony of passion—complex and beautiful and wild. His hands never faltered on the keys even as his body drove up into hers with increasing desperation.
She came again. And again. Lost count somewhere between three and five, overwhelmed by sensation and music and him.
"I can't—" His playing finally stuttered. "Too tight—squeezing me—fuck—"
The piano music crashed into a discordant climax just as he buried himself deep and came with a groan, filling her until it overflowed, dripping onto the piano bench.
They stayed locked together, both gasping for air, the final notes of the piano still echoing in the room.
"That was..." Nana couldn't find words.
"Art," Rafayel finished, pressing kisses along her shoulder. "Pure art. You inspire me in ways no canvas ever could."
He carefully lifted her off him, turning her to face him. Her eyes were glazed, her body trembling with aftershocks.
"Beautiful," he whispered, wiping away the tears of overstimulation from her cheeks. "So beautiful when you come undone for me."
"I can't feel my legs," she mumbled.
"Good." He smiled, lifting her into his arms. "Then I did my job properly."
He carried her to the bathroom, drawing a warm bath. As he settled her in the water, she looked up at him with a mix of exhaustion and wonder.
"Will you always be this romantic?"
"With you? Always." He climbed in behind her, pulling her back against his chest. "Every day, I'll find new ways to show you how much I love you. Through art, through music, through my body. Whatever it takes to prove you're my entire world."
"Even if I eat all your special candy?"
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Even then. I'll just find creative ways to share it with you."
As they soaked in the warm water, Nana's head resting on his shoulder, Rafayel mentally composed a new piece—a piano concerto inspired by this moment.
He'd call it "Ode to My Bride."
And every note would sing of his love for the small, adorable woman who'd somehow captured his heart completely.
His muse. His bride. His everything.
🐚🐚🐚