Excert: Rebecca’s Ghost

 

Click image to learn about the armonica Armonicab and hear what  this instrument sound like.

 

( This page is meant for Adults and has sexual content)

 

Purchase here 

Elizabeth stretched her fingers lightly across the bowls of her glass armonica and began to play.

Delicate, sweet ethereal music emanated forth. A sound beyond those of any other he had ever heard.

Philip stared at her hands, captivated by the enchantingly light, high tones, and the eerie spine tingling low tones that dissipated into the air, lingering there long after she had stopped playing.

“Are those high notes not celestial, like the voices of the angels?” An enticing smile of delight lit her green eyes.

He nodded. “A magical voice indeed.” She was as magical as her music. “What does it feel like?”

“Like hundreds of tingling pine needles on the tips of your fingers.”

A tug tightened his loins. “Wouldst thou allow me?” He moved around to stand beside her.

She stood. “The greatest difficulty for beginners lies in the touching.”

He slipped into her seat.

’Twould be his pleasure to show her how and where to touch him.

“Nay!”

Her shout yanked his thoughts from the bedchambers and to the present.

Leaning across him she grabbed his hand before he had a chance to touch the glasses.

He stared transfixed as she placed his fingers into the water. “First you must wash your hands to remove any oils that may be on your skin.”

Did she realize what an effect her words were having on him? How his aroused mind turned those words into erotic foreplay? How the sound of her silky voice so close to his ear blew hot against his cheek?

Warm water blended with the touch of her fingers as she gently rubbed his hands, and he yearned to bring those fingers lower to caress the root of his sex. It took every ounce of control to keep his manhood from responding. A feat that became increasingly difficult with every graceful move that sent a wave of her sweet perfume to the air.

“You must play with long outstretched fingers.” Her voice from behind him floated above him like a warm summer’s breeze.

Bending over him, he could feel her breasts resting against his upper back.

“This large bowl here…” she brought his fingers to the glasses, “is a G. Its sound is a little below the reach of a common voice.”

Perspiration dotted his hairline.

Scented rose water filled his nostrils, intoxicating him.

“Now pump.”

His mind stuck on the word pump and what it conjured up; a split second passed before he realized what she meant.

He pushed down on the foot pedal.

She turned the wheel then guided his hands back and forth, from the smallest to the largest bowls.

The veins in his neck pulsated along with her movements and that of the continual friction of the glasses.

Her warm, gentle touch distracted him with the temptation of kissing those delicate fingers.

If she had any notion of the effect she was having on him, would she bolt from the room as she had from the garden?

The sound of his pounding heart echoed over the grinding of the wheel and the dreadful shrillness emanating forth.

“This is more difficult than it seems.”

He could feel his loins tighten.

Any longer in her presence and there would be no denying his body’s urge for release.

“You’re pressing too hard,” she said softly.

’Twas an understatement; if she only knew how hard.

She stepped around him, to his side. “Try again, only this time barely touch them.”

Philip concentrated on the glass bowls before him.

After a few more tries he managed to produce an irritating squeak.

She laughed. “Your hands are too dry.”

As was his throat.

“Cool them off in the water and try again.”

Why didn’t he just douse his entire body with water?

Philip glanced at her, relieved to see a glint of excitement in her eyes. She had no notice of the havoc she played on his mind, nor the consuming fierce urgency coursing through his veins.

He wanted to crush her to his chest and taste her sweet mouth.

The torment…

He bolted from the chair. “’Tis best that I stop.”

“Nay. You are doing fine.” She grabbed his wrist. “Come. Let me show you again. ’Tis not difficult.”

He stared down at her hand intertwined with his. “You have the most beautiful fingers.”

She inched her hand away; he held tight and raised the tips to his lips. “So long…”

“I—”

He kissed her gently. “So soft.”

He opened her palm and pressed a kiss in the moist center.

Her tantalizing lips parted, and to his pleasure she remained steadfast.

Slowly, he leaned toward her.

She breathed lightly.

He stared into her eager eyes, brushed his mouth against hers as he spoke. “You are so beautiful.”

She didn’t move.

The caress of his lips on her mouth set his body aflame, but he continued to kiss her slowly, gently, lest he frighten her.

“I forget to breathe when I’m around you.” His voice simmered in barely restrained passion.

He heard her groan and claimed her lips with his, kissing her with all the urgent passion surging through his limbs.

Then he realized the intensity of his actions and drew back, showering kisses around her lips, her jaw.

He nibbled her neck, elated that her head lobbed back, prompting him to kiss the sweet hollow of her throat. He swallowed the tip of her nose beneath his lips, kissed her closed lids, and felt her languid in his arms.

His mind reveled in the velvet warmth of her mouth, in her eager response.

Very aware of her reaction, he felt her quiver against him and his gaze flew to her eyes—eyes filled with delight.

Again, he kissed her neck, kissed behind her ears. He inhaled the rose scent of her skin, her hair.

Transported on an intense journey he could not stop, a warning consciousness flared then dissipated.

Drugged, drowning, every fiber of his being felt ignited, sensitive.

Every touch of her fueled his heartbeat. Every willing response pushed him over the edge of wanting more.

She pulled away and he nearly toppled over.

Her face flush, her eyes wide, she licked her lips and he thought he’d go insane.

“My Lord,” her breathless tone made him catch his breath, study her features. Her stance, to his relief, was relaxed, welcoming.

Her hand jerked to her chest as though she, too, needed to take a moment to breathe.

“I think we should—”

“Yes, ’tis best.” Reality seeped back into his torrid mind, cooling his heated person, yet his loins continued to bulge, to ache, despite his best effort.

She gestured toward her instrument. “I must practice. I—”

“But of course, you must.” He bowed, needed to bolt from the room lest she see the effect she’d had on his body, for surely she would faint from the sight.