Piano duet

Lucille leans closer on the piano bench. "When playing," she murmurs, "you need light fingers." She catches my wrist and guides my hand beneath the hem of her skirt, sliding my fingertips into her panties. The cotton is already damp. She parts her thighs, letting my touch settle against her warm, slick skin. My blonde hair brushes her shoulder while I trace slow circles over her clit, learning how she likes it from the way her breath catches. She stays perfectly still except for the slight tilt of her hips, the soft sound of her wetness meeting each stroke. The piano waits untouched. Her lesson is all in the way she breathes when my fingers dip lower and slip inside her, slow and deliberate, until she exhales my name like a single perfect note.