I nodded to her lies. Didn't push.
She tilted her head. "Your turn. Why's the Beach King sneaking into locked rooms instead of drowning in bikini girls?"
"Because bikini girls are easy," I said. "And easy gets boring. I was looking for hard. Found impossible."
Her flush deepened. She shivered, thighs clenching.
"You're doing it again," she murmured. "That thing. I feel… drunk on you."
"Side effect," I said. "You're just potent..."
She stood. Robe fell open completely: lace, skin, bruises, moonlight.
"Okay, play. And you better not disgrace my moves with some lame-ass 'Chopsticks,'" she said finally.
I laughed. "The honor is all mine, Your Grace. I'll try not to embarrass you."
She walked to the center of the room. Dropped the robe.
Stood in nothing but white lace and moonlight.
"Play, Beach King."
I turned to the keys.
And began.
I didn't touch the sheet music. I didn't breathe for the first bar.
My fingers slammed the keys like I was claiming her soul.
