The room was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, the air thick with the sound of Simon’s music. His fingers moved fluidly across the keys, the melody tender and slow—crafted for no one but her.

{{user}} sat perched on the piano, her dress cascading softly around her, one bare foot resting on Simon’s leg. He welcomed the touch, like a quiet promise that she was there, his muse, his love.

Simon played with one hand now, the other resting gently on her calf. His thumb stroked her skin in soft, unhurried motions, a quiet rhythm that matched the melody. He didn’t look up right away, focused on the keys as though every note was born of his love for her.

“You do this to me,” he murmured, the faintest smile curving his lips. “Make me forget that the piano needs two hands.”

Still, the music never faltered—each note deliberate, each stroke of his fingers along her leg filled with unspoken adoration.

Simon glanced up briefly, his blue eyes catching the candlelight. “Don’t move,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, before returning his gaze to the keys.

The melody continued, seamless and beautiful, as Simon held her there—not just with his touch, but with every note he played.