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Louise asked, 'Is there room for two?' and Eugénie said, 'Yes.'

The piano stool was wide; two young women in negligées could sit comfortably side-by-side. The morning sun fell bright across the keys, gleamed on Eugénie's dark hair, illuminated her skin.

'Yes,' she said. 'Come and play.' She shifted to the left. Louise sat next her, and Eugénie's arm snaked around her waist, drew her close, curve against curve, skin against satin against cotton against skin.

Eugénie began to play, strong fingers moving rhythmically over the keys, rippling arpeggios over Louise's thigh. 'Will you put in the treble?' she asked, and Louise said, 'Yes.'

The right hand for the piano, the left hand for stroking Eugénie's face, for running a finger along her lips, for tracing the line of her backbone. 'Yes.'

Eugénie, distracted from the music, brought her other hand away from the piano and tugged at the sash of Louise's negligée. She bent to kiss Louise's neck. 'May I?' she breathed.

'Yes,' Louise said, 'yes,' as Eugénie slipped the garment from her shoulders, deliciously slowly, kissing each inch of newly-exposed skin. She played with the silken heaviness of Eugénie's hair, and, with her free hand, closed the piano. Eugénie nodded, between kisses, guided her right leg so that she straddled the piano stool and leaned back against the lid. Warm wood at her back, warm lips at her breast. And still Eugénie was kissing her, lazily, maddeningly, spiralling downwards. She had slid to the floor, now, and Louise pressed her hands into her shoulders, hard. 'Eugénie...'

'Yes?' She raised her head, regarding Louise with mingled passion and amusement.

'Oh, don't stop, don't stop...'

Eugénie ran a teasing finger around a nipple, smiled, and continued, urgently now. Strong fingers, practised fingers, musician's hands and lover's mouth... Louise screwed her eyes tight shut. 'Yes,' she breathed. 'Yes. Yes.'