Page 18 of Serving the Maestro

Heart racing, I reached up and curled my fingers into the soft, fine wool of his forest green sweater. “I want the same.”

Rising on my toes, I met him just as he lowered his head.

Our mouths touched, and a blistering inferno exploded within.

Oh.

Oh, my.

This is what friends meant when they talked about a guy who kissed so well, that their minds just went blank.

Trent tangled the fingers of one hand in my hair and tugged my head back, changing the angle until he had me where he wanted me. The other hand went to my hip, holding me steady as he moved closer, his body pressing mine into the wall with sensual force.

His tongue stroked over my lower lip, then dipped into my mouth, a groan vibrating out of him as the kiss deepened.

More.

That was the only clear thought now.

I wanted more.

Rising on my toes to press closer to him, I curled one arm around his neck and tugged. He reacted by gripping my hip and pulling me in against him, his cock a hard, pulsing length.

My knees went weak, legs threatening to give out under me.

Shoving one hand under the hem of his sweater, I touched hot, silken skin. He groaned against my mouth and then nipped my lower lip.

I whimpered, the sound totally foreign, full of wanton, raw need.

He broke the kiss, and I tried to follow, take his mouth again.

Trent caught my chin, holding firm. The feel of his fingers against my skin, slightly rough, strong, and thoroughly masculine, sent a shiver running down my spine.

“Come inside with me,” he said, voice rough.

I was torn. Getting involved with your neighbor was so cliché, and almost always ended badly. But Trent's only in New York for a couple of months so he’s not really a neighbor. More like a visitor.

SEVEN

TRENT

Her almost instant agreement surprised me as much as my spontaneous invitation.

But I didn’t waste energy analyzing why I’d invited her in. It was clear. I hadn’t felt such a hot pull toward a woman in a long time.

What made it even crazier was that Jazz wasn’t into the lifestyle. I could tell. I doubted she’d had more than a handful of lovers, and if even one of them had managed to give her a mind-blowing orgasm, I’d sell my Steinway.

I rarely got involved with a woman who wasn’t into BDSM. I just didn’t get my needs met otherwise.

But I was already craving feeling her hands in my hair as I went down on her, craving the feel of her mouth on my cock as I taught her to suck dick the way I liked.

And yeah, I was getting ahead of myself.

Taking her hand, I led her to my apartment, just a few feet from the elevator.

Her fingers tightened on mine, her skin hot. Her breaths were ragged and her expression spoke only of blind need and lust.

Unlocking the door, I dropped my keys on the small table beyond the threshold, then stripped out of my sport coat, eyes already on Jazz.

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