Page 34 of Serving the Maestro

Each time I’d been with Trent until now, it had been at his place. It was easier that way, for me, at least. I could control when I came, when I left, and maintain the structure of this strange, not-relationship relationship.

But a few hours earlier, just after I woke, he showed up at my door, knocking.

I opened the door to find him standing there, arms laden with take-out.

Breakfast and all of it was still hot.

Belly stuffed full of delicious French toast and bacon, I found myself on the couch with him, watching movies for half the afternoon.

After a superhero flick which we both loved, a comedy he loved and I’d never seen, he found another movie—one I only heard of in passing.

Not long into it, I found myself breathing hard while my nipples went tight, and the flesh between my thighs grew wet.

And Trent was watching. Me, not the provocative movie he’d put on—me.

I have no idea how we went from lounging on the couch to him sprawled over me with his head between my thighs and my hands in his hair, but the man did things with his tongue and mouth and fingers that should be illegal.

Two climaxes later, he kissed his way up my body and flipped me onto my knees before coming into me, deep and hard.

“I want your mouth on my cock next,” he said in my ear.

I moaned, pushing back against him.

“I’m going to fuck your pretty mouth until I explode, and you’ll love it, won’t you, Jazz?” he asked, gripping my hip and holding me still for his possession.

“Yes.”

He spanked me. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, master.” The words were a broken whisper that rose into a wail as he slammed into me so hard it should have hurt. Should have, but it didn’t, and soon, I was coming, clamping down on him hard as my body convulsed and jerked in orgasm.

He came, too, the hot wash of his semen flooding me.

I didn’t have time to catch my breath before he pulled out of me and flipped me, dragging me up until I was propped up between the back of the couch and the arm. He fisted his cock in his hand, still hard, wet from his orgasm and me, and braced his free hand on the back of the couch.

“Open your mouth, pet. I already told you what I want.”

I opened for him, watching him with dazed eyes as he fed me one slow inch after the other. He shuddered and came to a stop, already knowing my limit. Hand moving to my hair, he began to move, slow, shallow movements at first, giving me time to adjust.

My heart was pounding, and I was nowhere close to catching my breath.

But I wanted to see him shaken. I wanted that hard, cool exterior to fall apart to see if any of this affected him.

No. You don’t want anything more than the physical.

I kicked the thought away, but it resurfaced.

I wanted more...so much more.

And when Trent shuddered above me, eyes closing, something inside me, something greedy and deeply female, went hot with that small victory.

* * *

I was almost asleep when I felt him leave the bed.

He was quiet, but feeling him pull away woke me quickly, and I sat up as he came around the bed to sit next to me.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

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