Page 35 of Serving the Maestro

“I wasn’t quite asleep yet,” I said, not really lying, but not telling the whole truth.

He pushed something into my hand. “You seemed to enjoy the last time I had you do something outside of bed. I thought perhaps we’d do it again.”

My mouth went dry, and I looked down at what I held. “I...um...oh.”

He leaned in and bit my lower lip. “Is that a yes?”

Heat, unlike anything I’d ever known spread through me as I met his eyes. Slowly, I nodded.

ELEVEN

TRENT

The music in my head was coming out all wrong.

It wasn’t bad music.

It was pretty fucking amazing, and I needed to show it to Stephen. It was some of my best work. But it wasn’t the work I was being paid to do, which was a problem.

The music pouring free was richly, hotly seductive, a primal soundtrack for the thoughts and fantasies coming non-stop ever since I’d left Jazz alone with the little toy I’d bought for her.

The butt plug wasn’t a large one. I was tempted to stay and show her how to use it—then fuck her again, but I’d left, sticking to our unspoken agreement that we wouldn’t spend nights together.

That unspoken agreement was starting to annoy the hell out of me because I wanted more time with her.

I didn’t like dishonesty, even from myself, and truthfully...

I wanted more time with Jazz.

I liked her.

It wasn’t just the sex.

I liked her.

The music flowing from me suddenly stopped, a harsh discordant note making me wince before I stilled my hands and glared at the baby grand as if it was responsible for my sour mood.

With a scowl, I collected the sheets of music I’d done for the project and went through them, trying to focus once more on the music I was being paid to interoperate.

I pushed on for another hour and managed to finish a piece I’d been working on for days—the one I’d wanted to have done the previous week.

It was better than nothing.

And it was all I’d be good for until I had my hands on Jazz.

Looking at the time, I blew out a breath.

She wouldn’t be home from work for a good six hours.

Six hours before I could push up the vivid pink skirt she’d been wearing when I caught a glimpse of her in the lobby this morning. Six hours before I could push down her panties and see the base of the plug, I’d told her to wear today.

Six hours before I could push into her pussy and feel her clench tight around me.

“Fuck this shit,” I muttered.

If she wasn’t opposed to going without panties, or wearing an anal plug to work, then maybe she wouldn’t have a problem with me showing up at her office.

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