Page 38 of Serving the Maestro

I covered her mouth once more and whispered against her ear, “Do I have to keep doing this?”

She nodded, shuddering against me.

“Good.” I bit her earlobe once more, then spanked her. “I like it.”

She bounced onto her toes as I drove into her again, her pussy made so much tighter by the plug. I couldn’t wait to stretch her until she was ready to take my cock in her ass. Every second of that preparation would be torturous perfection.

She tensed, her pussy contracting around me while her body grew hotter.

“Don’t come.” I licked her neck. She jolted as I spanked her, then moaned as I released her mouth and urged her forward until she was bent over her desk. “Cover your mouth. I want to fuck you good and deep now, pet.”

“Yes, sir.” She moved to obey, and once I saw that she had her mouth covered, I took her hips, hauled her to the edge of her desk, and thrust. Hard. The impact had my hips slapping against her, the sound of ragged breaths, all of it rising until the music of our lust drowned out everything else. I stared at the flared base of the plug between her cheeks and felt my climax racing closer.

“Come, baby,” I told her. “Come for me.”

She shuddered, her pussy convulsing and milking me almost immediately, a sign of just how hard she’d been fighting to wait for my consent.

The knowledge filled me with savage pleasure, intense and hot, unlike anything I’d ever known.

Then, it hit me. I might be in a little bit of trouble.

TWELVE

TRENT

After making one last adjustment to the final song, I played it through again. Eyes closed, I let the melody wrap around me, the notes of the song twining together to form a story of sorts.

The first month in New York had flown by, and I would be turning in the first draft for review later in the afternoon. They’d no doubt have a request for changes, but it felt good to have accomplished something. Stephen had been right that this wasn’t exactly the kind of job I normally enjoyed. I preferred to create the music entirely myself, and while I’d done good work with the score, I’d built on the creation of another musician.

But it was solid material, and the pay was nothing to sneeze at.

Plus...there was Jazz.

If I hadn’t come to New York, I wouldn’t have met her, and that would have been a damn tragedy. Not just for the sexual pleasure. She actually inspired me. I couldn’t remember the last time, music had come to me so effortlessly.

The silence engulfed me, and I realized I’d stopped playing.

Blowing out a breath, I shoved a hand through my hair. Concentration shot, I didn’t fight it when my thoughts centered on Jazz.

Fuck, I was addicted to her.

It had been nearly a week since I’d last seen her.

She wasn’t ghosting me or anything. She’d let me know last Sunday she probably wouldn’t have much time until the coming weekend—Cam had accepted a last-minute project, which meant working long hours to get it done.

We had a weekend planned ahead of us—for once a weekend that wasn’t the two of us fucking our brains out. The fact that I was looking forward to it was something I didn’t let myself think about too hard, although I knew I should.

But we were adults, unattached, and we liked each other. So what if we spent some time at a movie, or out to eat—things that weren’t included in our baby-making deal?

Roughly a month from now, I’d head back to California, whether or not Jazz was pregnant, and that would be the end of it.

The end of this crazy thing with Jazz.

No more movie marathons, no more cooking her breakfast and watching her sit at the island while trying to coax her sleepy brain to wake up. No more seeing that playful light in her eyes—right before she submitted to me with a cry, the word master a broken moan on her lips and sexual surrender turning her body hot and molten.

The sound of my phone ringing caught me off guard, and I swore, shoving back from the piano.

Recognizing the number for the building’s concierge desk, I answered.

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