Page 52 of Serving the Maestro

Moving closer, I turned off the water, then pulled her against me.

“What’s wrong?”

She was quiet for so long. I didn’t know if she would answer.

Finally, her lashes lifted, and she met my gaze in the mirror’s reflection.

“I had an appointment with my OB/GYN this morning.”

Fuck.

Her eyes closed as tears broke free, sliding down her cheeks. “I’m probably not going to be able to conceive without medical intervention.”

Then, she turned into me, sliding her arms around me to hold tight.

“Maybe this is fate’s way of telling me I should just let it go.”

“Hush.” I kissed her temple, her cheek.

“It could be,” she said, lifting her head to meet my eyes. “Some women aren’t supposed to be mothers—or shouldn’t be. My mom wasn’t very good at it, especially after my dad left. This could be—”

I kissed her.

I had no doubt Jazz would make a good mother, but instead of trying to figure out a way to tell her that, I just kissed her.

She didn’t react for a few seconds, but she pressed closer, shoving her hands into my hair and clinging to me. The sudden desperate need I tasted on her lips set my own aflame, turning it into a raging inferno.

I spun us around and pushed her against the wall.

She arched closer, her belly rubbing against my cock, her heat reaching me even through layers of clothes.

Grabbing her skirt, I pulled it up, cupping her ass.

She gasped as I bit her neck, sinking my teeth into the sensitive curve where it gave way to her shoulder. “Trent...”

Pushing my hand between her thighs, I stroked her through her panties, and found her already wet.

“Jazz?”

She nodded jerkily, hearing the question in my voice. Then, as if to assure me, she stroked my cock through my jeans before tugging at the button to free it.

I yanked at her panties until they tore while she fumbled with my jeans, shoving past my boxers to free my cock.

Boosting her up, I met her eyes.

Her lips parted on a broken breath as she wrapped her hand around me, then guiding my penis to the swollen, slick folds between her thighs.

“Hurry,” she whispered, the word a demand and a plea all at once.

I didn’t think about her submitting, about drawing the sexual hunger out until it was a fine, taut line between us.

I thrust in, deep, watching her eyes as I filled her, listening to her broken, ragged cry when I started to withdraw.

She arched closer, trying to deepen the contact and urge me to go faster.

That was the only thing I denied her.

As much as I wanted her, as much I needed her, I wasn’t going to rush and let her control this.

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