Page 81 of Serving the Maestro

The kiss he gave me was sweet, almost gentle—and at any other time, I might have cried from the care I sensed in it. But I needed fire and passion. Pushing my fingers into his hair, I bit his lip. “Not like that, Trent. Make me burn. Please.”

His eyes bore into mine, the harsh flags of color on his cheekbones stark against the tense lines of his face. “We’ll both burn.”

He jerked my robe open, then caught my waist and lifted me onto the sink counter. The cold marble was a shock against my naked butt, grounding me, a contrast against the heat of his hands. His lips devoured mine until, breathless, I tore away, needing air.

He was undeterred, kissing a line down my neck until he found the sensitive spot between neck and shoulder.

“Trent!” I gasped when he bit me, then laved the small hurt with his tongue. Needing more, needing him—all of him, I went to wrap my legs around his waist, but he stopped me, his hands catching my thighs and holding me still.

He met my eyes, and I looked at him, then lowered my gaze, whimpering as he closed his hand around his cock, stroking up, then down, the hard length jerking in reaction to his rough touch.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he said softly as he moved closer, one hand still gripping my thigh, the other steadying his cock as he tucked the head against my entrance.

At that point, closing my eyes wasn’t even an option. His gaze held me captive even as the heat of me, the strength of him filled me, overwhelmed me. Reaching for him, I tugged him down, pressing my lips to his.

The kiss was desperate and needy.

His cock swelled as he pushed into me, hard and fast.

Crying out into his mouth, I gripped his shoulders.

“Jazz?”

“More,” I whispered to him. “Harder. Faster.”

He did as I asked, and I held on tight. Soon, we were lost within each other, and the dregs of the nightmare disappeared.

For a little while, at least.

TWENTY-NINE

TRENT

The memory of Jazz crying was burned into the fabric of my mind as the Lyft driver took me back to the apartment building.

I rode the subway with her to work.

Once she was inside, I’d called for the Lyft, too impatient to get on with the idea I’d had yesterday. Jazz had given me the name of the restaurant where Roger had roofied her, and I wasn’t going anywhere or doing anything until I talked to the people who managed the place.

The restaurant wasn’t open yet, so I settled in at the coffee shop across the street. Ordering an espresso and a muffin nearly half the size of my head, I sat down to wait it out.

I was running high on rage and probably didn’t need to add caffeine and sugar to the mix, but what the hell.

Passing the time by making notes on my phone as I read the script for the movie project, I destroyed the monstrous muffin and worked my way through another espresso. After that, I added some water to balance out the sugar and caffeine.

The open sign flicked on just as I was debating another espresso. After hitting the restroom in the coffee shop, I headed to the restaurant.

Doing a slow mental countdown from a hundred, I went inside and hoped the smile I gave the hostess didn’t look as feral as I felt.

“Any chance the bartender working today was on duty Saturday night?”

The hostess smiled at me, a friendly curve of lips painted poppy red against a warm, deep brown skin. “It’s your lucky day—well, week. Normally, he would have been off Saturday, but our regular weekend bartender got sick. Tony and Nikka are covering. I assume you want to talk to him?”

“Yes.”

She glanced past me, then stepped out from behind the stand, indicating for me to follow.

“Hey, Tony! You got a guy wanting to talk to you,” she said once we reached the bar, an area separated from the main room by a massive aquarium that ran from floor to ceiling, filled with brightly colored fish. Another aquarium, this one smaller but no less colorful, made up the bar's backdrop, the bottles of liquor against it lined up with neat, military precision.

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