Page 87 of Serving the Maestro

“You’ll turn my head saying things like that, Trent.”

“Stop looking at me like that, or I’ll kiss you again, and then we’ll be stuck here even longer. I want to take you home, make love to you again.”

Desire darkened her eyes, painted a soft blush across her cheekbones.

“Well, that’s a nice opener,” she said, a hitch in her breathing. She bit her lip and glanced around once more. “I want to be in control. I mean, when we...”

The words faded away, her cheeks still pink, the color deepening as she struggled to find the words. She didn’t need to.

If it had been any other woman, the answer would have been a no.

But this was Jazz, so I told her what was in my heart.

“If that’s what you want, alright. I’ll lay the world at your feet if you let me.”

A bright, friendly voice came from behind me just as I leaned in to kiss Jazz. “Dessert.”

Her cheeks flushed, and Jazz glanced past me, then offered me a faint smile.

I wanted to tell the server no, pay the tab, leave, but I bit back the urge and looked at Jazz. I didn’t have the chance because the server placed a brown bag with paper handles in front of me on the table. “Strawberries and cream, the lady’s favorite.”

“Ah...” I looked over at Jazz.

“Your friend ordered it on her way out,” the server added. “And she took care of the tab, too. You’re all set.”

Jazz took the piece of paper from the server, read it, then shook her head. “Man, I think that nesting instinct thing is kicking in hard for Cam. She’s trying to mother everybody lately. But...I do love strawberries and cream.” As the server walked away, Jazz glanced at me. “We’ll take them home...let’s give ‘me being in charge’ a trial run.”

* * *

Cool whipped cream painted in a line down my chest, I clenched my teeth to keep from demanding—or begging—as Jazz closed her lips around the strawberry she’d been using to scoop up the cream.

My cock pulsed, blood roaring in my ears. When she bent down to lick up the cream, tongue flicking over my skin, I arched up, desperate to feel that soft, agile tough on my dick, right where it hurt the most.

But she straightened, selected another berry, and repeated the process—only my chest wasn’t her canvas this time. My cock was.

When she finally closed her mouth around me, I shuddered and arched, jerking against the restraints she’d decided to use. But it didn’t do any good. I’d walked her through how to tie me, and damn if she wasn’t a quick learner.

“Fuck, Jazz...”

She scraped her teeth over me, eyes rolling up to meet mine over the length of my torso, heat and challenge and desire making them lambent. My hips jerked, hands clenched into fists.

She pulled up slowly, then back down, stopping short of taking me as deep as I wanted—as I needed, the need to come turning my veins molten, my skin overly sensitive, so when she scraped her nails down my thigh, it felt like a far more intimate touch.

She pulled up and took me slowly, her teasing fingers dipping between my thighs to close over my balls.

“Harder,” I said with a groan, arching up.

She pulled up, smiling at me. “Say please.”

“Please, damn it.”

“Please, what?”

“Suck my fucking dick and squeeze my balls harder, you little minx.”

She laughed, the sound velvet in her throat as she bent back over me and did as I’d rudely requested. She took me deep, gripping my sac tight simultaneously, and I lost it.

I was still breathing hard, long moments later as she straddled my waist and smiled down at me. “You weren’t supposed to come yet.”

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