Page 95 of Serving the Maestro

“How wet are you?” he asked, mouth still pressed to mine.

“Very.”

“Good.”

He took my hand and led me to the dance floor, pulling me close, my hips snug to his, the heels giving me several more inches, so I felt his cock nudging the notch between my thighs.

I whimpered and clung to his shoulders with desperate hands, my blood pumping hotter with every beat of my heart.

I wasn’t sure if I’d survive the dance.

But if I died? This was one hell of a way to go.

* * *

It was a good twenty minutes before he led us off the floor for a break, one I desperately needed. My legs were shaky, my nipples tight, and I felt like he’d spent the past twenty minutes doing nothing but working me closer and closer to climax—right in the middle of a dance floor.

A woman in a floor-length gown of formal black led us to a private table on the second floor.

As we sat, Trent asked for a bottle of a popular small-batch Kentucky bourbon we both liked. “Only one glass,” I told her, hoping he wouldn’t ask why. I wasn’t ready—or capable—of clear thought just then. “I’d prefer sparkling water by the bottle if you could.”

She smiled and gave a slight nod before melting off into the darkness.

“Not drinking tonight?”

I smiled. “I’m already half-drunk just from dancing with you. I think I’m better off sticking to water.”

“I’m fine with that.” His gaze dropped to my mouth and lingered before he glanced around the second level that surrounded the dance floor, the railing an artful display of wrought iron that let the observers watch the shows playing out on the dance floor. He nodded across to the other side of the second level, the floor curving around the dance floor like a U.

“See how the booths and lighting are designed for privacy?”

I nodded, my throat dry, my heart racing.

Leaning in, he crooked his finger at me, beckoning me to come closer.

When I did, his words were a rough rumble against my ear. “I could pull you into my lap and fuck you here—there’s a way to notify the staff if I want privacy. Or I could take you down to the dance floor again. How close are you to coming, Jazz? You’re so aroused, I can almost feel your pussy clenching around my cock, and I’m barely touching you.”

I shuddered, instinctively tightening the muscles in my thighs and pressing my knees together against the demanding pulse that hit deep, deep, deep down inside, heating my core and spreading outward.

It didn’t help. I was already so wet and swollen, the folds between my thighs slick in anticipation, so the subtle pressure of my clenched thighs, combined with me pressing my knees together was enough tactile pressure, to make me hover on the edge of climax.

Then he stroked the pad of his thumb over me, and pressed, while with his free hand, he cupped my left breast and tugged on my nipple, puckered hard and tight, stabbing into the slinky material of my cocktail gown, unfettered by a bra.

I came.

Shaking, I grabbed onto his arm with a helpless cry as the unexpected climax slammed into me.

Trent pressed his mouth to my neck.

“Damn, Jazz. You’ll barely last a second once I push inside you.”

He wasn’t lying.

Drained, I slumped against the luxuriantly soft seat and found him smiling.

I might have kissed him if he’d been close enough, the light in his eyes hot but combined with something...deeper. Something that spoke of intense, complex emotion. It made my heart ache to look at him and realize that maybe Cam was right.

If I trusted him with the secret that had weighed me down most of the day, he’d pull me into his arms and hold me. I wanted that comfort so much.

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