Page 31 of Serving the Maestro

Pulling back at the last second, I scooped her up and carried her to the bed, turning her so that she bent over the edge. Kicking her legs apart, I asked, “Ready to be fucked?”

“Please...” It was a desperate whisper, and her body trembled, flushed with her own need to come.

Not saying anything else, I thrust in, hard and deep.

She arched her spine, my name coming from her in a ragged cry.

Her pussy was wet and snug, clenching around me as I buried myself to the balls.

Wet as rain, soft as silk.

No condom. For the first time in my life, I was fucking a woman without protection—and she felt so fucking perfect.

Control shattering, I groaned and gripped her bound wrists in one hand, her hip in the other, and began to move.

The sounds of hard, frenzied sex—a rough, primal music filled the air, flesh slapping against flesh, her cries, my ragged breaths.

It wasn’t a surprise to feel her body tighten, on the verge of orgasm in what seemed like seconds. She was turned on throughout dinner, and binding her hands had only added to her arousal.

What was surprising was how close I was to following her.

And when she started to come, I didn’t hold back. Hitching her up by the hips to deepen my angle, I rode her. Warning tingles raced down my spine, and hit my balls.

And then I was coming with her, harder than I’d ever come in my life.

* * *

Several hours and a shower later, I sipped from a bottle of sparkling water and stared out over the New York City skyline.

Jazz had left an hour earlier.

I’d wanted her to stay, had even had the question forming on my lips when she looked back at me over her shoulder when we were still in the bed.

“Thank you,” she’d said, polite and...professional. Almost devoid of the warmth I’d started to associate with her.

Thank you.

She’d thanked me for a donation of sperm, and I was lying there, breathing hard and my dick warming up for round two.

No. It wasn’t a good idea to ask Jazz to stay the night, even if the bed had felt a little empty once she was gone.

It had been a while.

That was the reason I was off-balance.

And everything with her felt a little different because...well, the rules were different. Before, whenever I was training a new sub, I always had this subtle tension, a knowledge that if any woman showed too much attraction, I’d have to end things. There had always been extra attention focused on prevention, especially since I’d found out about the circumstances that led to my birth.

My father, if you wanted to call him that, had been nothing but a sperm donor as well. But not because he’d had an agreement with my mother the way I had with Jazz.

No, my dad was a rich piece of shit who couldn’t keep it in his pants. I’d only met him once, not long after discovering my health condition—renal agenesis. Even though the specialists had told me it likely wasn’t hereditary, I’d wanted to know for sure. Or hell, maybe I’d just used it as an excuse.

Regardless, I tracked down my father to meet him. To his credit, he’d seemed sincerely sorry for not knowing anything about me to his credit. Of course, he had a fuck-ton of other kids, many of which had been born to women he’d only known a night or two, so it wasn’t like he didn’t know how all that could work out.

I took another sip of water, and wished it was something stronger.

Ever since I’d learned about my father—and all the half-siblings I had—I’d been obsessive about protection during sex. I’d also been careful to break things off any time a woman started to show any sign she might feel something more than sexual attraction.

So why the hell was Jazz’s polite thank you bothering the fuck out of me?

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