Maestro
Page 5
I swat at her furiously. “You’re a horrible, horrible aunt! Why would you tell me that?”
She shrugs. “Oh, grow up. It’s not like he’s your secret father. She took some looks. Give a girl a break. She had a short life. I’m happy she got some eyefuls here and there.”
I slink in my chair and grab my tea with both hands. Shell-shocked and creeped out, I mumble, “I guess.”
“So, tell me. How is he?” She leans in.
My eyes widen. “I’m not telling you a damn thing. I’ll be gross out for at least...a few hours.”
“Only a few hours? Wow, he must be good.”
Chapter 17
Marek
“Sweetheart, you’re going to be splendid. Your rehearsals have been a triumph. My overture has been enhanced in ways I never imagined all because of your timing, your dedication and your ability to tell me to shut-up and trust you. I wish all hundred musicians were as good as you.” I pull her shaking limbs into my embrace. People know we’re together, but she hates when I shower her with affection in front of other musicians. In the safety of my office, I so what I please.
“Thank you for believing in me, Maestro.” She peeks at me from under her dark lashes.
“You know I hate when you call me that.” I smirk.
“But we’re at Lincoln Center. Here, you are the Maestro. What else would I call you?” She drops to her knees, unzips my slacks and pulls out my cock. I harden in her hands.
“Aria, I’m going to mess up that pretty dress.” A lazy smile etches across my face as I watch her lips wrap around my shaft and slowly take me into her mouth. This isn’t my favorite. Taking her, fucking her, claiming every inch of her luscious body is my favorite, but this is a close second.
“Don’t worry, my love. I won’t miss a drop.”
Her wide hazel eyes gaze into mine as she licks and thrusts, pumping my shaft and swirling her tongue clockwise, counterclockwise, long, hard and a hundred other ways to drive a man out of his goddamn mind. She can’t take much, not even half, but what she swallows, she worships like a zealot.
Her hands grip my hips, her mouth suctions and dives deeper than she’s ever gone. I lose my breath. My quicken pulse beats a mile a minute while I wind my fingers in her hair and beg her to slow down. I want to relish every minute. I don’t want it to end. Every second is a fantasy come true.
“Give it to me, Maestro. Give me everything you have.” She’s a greedy, ruthless lover and I’ve happily surrendered to a lifetime of servitude. Whatever she asks, she receives. One more thrust sends me over the edge, and I nosedive into ecstasy. My sweet, innocent girl has transformed into a delicious fiend and in ten days, my greatest muse will be mine forever.
I can’t wait to marry her.
While I fight to catch my breath, she kisses my cheek and rushes out of the room. “I love you, Maestro! Diego is expecting me for warm-up. I can’t be late.”
Her father is coming. He should see his daughter’s debut. Isabel placed me in touch with him and she convinced him to come. I think she threatened and called down the memory of her late sister, but the outcome is all the same. He’s coming.
Aria doesn’t know. There’s no guarantee he won’t back out at the last minute and it would wreck me if I got her hopes up for nothing. I know she’s happy. We’re happy. But she loves her father. We marry in ten days and it wouldn’t feel right if her father wasn’t present. My parents are flying in. Isabel has summoned family from Spain, Italy, Mexico and California to attend the wedding of her beloved Aria.
She’ll wear a smile, but sadness will be unavoidable.
As I step out of my office and march down the hall, I run straight into Edgar Romero. He looks pissed. Isabel told me she was telling him about the wedding. She wanted to ensure he had time to calm down before he said something cruel to Aria. I understand his concern. We have twenty-three years between us. But I need to get to my orchestra.
With a group of assistants waiting, I hold my hands up and utter one sentence. “Just hear her play, Edgar.”
Chapter 18
Aria
Seconds into the prelude, I see my father. He’s two seats from Isabel who began crying as soon as I walked out carrying my cello. I’m not sure who told him. Is this a coincidence? Is he keeping tabs on me?
It doesn’t matter. Thank goodness I’m a pro at avoiding distractions. I follow Marek’s lead. I don’t need to watch him. I know this piece, every line, every note, every nuance he wanted to capture, but it soothes me to watch the love of my life dressed in a tuxedo tailcoat, carry on with such emotional fervor and majestic dedication.
Marek gives me the cue for my solo and with a nanosecond pause that I insisted he added, I fall into a dark vibration, an earthy hum that fills the auditorium with visions of winter wind, brewing storm clouds and the wonder of falling snow. For three minutes I play in another world, floating above the clouds with my cello, following Marek as we chase every dream we’ve ever dreamt. When I hear the high-pitched sound of twenty violins calling me to the present, my solo has ended, and I slowly drift back into my chair.
The first person I see, is Marek, grinning from ear to ear. The second person is Isabel, crying so hysterically, she’s fallen into the woman next to her in an attempt to shield her face from me. Two seats down, my father stares dumbstruck with tears strolling down his face.
Chapter 19
Marek
As soon as his daughter’s solo was over, Edgar Romero slipped out of his seat and left the auditorium. He didn’t go far. He was so moved by Aria’s performance he openly wept for over an hour and fought to correct every mistake he’d ever made. He gifted us Aria’s brownstone for a wedding present and reimbursed Isabel for all the money she’d spent on Aria’s music lessons. It was a hefty sum. Aria studied with some of the best.
He happily gave us his blessing and pulled out all the stops to secure a cathedral for our ceremony. We tried to keep things small but it’s hard to tell Edgar no when he’s on a roll. He flew in additional family from Portugal, Ireland and Argentina. We had a twelve-layer cake, doves, strings, a jazz band, and a mariachi band that brought the house down.
During the toast, he confessed he returned to his cello five years ago and practiced daily in memory of his wife. With a heavy heart, he admitted neither he nor Anna were ever as good as my beautiful bride and he promised to support her career. Whatever career she chose.
He ended by playing a solo, previously a duet, his own composition, that he and Anna played every evening as a lullaby for Aria.
It was lovely. My beautiful girl cried happy tears and rushed to give him a hug at its conclusion.
We made a quick decision to announce her pregnancy another time.
Chapter 20
Epilogue- Two Years Later
Aria
Our eyes lock. Our strings hum. The vibration cuts into my heart and shivers into my soul. We launch together. We do this all the time. I lead, he follows, then he leads, and I follow. When we play, we unite as one, his violin and my cello become two sounds melded together into the song of angels.
Below us, our year-old twins, Kasper and Anna crawl at our feet, accustomed to the noise Mommy and Daddy make in the early hours. They point, they wiggle their bottom, and after a few minutes they might pass out.
Sunlight drifts through a crack in the curtain, highlighting a small flicker of green in Marek’s blue irises that inspires a change of tempo. He follows and smiles, striking his strings with vicious blows that echo against my chest and into my strings. I keep up and go faster. Anna covers her ears. Kasper covers his eyes. He’s confused.
We climb into crescendo, scowling, snarling, growling at one another while we go faster. When we reach the top and I shift into a magnificent decrescendo, he comes at me.
“Marek! The babies!” I giggle as he carries me to the bed.
“Hold up.” He scoops Kasper in one arm and Anna in the other then deposits them in their crib on the other side of the room.
“Not here, they’ll see everything.” I pout.
He shakes his head, drags a blanket over his shoulders like a cape and pounces. “No excuses, Mrs. Misiak. You know this is my favorite part. Your muse needs to be compensated.”
“My muse?” I bring him into my arms and press my lips to his.
He rolls me over and curls me into his chest. “My angel, you are far more talented than me. It’s my humble pleasure to serve you with constant streams of inspiration.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Are we going to have sex?”
“We’re going to have sex.” He lowers his boxers and his erection slaps his abdomen.
“Oh, Maestro!”
THE END
About the Author
Matilda loves many things---her husband, dachshunds, cats, the two terrible Chihuahuas who live with her, Paris, New York, a few select friends and family, Nutella, books, lots and lots of books, and writing sweet, steamy romance for nerdy girls-- because that's who I am.
If you like your romances steamy but sweet. Sexy, but on the shorter side. With smart and sassy heroines who fall for soulful Alphas- then you might like my books.
I write A LOT of OMYW, cause that's just my bag. But no matter what kind of story it is, my ladies are always adored and my endings are always HEA.
Please head to my blog to learn what's in the final stages and will be coming out soon!
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For updates on new releases click here and a free ebook, click here: www.matildamartel.com