by Brianna Hale
“It’s complicated. I don’t know. I just…” I want her to have the career she deserves. If the worst happens and she can’t find work then she’ll have a place in my orchestra until the scandal passes. And it will pass. People have short memories these days.
“You just like her very much,” he finishes.
I can feel myself being pulled in so many directions, by my desire for Isabeau, by my need to see her achieve all the things she wants. I wish I could tell if I’m doing everything I can for her, unselfishly and objectively. “She’s a wonderful cello player,” I hedge.
Marcus gives me a long look. “Come on, Laszlo, she’s more than that to you. It’s not just the kissing in the street. I saw the way you two were looking at each other in the Mayhew the day she turned up out of the blue. As if the last time you saw each other you two had a quarrel.” He hesitates, and then adds, “A lovers’ quarrel.”
He must suspect how old she was the last time I saw her. I can’t bear the thought of people whispering dirty things about her, that I touched her while she was underage. “I never—”
He cuts across me. “I know you’d never. That’s why you fought, isn’t it?”
I scrub my hands over my face. I wasn’t ready to talk about this with anyone but it seems like I have no choice. “Yes. She caught me by surprise on her eighteenth birthday and I panicked.”
He nods, understanding. “And now?”
I take a sip of whisky, giving myself time to think. “I don’t care what people think about me but I worry what people will say about her. And I think it would hurt her if people are horrible about me.”
Marcus thinks for a long time, and then he claps me on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right, old man. You’ll see.”
I wish I could share his optimism but I have a terrible feeling in my belly that everything is about to go wrong. I’m so used to being in control of everything in my life and it’s more important than ever now that I have Isabeau back. But I can’t control this.
In the morning there’s a knock at my door and when I open it I see it’s Isabeau, smiling up at me. I feel my own smile break over my face just looking at her and I gather her into my arms, closing the door behind her. “Good morning, baby. Sleep well?”
She rises up on her tiptoes and kisses me, the vanilla scent of her shampoo filling the air. Just having her in my arms is enough to drive away all my gloomy thoughts from the night before.
“Very well, daddy. I’m better than I have been in a long time, actually.”
I smile again, hearing her call me daddy. I’ve got a sweet tooth for Isabeau. I stroke the backs of my fingers over her cheek. “You are, kitten?”
She tells me about practicing her cello in the conference room and how she thinks she’s uncovered her musical voice, the quality in her playing that will make people want to go to see her rather than any other soloist. All I’ve wanted since the first day I met her is for Isabeau to be happy and looking at her now I can see she is. Sincerely happy. Only she can play music in her unique, beautiful way. I’ve heard it for the longest time. I can’t wait for other people to hear her, too.
“And as soon as we go back to London I’m going to see my father,” she says.
Her words catch me by surprise. It’s been nagging at me these past few weeks, the things she doesn’t know, and I’ve wondered if I’ve been right to keep them secret. Maybe I won’t have to break my promise to Isabeau’s father after all. Piers Laurent and I have both wanted to protect her but she’s not a child anymore, and surely the danger of false hopes are long gone. I could tell her myself but I gave my word, and I’m a man of my word. It should come from Laurent.
“Sweetheart, that’s wonderful,” I say. And I mean it.
“But I have a confession to make,” she says, her happiness dimming. “I did something foolish. Bad for my career.”
I study her face and she looks so afraid, as if I’m going to tell her off. “Tell me, baby. It’s all right.”
“An agent emailed me after the Summer Showcase, the day after my eighteenth birthday. She was at the performance and she wanted to offer me representation but in the… Well, I never replied.”
I understand. She was in too much pain to think about auditions and agents.
“I emailed her back yesterday apologizing and asking her if she was still interested in me and she’s replied. She wants to see me when I’m back in London but she also wants me to send her my audition tape.” She chews her lip, still looking worried. “I don’t know if she’ll think I’m too flakey to work with now.”
I kiss her forehead, holding her close. “She’s still interested, baby. That’s what’s important.”
“I hope so. Laszlo, will you please help me make an audition tape? The agent has asked for one and I’d like to get her something as soon as possible.”
This is something concrete I can actually do for her. I dig out my phone. “Let me call the general manager of the symphony hall. We can make the recording on the stage.” The acoustics are perfect and they’ll have all the equipment we need. “You go and change into one of your gowns. Let’s make a proper video. She should see how beautifully you play as well as hear you.”
She smiles excitedly at the suggestion. “All right, but give me forty-five minutes to get ready. I’ll have to put some makeup on as well.”
I kiss her swiftly before she heads back to her room. Once I’m alone I find a recent email from the manager and call the number in her email footer. She speaks excellent English, thankfully, so I’m able to communicate what we need and she readily agrees. Before I hang up she adds, “It’s serendipity that you called me, Mr. Valmary. I was going to call you today. The owner of the concert hall wants your opinion about an idea, something very close to your heart and his.”
“Oh?”
She asks if I can meet with him after tonight’s performance and I agree and end the call, wondering what the owner could possibly have to ask me. Maybe they want my opinion on next season’s program. Maybe they even want the RLSO to be part of the program. That would be very agreeable.
But I push that aside for the moment. My priority right now is Isabeau.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Isabeau
Now
It feels strange to be on the bustling day-lit Bangkok streets in a gown with a face full of makeup. The locals look at me and smile as Laszlo hails a cab. I like the Thai people. They’re friendly and seem to love our music. It’s a pleasure to play for them.
As we’re driving through the city Laszlo points out a construction site. “See those cranes? They’re building a state-of-the-art concert hall, twice as big as the one we’re playing in. It’s going to be quite something.”
Quite something is understating it. Even unfinished the building looks modern and striking, and perched a dozen or so floors up it will command beautiful views of the city.
The concert hall we’re going to record in is quite something itself. I sit down on the stage and tune my cello while Laszlo and the stage manager sort out the lighting and the recording equipment. A few minutes later Laszlo nods at me from the stalls.
“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Laurent.”
“Yes, Mr. Valmary,” I reply innocently, though I’m sure he can see the glimmer in my eyes as I raise my bow. I play my favorite cello pieces by Brahms, Elgar and Bach, and I play them how I feel them and want them to be heard. I forget about the recording equipment, the agent back in London, Laszlo and the stage manager watching me. I don’t think about anything but the music and what it means to me.
Finally, I want to play Vocalise. There’s a grand piano to the side of the stage and I glance at it and hesitate. I see Laszlo shift on his feet, and when I look at him he gives me a nod of understanding. It’s a good thing for a soloist to show that they can play with other instruments as beautifully as they play on their own. But beyond any of that, this piece defines me like no other. Even more than The Swan, because I chose it myself.
I want to move back in with Laszlo. I want to be in that house with him and have everything we once had together, and all these wonderful new things, too. I want us to have that life of music and happiness and I pour that need into the piece, playing with all the longing in my heart. I open my eyes several times as we play to look at him and find he’s watching me, an expression in his eyes that I think I’ve felt before but not seen. As if he looked at me like this when we used to play together, but he just never let me see.
Laszlo arranges for the stage manager to edit the recording and send him a copy that evening. In the afternoon I’ll compose the email to the agent and send it off after our performance tonight.
But first I want something else.
Once we get back to the hotel I put my arms around him and kiss him in the elevator. “All those things that you offered to me yesterday,” I whisper against his mouth, kissing him between words. “I want to be your good girl. Your sub. Your sweet Isabeau. I want you to be dark and wicked. I want you to enjoy the power you have over me. Let yourself off the leash with me.”
He looks down at me with dark, hazy eyes and I know he wants this too. He craves it as much as I do, this heady blend of sex and need and control. And in the end, when we’ve burned hard through each other and into each other, all that will be left is us. As we are. Forged like steel together.
“Put the leash on me, daddy.”
The elevator pings and I let go of him, standing demurely beside him, one hand on my cello case in front of me. Two people get in and turn to face to the doors, pressing the button for the rooftop bar.
I glace at Laszlo as the doors close and there’s a dark flicker in his eyes. He puts his lips close to my ear and murmurs, so quietly, “Do you want to be mine, Isabeau?”
In all the ways. I want everything he’s offering me and I need it to start now.
His lips are warm against my ear as he breathes, “Do you want to be a little slut for daddy?”
I stifle a whimper and nod again.
In a normal tone of voice he announces, “Oh dear, you’ve dropped your bracelet.” Laszlo kneels down and pretends to feel around by my cello case for a piece of jewelry I wasn’t wearing. With his other hand he reaches up beneath my long satin skirt, grasps the back of my thong and pulls it down.
I pretend to look around on the floor while stepping out of my underwear, which tangles on my heels. We attract the other couple’s attention and the woman half turns to us as Laszlo straightens up.
“Did you find it?” the woman asks.
“Oh, she wasn’t wearing any after all,” Laszlo says, surreptitiously pushing my underwear into his pocket. I choke on my laughter. The woman gives us an odd look but Laszlo announces that this is our floor and we get out. I want to hurry, aware of my nakedness beneath my skirt, but Laszlo holds tightly to my hand, making me walk slowly to his room.
When we get inside he puts aside my cello and turns to me. “Do you know how beautiful you sounded on stage? I’m so proud of you.”
Gently, lovingly, he takes off his belt and loops it around my neck. Holding the straps tightly in one hand like a collar he kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth. I whimper as he tugs gently on the belt, bringing me up onto my toes.
Still kissing me, he puts a heavy hand on my shoulder and forces me down onto my knees. Breaking the kiss he looks at me with flashing eyes. “Perfect, baby. That’s just where I like you.”
I gaze up at him, my breath shallow, savoring the sensation stealing over me, watching how it’s spreading through Laszlo, too. This deep connection between us, exposing us to each other. Raw, fundamental, primal.
“Tell me what you want, Isabeau.”
I arch my neck against the leather tight about my throat. “Please be my dom. Show me all the ways that we can make each other feel so very good. Please, daddy.”
His lips curve into a smile. “Open your mouth.”
I do, and he places two fingers on my tongue, which I obediently suck. He groans. “Do you want to be good for your daddy, baby?”
I nod, still sucking his fingers, letting my need for him fill my eyes.
“How can I say no when you ask so very, very nicely.” The belt tightens slightly and I feel the pressure around my throat, constricting, but I go on sucking his fingers. I like the sensation of his fingers in my mouth so I reach up and unzip his trousers, taking out his cock. I look up at him as I take a first, slow lick. I grow bolder, taking him into my mouth and closing my eyes. He fills my mouth, hot and smooth and delicious.
“Let me see you play with your pussy, baby.”
He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, holding it steady for me while I use my hands to lift my skirt. Opening my knees wider, I let my fingers play over myself, feeling the wetness there, rubbing over the swollen folds, my clit. I rub the tight bead of nerves with my middle finger, going on sucking him, long languorous strokes of my mouth and tongue, moaning as the sensations beneath my fingers grows. Laszlo pushes his length deeper into my throat and hisses with arousal, squeezing the belt even tighter.
“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, his breathing as hard as mine is labored.
He releases his grip and pulls away from me, leaving me gasping at his feet while he undresses. My eyes rove across his body hungrily. I love his body, the rough hair, his heavy limbs, his broad chest, the muscles across his shoulders and his strong throat. He takes a firm fistful of my hair and compels me up and over the arm of the sofa so I’m bent double, my ass in the air.
“I’m in a leather mood today, babygirl.” He’s still got his belt wrapped around one hand, the straps hanging loose. His grip is menacing.
“But I’ve been so good,” I say, realizing what he means to do, my toes curled tight into the carpet in anticipation.
There’s an indulgent smile in his voice. “I know, baby.”
Laszlo draws back his arm and the leather cracks over my flesh. I cry out, seizing the cushion, and he traces the red marks lovingly with his fingers. When I’m bad he makes me come. When I’m good he hurts me, because he likes it. I plant my feet more securely and let my body go limp, waiting for his next lash. Craving that feeling he gives me.
It comes a moment later white hot and fast as lightning. I squeal and tears leak from my eyes. I sniffle loud enough for him to hear. Wanting him to hear. Suspecting he’ll like it.
He strokes my hair back from my face, making a sympathetic noise deep in the back of his throat, and I know I’m right. “Babygirl. You’re so pretty when you cry. Can you cry a little more for me? Let me help you.”
He’s more than helpful, he’s thoroughly vicious about raising welts on my backside and every time he touches them his breath is harder and more roughened. His fingers find my pussy and bury themselves in my slickness.
“So tearful, and so wet. That’s just beautiful, sweet girl.” He rolls a condom down over his cock while I’m still gasping softy against the sofa cushion, and then his length is thrusting into my heat. He pinches the stinging flesh of my ass, the pain heightening the pleasure of his thrusts.
“Are you my good girl?”
“Yes—” I start to reply but he wraps the belt around my neck again, choking off my words. I hear his satisfied groan and a moment later he loosens his hold on the leather.
“What was that, baby?” he asks, that dark chocolate indulgence in his voice.
I take a deep breath. “Yes, da—” But he tightens his grip, and when my words are cut off he makes that satisfied noise again. He holds on longer this time and pounds me hard. Not long enough to make my lungs burn but long enough to make it clear he’s doing this deliberately.
“Breathing is a privilege, baby. Do you understand?”
I nod, and he laughs softly and then loosens the belt so I can take a gulping breath. As I do my orgasm rushes up, sudden and strong. He clenches his hand around the belt, tightening it on my throat. I barely seem to need air as my orgasm goes on and on. I feel his finger slide through my wetness and then push into my ass, and I welcome the sensation.
Next thing I know he’s pulled out and I feel the blunt tip of his cock where his finger was. He pauses, just rubbing himself against me. I understand the question, and I want it. I push back against him, feeling myself give around the first inch of him.
Laszlo grips the belt to hold me still. He leans his weight into me, slowly, slowly, his other hand making my back arch for him.
“Do you like shedding tears for me baby?” he asks, moving his hips, working himself deeper, each stroke of his cock making my body sink down into the sofa.
“Yes, daddy,” I murmur, rubbing my cheek against the cushion beneath my cheek.
“Do you like feeling totally at my mercy?”
He knows I do, and I turn my head, letting him see my smile through the tangles of my hair.
“Do you like being my slutty little girl?”
I arch my back and push back tightly against him, feeling the length of him inside me. “Best of all, daddy.”
He’s tender now, the belt falling away as he holds me with both hands around my waist, thrusting with firm, deliberate, strokes. The sensations are making my clit tingle and I reach between my legs to touch myself.
“Beautiful girl,” Laszlo says, his voice tight. “Melt for me again and I am going to burst.”
And I will, for him, because he makes me believe anything is possible. His fingers scratch over the raised marks on my ass as I rub tight circles on my clit, the glow deep inside me growing.
“Laszlo, please,” I moan, needing more, and he fucks my ass faster, the rhythm of his cock lighting up my insides. My orgasm is fast approaching and he must feel it, and he murmurs words of encouragement under his breath. That’s it. Come for daddy. Good girl. He’s so generous with his affection and it makes me cry out with happiness and release as I come.
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