Perfect Notes

by Jaye Peaches

  He cupped my face in his vast hands. I’d watched them on the piano, spanning the white and black keys easily. His palms swallowed up my little cheekbones while he combed his fingers into my hair. My mouth went instantly dry as he lowered his lips. I parted mine—an opening of welcome—and he nipped my upper lip before pressing down with his moist mouth, hard.

  I gasped at the intensity of his luscious kiss. My tongue experienced the first taste of Stefan. While holding my breath, I ran the fleshy tip of my tongue around his mouth. He tasted good. I emitted a sigh of relief.

  He stroked my hair out of my closed eyes. I went up on tiptoes, offering my kisses, and he delved deeper with his tongue. I could happily spend hours devouring him, but my hands couldn’t resist and I reached out and made contact. I skirted around the obvious bulge in his pants. If I touched there, I would explode. Just the thought of his erection and what it might look like fed my fantasies. Instead, I fumbled, groped about until I found the bottom of his polo shirt. It came away easily from the waistband of his jeans and I had my entry point. Slipping my hands underneath the fabric, I stroked my fingertips up his abdomen.

  A soft fuzzy bed of hair greeted me when I located his chest. I twirled the little curls in my fingers and my exploration triggered a groan into my mouth. He dropped his hands down and wrapped his arms around me, binding me closer, almost smothering me. One of his hands squeezed my ass cheek, a powerful grasp. I broke off my kiss, tilted my head back and exposed my neck. He pounced on it and sucked hard like a greedy vampire. I winced and he eased back.

  “Hands up.”

  I opened my eyes, blinking in the light. The want in his saucer-shaped eyes sang out as clearly as a commanding voice. Hypnotized, I slowly raised my arms. He’d grasped the edge of my sweatshirt and the top flew off, tossed into the air behind him. My bra, disheveled from his earlier wanderings, remained draped about my chest.

  “Oh, Callie,” he murmured, then he buried his face in my cleavage and caressed my pliable tissue with his nose, almost too ticklish.

  I squirmed, and he latched on to a nipple with his mouth, sucking it in and sliding his tongue around my little erect bud. My legs came close to collapsing beneath me. I looped my arms about his neck and clung on.

  The bra came away somehow. I supposed he undid it while he continued to glide his hands and lips over my skin. Goosebumps sprang up all over me. I shivered when his hand dipped down under my waistband and he slid a finger into the cleft between my buttocks.

  My button and zipper were the next to fall victim to his keen undressing. My own hands seemed to dabble indecisively while his moved purposefully and speedily. Kisses rained down on me as his hand returned into my jeans and he pushed against the gusset of my panties.

  “Wet.”

  Embarrassed by his discovery, I pictured my bright pink ears and flushed cheeks. My rapid dissembling delighted him. His toothy grin told me everything—I was a hussy.

  I didn’t care. Debauch me. Fuck me hard. I was pretty sure my self-control was about to implode.

  “Let’s get them off before you ruin them.”

  I didn’t care about my panties any longer. If he wanted to, he could shred them with those magnificent hands. He crouched, and my jeans began their journey south, slithering down my legs. I supported my unbalanced legs by leaning on his shoulders. The trousers he flung away and they landed on top of my sweatshirt.

  He lifted his head between my legs and sniffed my crotch.

  My God! He’d smelled me—so sexy. He followed up with a ticklish sensation. Did he just lick my inner thigh with his tongue? Ow! Now, a sharp nip. Had he just bitten me? Another teasing nibble and I pinched his shoulders in reply.

  A chuckle escaped and he ceased his little gnawing.

  Two could play at his game I didn’t think myself innocent, but something deep down told me Stefan had experience—a lot of sexual knowledge. Micah never did these things to me.

  He sprang up, and I jumped back slightly. Cocking his head to one side as if to weigh me up, he swiveled me around and began to walk me backward, away from the piano and the world of music.

  The bedroom?

  No, he pivoted me and pushed me down onto the leather sofa.

  “Fuck,” I exclaimed as the cold leather made contact with my back.

  He raised his eyebrows quizzically.

  “Cold.”

  “I’ll warm you up.”

  It sounded like a threat. A rush of hot blood chased up my bosom and into my face. I didn’t doubt him for one second.

  Finally, he showed me his flesh. Standing over me, he peeled off his polo shirt. Dark curls were exposed and they matched his head of hair perfectly. Broad shoulders. I’d run my hands over them, but seeing them, boy, they alone had the potential to make me orgasm.

  One-handed, he undid his jeans buttons and the tip of his erection rose. The man had no underpants. Commando style. I gulped.

  He kicked the pants off and held his cock. What a beast of an erection. Prior to this, the only erect penis I’d seen in real life had been Micah’s. I’d thought it a good size, but now I had a different opinion. Stefan’s swollen cock pulsated in his hand. My pussy clenched. Somehow, I would have to fit around him and accommodate that ramrod.

  I shot up. Damn. Stupid Callie. How could I be so idiotic?

  “What?” He straightened, appearing a little affronted by my sudden movement.

  “I’m not using contraceptives.” My coil had gone days after I’d finished with Micah.

  “Oh.” He stepped back.

  I’d ruined it. We’d have to get dressed, calm down and find some other way of being intimate.

  The back wall had an open row of shelves. Not for books, or at least not many, only a few folio-sized hardbacks. Dotted about the spacious shelving were ornaments. Decorative bowls, candlesticks and photograph frames. Pictures of his family, I assumed. He sauntered over to what looked like an inelegant cookie jar. Facing away from me, I had a good view of his rump. Yummy. Those dimpled cheeks and firm thighs called out to me. I hoped he had a solution.

  He removed the lid and rummaged about. He returned with a small wrapper in his hand. A condom. My first reaction—a sigh of relief. The second—why in a cookie jar?

  He loomed over me, and I shrank back down, touching the cold leather once again.

  “Those knickers…” He grinned.

  I pictured the wet patch in the fabric and the issue of birth control was forgotten in a blink of an eye.

  He knelt on the sofa and tugged at my underwear. I didn’t want him to see me. My hairy mound shamed me—why, I didn’t know. I tensed, slid slightly away from him.

  “Shh,” he murmured.

  I’d not spoken, but he must have registered my reticence.

  He hooked a finger on either side of the elastic and lowered my panties, a slow, delicious unveiling. With a flick of his hand, the panties were gone. Another item of clothing dismissed with little thought. I locked my thighs together and covered my mound with my hands. I lay like an effigy on a tomb.

  “Callie. Is this you saying no?” he asked softly. “If you don’t want to—”

  With a jerk, I spread my legs and snatched at his upper arms and the bulging biceps. I yanked him down onto my body, and he laughed at my impulsive display of keenness.

  His cock pressed on my belly. Stiff, unbending, he leaked a little pre-cum. The warm liquid dribbled into my navel.

  My grip loosened. I let him do the necessary and he tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth and applied the sheath with rapid ease. Clear latex didn’t hide the brilliant coloration of his veined cock. I brought my knees up, spreading them wide, and beckoned to him with my tingling sex lips.

  He located his hands on either side of my head, his lower body poised, ready to strike. He’d not touched me down there, no probing or exploration with his fingers. How did he know I was ready? His thick cock nudged, separated my labia, and the head pushed, testing me. Relax. I urged my pussy to
open and welcome him. Sex and I had been strangers for far too long.

  He thrust and entered with one swift swing of his hips. I cried out, but not from pain. There was a tweak perhaps as I gave about him, stretching my inner coils. God, he is big. My taut rings of muscle evaporated one by one about him. The friction, I sensed. Even with the lubricated condom, I had to yield and pray that my natural elasticity could cope with his girth.

  My jaw dropped as I relished his extraordinary entrance into my lusty cunt. I gazed up into his face. His eyes, half open, didn’t seem to register me. No sound escaped from his mouth, which hung agape, as if he was astonished by my tightness. He appeared to be holding his breath, savoring me. After six months without sex, I must have felt virginal to him. I looped my legs about his back and pawed at his hairy chest, trying to hang onto the tiny soft hairs.

  He eased out, almost entirely. He inhaled deeply, pausing at my ingress. Please, please. I couldn’t stand the delay. It was as if he’d raised the baton and kept me there, waiting for the swing and the beat.

  He drove deeper, his cock pricking my cervix, and I cried out again. A banshee kind of shriek, pure instinct and unintended on my part. He withdrew and repeated his hammering thrust. My back intuitively arched, forcing my pelvis down and impaling myself onto his cock.

  Kneeling up, he grabbed my hips and slammed into me. He dragged me up and down the smooth leather. No longer cold did I feel cold, the heat had triggered a sheen of perspiration on my forehead. I’d nothing to hang onto and I flailed my arms around my head until I found the edge of the cushion. I tried to grip it, to anchor my body, but Stefan dragged me farther onto his erection.

  My breasts bounced up and down in time to his poundings. My pussy gushed with juices and my groin ached, trying to accommodate his thickness. He’d lifted my bottom off the sofa, spearing me, and my lower back had no support. I propped all my weight onto my shoulders. It had been years since I’d done gymnastics, but amazingly, the flexibility returned. I nearly formed a bridge with my arching.

  He grunted with each rhythmic thrust, hitting my inflamed spot precisely. It couldn’t be happening. He’d not even touched my clitoris. My orgasms didn’t come from within.

  “I’m coming,” I hollered.

  He couldn’t stop me. I was on a one-way path to a delicious conclusion.

  The contractions swallowed me whole, radiating out of my pulsating clitoris and pussy. I clenched painfully inside and out, while my toes curled and calf muscles cramped, twisting themselves into knots.

  I screamed and uttered something ludicrous and unintended. “Oh, God, stop.”

  He didn’t. Hell, I didn’t want him to. If anything, he became more frantic, and the friction of the heated leather burned the skin on my back.

  “Stefan… I can’t…” I couldn’t speak. Then I couldn’t breathe. My eyelids fluttered.

  Beads of sweat dripped onto my stomach and breasts. He’d released me. His mop of hair clung about his face as he leaned over my splayed form. I basked, glowing in a hot furnace of lust.

  My vision focused. His face hovered over mine, flushed red with effort. I glanced down. His cock, fully erect and purple, stuck straight up. He hadn’t come!

  I’d lost it. Any semblance of control gone. He’d made me a vessel of vulnerability. I didn’t want him to stop, but I feared what he might do to me. His body had grown immensely strong and imposing. I adored it. I wanted to worship its form and power. Micah vanished in a puff. Stefan reigned supreme.

  “Can you take it?” he asked. “I have to have you. Make you mine.”

  Take it? His question tempted me, but instilled anxieties. I now knew Stefan fucked hard. ‘Have you.’ Those two words sounded delicious and won me over. What a revelation Stefan was, and it made me lose my natural reserve. I beat down my nerves and nodded, tongue-tied by an attack of the trembles.

  Grasping my ankles, he dragged me down the sofa, toward the bottom, and, with ease, flipped me onto my belly. He lowered my legs across the armrest and I swung them over the side. With me bent over, he stood at the end of the sofa and arranged me, as confidently as Bridget with a bunch of flowers, until my toes touched the hard surface of the floor and my bottom perched up high over the sofa’s armrest. I rested on my elbows with my breasts dangling, nipples grazing the leather, it tickled and heightening my sensual awareness. I peered over my shoulder, and he met my gaze with a hard expression. Not mean or unpleasant, simply masterful. The word popped into my head and stayed.

  Who was this man? I’d let him undress me, fuck me, maneuver my body around his house like a chess piece and in return, I’d spread my legs willingly. Don’t ruin it. I stoppered my overthinking brain, halting it in its tracks.

  He held my waist, pinching the little extra flesh I had on offer. I reached behind and parted my ass cheeks with my fingertips. I couldn’t believe my own audacity, how uninhibited I’d become, showing him my richly endowed sex folds and listening to his soft growl in response.

  “Oh, lovely,” he crooned.

  I leaked. I didn’t need to see the shimmer of juices on my sex or the wetness oozing onto my inner thighs. He ran his hand up and down my slit, spreading the wetness about, lubricating my passage.

  The thrust knocked the breath out of me. I jolted on the sofa, feeling the hard wooden frame under the cushioned padding. I buried my head into my forearms, supporting my weight as he bashed into me.

  He kneaded my buttocks, squashing my flesh between his nimble fingers. His crushing grip kept me steady as he slammed into my pussy, grinding repeatedly. Bent over, I relied on his firm support to stop me from tumbling headlong onto the seat. All I could hear were his grunts and his hips smacking into my bottom. My belly ached, making me conscious of his piercing actions, but never to the point of pain. I relished every thrust. After several minutes, I accommodated his entire length with ease, and he slid in and out, gliding in my well-oiled pussy.

  I groped, reaching under my trapped pelvis until I found my little nub and gave it a much-needed fondle with a fingertip.

  “Wait. Wait,” he panted at me.

  “I can’t,” I screeched. I erupted with another stupendous orgasm, the kind that knocks the wind out of your lungs and turns your brain to mush. Pain encompassed pleasure as my clitoris became a throbbing mass of tender nerve endings. I stilled my hand, pressing the palm into my mound, and collapsed, breathless.

  He juddered, reached his climax and pumped out his essence. I hoped the condom hadn’t torn with his pummeling fucks.

  “Mein Gott!”

  So much for no German. I tittered with dizzy amusement at his exclamation.

  “What?” he gasped, breathing hard on my back in fits and starts.

  “Nothing,” I muttered, too tired to explain.

  He slid out of me, leaving me bent and exposed. I dripped below, an excess of wetness I couldn’t hide from him and of my own making. Elsewhere, I noted the sweaty and rather unladylike state of my body.

  “I need to feed you,” he said abruptly.

  Food. I’d forgotten about lunch, but he was right. My belly rumbled, churning away with hunger.

  He helped me stand. The upright position quickly altered my body chemistry. I tottered, a little dizzy and fatigued. Stefan rubbed my back and held me in an embrace. A tiny shiver cascaded over my skin. The room chilled me quickly.

  “Go upstairs. Have a shower. Take your time. I’ll cook you lunch.”

  I nodded, happy to comply with the suggestion. “Then?” My clarinet lay on the piano, neglected. He followed my gaze.

  “Oh. More practice, I think,” he said softly. “But not with that.”

  I went rigid, opening and shutting my mouth like a mousetrap on springs.

  A grin spread over his face. “That’s a yes, I take it?”

  Chapter Five

  I held my face under the showerhead. Hot water streamed down my cheeks, splashing onto my breasts. I’d smothered my body in a white foam of shower crème. I peered throu
gh the water droplets at the label. Radox gel. Lavender. Not quite the masculine variety I’d expected. I didn’t find anything else in his vast shower cubicle.

  His bedroom appeared simply functional. Situated under a round window, nestled in the upper apex of the gable, sat a king-size bed, upon which I’d placed my discarded clothes. There was a walk-in closet at one end of the room, probably overlooking the garden, and the en suite at the front end complete with corner tub and separate cubicle. Luxurious by my own upbringing.

  I took my time and the inevitable happened. Thoughts crept in as the afterglow of two amazing orgasms slipped away. Niggling doubts. I lingered under the hot spray and pondered. Should I go home? Insist that he take me back before he got me all hot and bothered again? So much for improving my clarinet skills—not that he hadn’t—but all the same, I hadn’t come for a fuck.

  Yet, it had happened easily. After our little chat in the car with its overtones of hostility, we’d leaped into each other’s arms without hindrance. There existed a physical attraction, strong and magnetic in origin I couldn’t hide the fact that I fancied him terribly. Personality? The jury remained out, sequestered and uncertain. A few brief meetings, mostly involving music and—bam!—we’d fucked like wild animals.

  Music. Was it that simple? Had my playing tempted him? Was it possible to capture somebody’s heart so quickly, and merely by choosing a piece which affected me deeply each time I heard it and more so when I played it, especially without an audience.

  I’d kept my eyes shut, my back to him. I’d no idea if he’d looked rapt by my rendition of the Mozart concerto.

  A small part of me felt used. Had I paid for sex with a well-chosen piece of classical music?

  No more seduction by music. We had to talk.

  I switched off the shower, draped a bath sheet about my shoulders and stepped into the bedroom.

  My clothes had gone.

  I’d collected them off the living room floor and laid them on the bed. He’d moved them. I hunted about, expecting to see them on the floor or on a chair. I flung open the closet, a cavernous wardrobe filled with all manner of clothing from casual to formal tuxedo, but not my clothes. A bathrobe hung on the back of the en-suite door, and I hurriedly put it on before charging out of the room.