by Jaye Peaches
I shook my head briskly. “It’s just… I was thinking of moving out too.”
“To be with Herr Fuchs?” She remembered and covered her smile with a hand. “I’m sorry.” Her forehead wrinkled and she wiped the grin off her face. “You’ve only been dating for a little while. George and I have been together for a year. That is naughty, Callie. You rush.” She sounded like her Polish mother, who occasionally visited and rabbited away in a harsh tone while her daughter rolled her eyes in frustration.
“I wasn’t planning on rushing, but if you’re going, won’t it be more appealing to your friends to move in together?”
Talia pursed her lips. “Oh, yes. I know just the couple. They’d love to be together. And I mean love.” She winked at me. “All hush-hush, but everyone knows they are hot for each other.”
“I don’t care as long as they can afford the rent. Then we’d get our deposit back and not break the rental agreement.” I leaped up and returned to my abandoned tin of beans. “This is fate, isn’t it, Talia? Us moving out at the same time?”
She shrugged. “Lucky, I suppose. I worry about you. Would you go if I was staying?”
I fumbled with the tin opener. For some reason, I couldn’t answer. Perhaps I really didn’t know my own motivations. Sometimes, Stefan had me twisted around his little finger, manipulating me from afar. No, that wasn’t fair. He’d been open about his wish for my company. It was I who held back. I dumped the contents of the tin into the saucepan. We could wait, couldn’t we? A few weeks? Talia wouldn’t be gone that quickly.
I turned to make a suggestion and stopped in my tracks.
Talia busily typed away on her mobile. “I let George know. He will be so excited. Libby and Meg too. They will love living here.”
Her enthusiasm bubbled out and I kept my mouth shut.
By the time the toast had popped up and the beans had heated through, she’d had a reply from her would-be replacements. “Yes!”
“How soon?” I asked, staring at the steam rising off the plate.
“A week on Friday.”
My heart raced away and my appetite evaporated. “Next Friday?” Less than two weeks! “Can I let you know? I need to check with Stefan.”
She pouted. “Okay. But soon, yes?” She picked up her mobile and left the kitchen.
I sat at the table, toying with my food. I would wait until Stefan returned from Germany. Before I made my final decision, I had to see him in the flesh first, know that my niggling doubts were unnecessary. As much as Talia believed that things were cast in stone, I knew they weren’t. There were always last-minute changes in plans, altering the timescales or sequence of events. I should know. I was the expert in them all.
As I washed up the plate and saucepan, the beans rumbling in my belly giving me indigestion, my mobile beeped.
Brilliant plan, Mausi. Dad wasn’t happy that she insisted he sit in wheelchair and pushed him around the market. Food won. They cooked evening meal together like buddies. Planning to come home tomorrow.
Can’t wait xxxxx
I squeezed out the dishcloth, wringing it hard with my fingers until my knuckles went white. The moment I would see him, I’d have my answer. I could guess at it already. My sexual being had decided in advance of my rational mind. I needed him. How could I not want to be with him every night?
Chapter Twenty-Three
The text announcing his return arrived a little after midday on Wednesday.
Pick you up as usual.
Short and to the point. It didn’t need to say anything else. I went straight into galvanized sex mode. To kill the time until evening, I busied myself with a fiddly arrangement and a shipment of greeting cards. Bridget was branching out at Al’s insistence to bolster takings. Competition from the Internet companies was fierce.
Eager to see Stefan, I waited on the roadside with Nettie and my music stand. In the dim light, I rocked up and down on my toes, peering down the street. Soon the clocks would go forward and the evenings would be light again. He pulled up, and I loaded my things into the boot without his assistance.
He greeted me with a wonderful smile. I gave the seat belt a yank and it stuck. Reaching over, Stefan pulled hard on the buckle, releasing it.
“Sticks sometimes.” As he moved back, his lips encountered mine and his goatee brushed against my cheek. He inhaled and sniffed. “Divine. Missed you.”
I didn’t wear perfume—the lingering aroma of flowers stayed on my skin long into the evening.
I opened my mouth, and he slipped his tongue in, a quick dart, like a hint of what was to come later.
“I am staying the night?” he asked.
I didn’t treat it like a question. It was a statement of intent. Of course he was. My untamed pussy clenched as my own senses picked up on his masculine scent.
He chatted all the way to the rehearsal, updating me on his father and the progress with Bianca. He sounded optimistic and content to leave his father. “Hans is visiting this weekend. Finally, pulling his finger out.”
As he parked the car, I mentioned the orchestra.
“Let’s keep it a secret until after the concert,” he said. “The news on Felix is not good. The trustees are likely to extend my contract.”
“Good. I mean for you. Poor Felix.” I frowned. I had nothing against the man, but secretly I didn’t want him to return to the orchestra.
We were the picture of professionalism that evening. Not a suggestive look between us. I played brilliantly, surpassing all previous occasions. Stefan’s lesson in nude performing had done the trick. It really was not an issue, playing in the midst of a body of people, tucked out of sight behind stands and sawing bows.
I was note perfect and beamed at my achievement. Even the dopey Cordelia remarked on my tonal qualities. If I’d ever doubted whether I belonged in the sinfonia, among the teachers and professionals, I dismissed those negative thoughts.
Stefan and I avoided any contact after the practice. We left the hall separately and I clambered into his car with my head ducked down.
He sped away in his usual fashion. “You played fantastically. I wanted to say something about your solo, but it seemed inappropriate.”
“Thank you. You have given me that confidence.” I patted his leg.
“It was always in you.”
We fell silent. Stefan stifled a yawn with a hand. By the time we’d drawn up outside my house, he’d yawned several times.
“What time did you get up this morning?” I asked.
“Five-ish.”
Early, probably to give him time to catch the flight home, then he’d worked hard this evening, his usual energetic self and concentrating hard. He looked wiped out, with shadows under his eyes. I pursed my lips, tempering my own lust to have him close and in bed with me. He needed to sleep.
“Look. You’re beat and I have the early delivery tomorrow. As much as I’d like us to be together, you should go and get a good night’s sleep in your own bed.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I confess, I didn’t think I’d be this tired.” He fingered the steering wheel. “I’m not touching you, because if I do, that will be it, there will be no stopping us. So thank you. I’m going to head home.”
“I’ll hug a pillow instead.” I smiled, a half-hearted curl of my lips. I’d rather have had him spooning my body with his warmth, but he was right, we’d end up satiated and exhausted by sex.
“I have to teach tomorrow evening. Catch up on lessons I’ve canceled,” he explained. “Friday evening?”
“Sure,” I replied. Discussing my moving-in plans was on hold. I couldn’t do it in the car with him struggling to keep his eyes open. I’d have to wait till the weekend. Sunday! Shit! “Oh, God. My mother has invited you for Sunday lunch.” I grimaced. “Sorry.”
He laughed. “It’s not a problem. I’d like to meet your mum. Don’t fret.”
I sighed, puffing out my lips. “Goodnight, then.” I leaned toward him and pecked his cheek, nothing else. H
e tightened his grip on the wheel. “Until Friday.”
I trotted up the front path. It had started to rain. Two nights of tossing and turning, letting my overactive mind debate my decision to move out, perhaps change my mind.
* * * *
I assumed I would be staying over for the weekend, so I packed a few things. He made no comment on it as he put the bag in the boot of the car. The tired features were gone from his face. Instead he looked buoyed and quite delectable. I wondered how long it would take before he whisked my clothes off.
Contrary to my concerns, for two nights, I’d slept soundly, no niggling doubts to keep me awake. In my reinvigorated state, I bubbled over enthusiastically and blurted out my plan. “Talia is moving out to live with George. So, I told her my exciting news about moving in with you. She has replacements lined up from the hospital, so no loss of deposit.”
“Wow.” He slammed his palm on the wheel. “Fantastic. Thank you, Callie. I will make you very welcome. When do you move out?”
His keenness came as no surprise. “Next Friday. Is that too soon?” I held my breath.
“Soon? Mausi, no such thing.”
I exhaled and glowed in my seat. What had I expected him to say?
My dress had risen, showing my bare thighs. Unlike Wednesday, when he daren’t touch me, he placed his hand on my leg and squeezed. A pulse of electricity shot through me with that touch.
“Are you wearing knickers?” he asked.
I gripped the edge of my seat with my hands. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Tsk. Those don’t make it into the house. Take them off.” He removed his hand and changed gears.
I looked about the car. We were still on the outskirts of Cambridge. He pulled up at a junction alongside another vehicle. Stefan’s car was low to the ground and halting next to us—a huge SUV with a man driving.
I peered up at our neighbor. “Now?” I cowered in my seat.
“Go on,” he insisted.
I wriggled. “I can’t. Someone might see.”
“Mausi, do you want a punishment fuck?”
Yes! Nevertheless, did I want to disobey him? “I’ll do it when we’re out of the city.” I offered a compromise.
He shook his head. “Last chance.” He revved the engine.
I held firm, not budging. The SUV charged forward the moment the lights changed and Stefan followed, throwing me back in the seat. A few hundred meters down the road, the cars thinned and I hitched up my skirt.
“Too late.” He shot a glance at my legs, unable to resist watching me peel down my knickers. “Mmm,” he growled. He’d caught sight of his prize. “You’ve shaved.”
I yanked my skirt back down, my panties crushed in my hand. Why did his observation embarrass me? I’d done it for him, the previous evening in my pokey bathroom. It hadn’t been an easy feat in the confined space, holding a hand mirror. “Are you still going to…punish me?” I asked.
“What do you think?”
I squished my thighs together, feeling the bare flesh and my obvious wetness. Damn him!
The short dress and knickerless state were my fantasy come real and I’d fed it to him on a platter, not that he needed the cues. The moment the front door shut behind us, he was in my crotch, probing and spreading my folds apart.
“Wet girl.”
He grinned and I backed away from him, seeing the eagerness in his bright eyes.
He didn’t extricate his hand from my sex. He pressed it there, walking me backward into the main room.
“Please, don’t make me come yet,” I implored, shuffling on my tiptoes and holding onto his shoulders for balance.
“That’s your choice.” He smirked. “In any case, what makes you think it will be the once?”
I nearly came then on his hand. I hopped about, dancing a silly jig, and he shoved a finger up inside me. I laughed.
“What?” He cocked his head to one side.
“I’m a finger puppet.” I giggled.
We’d not stopped moving and my bottom struck something behind—the piano stool.
I expected him to detour me around the piano, but he halted and released me from his probing digit. “Dress off.”
I complied in an instant. No bra and the sight of my breasts lit up his face. He dragged the stool to one side and removed the music on the rack, lying the lectern flat. After releasing the leg prop, he lowered the top board, protecting the mechanism and strings. I watched, bemused at his swift actions. Sex on his beloved piano? Surely not.
He returned to stand in front of me. “Now where was I? Um. Tormenting your poor pussy. Legs apart, Mausi.”
How I loved his little commands. Those do-it-without-question instructions in his deep voice. I shuffled my feet apart, giving him access. He trailed a finger down from my navel and over my mound. I flinched, not with fear, but sheer excitement. He lifted the hood of my clitoris and gave it a small pinch. I stumbled backward, lost my balance and sat on the keyboard. A crash of notes sounded, discordant and loud. I bounced back up again. “Sorry.”
“Oh, that’s fine. We’re going to make music. Special, sexy music.”
My eyes widened. I’d not expected him to use his piano as a prop for our sex games. I reached behind, feeling the warm keys with my fingertips. I spread my arms sideways, tracking the black and white keys until I came to the edge of the piano. Groping, I located the shelves on either side and I gripped each one. With my legs apart, I’d spread-eagled myself on the front of a grand piano. My nipples went rigid, and below, his hand glided up and down my slit, igniting a fiery heat in my pussy.
He bent over and sucked on a breast, drawing the nipple into his mouth and elongating it with the tip of his teeth. I held my breath, expecting the sharp pain of a bite, but he let go. He repeated his tease on the other side and I moaned. While he worked his magic below, keeping me on the edge of an orgasm, he kissed my neck or nipped my lower lip. I sank onto the keyboard, slowly enough to not make a sound, and took the weight off my splayed legs.
He stepped away from me, creating a breathing space and a view of his bulging pants. He released his stiff cock. I eyed it, letting its dimensions add to my arousal. He posed, erection in hand, and still fully clothed—an increasingly big turn-on for me, to be fucked with him dressed. I waited, my motionless bottom perched soundlessly on the keys. My heart raced, thumping against my chest.
He bolstered my ass with his hands, lifted me a fraction and off the keys. He squeezed the tips of his fingers into my fleshy cheeks and groaned. He aimed the knob of his cock at my entrance and teased my opening. I tilted my head back, willing him to enter. He pressed slightly, leaning into me, and we hit a few keys. The sudden noise came from the soundboard behind me and it made me jump.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Hold tight.”
A thunderous noise greeted his thrust. Beneath my bottom, the backs of his hands landed on the keyboard and the flurry of notes echoed about the room. I clung onto the shelves on each side of the keyboard and my back rammed into the edge of the upright fallboard—the lid used to cover the keys. I winced.
My discomfort caught his attention. Before he withdrew and thrust hard again, he wrapped an arm around my back, cushioning me. Another tinkle of notes greeted his penetration as I knocked the keys.
“Put your legs around me.”
I stretched my calves behind the backs of his legs and crossed my ankles. He released my ass and, with the extra support about my waist, he locked me in an embrace. “Play for me,” he murmured.
Every pounding thrust of his cock resulted in my buttocks knocking the keys as I dipped over the notes and landed. He rocked his pelvis, swinging into me, and we found our rhythm—a tuneless stream of notes. I closed my eyes, confident in his grip, and let myself go.
It wasn’t a position to maintain for long. I sensed the strain in both of us, holding our muscles taut. I couldn’t come, even though my pussy buzzed, enjoying the way he abrasively plundered my delicate innards. He halted, panti
ng, and I lowered my wobbly legs onto the floor.
“Turn around.”
I quivered with nervous energy, clutching my hands together as I spun around. The keyboard might have been low, but the shelf above was higher than my waist. With one hand on my knee, he lifted my leg up and onto the board, splitting me apart. I bent over, hopping on one leg, and he wasted no time in fucking me from behind. I lay my shoulders on the top board and my other foot lifted off the ground. The rounded edges of the piano afforded little protection from his pounding thrusts. The piano legs creaked and the strings hummed beneath me, caught up by the vibrations of my body on the wood.
“Fuck, yes,” he growled.
Was this his fantasy—fucking me over his piano? Was I the first? I hoped I was that special. That Magda, and whomever else he had entertained, were never treated to such a display of his sexual powers.
He pinched a hand about my neck, holding me steady, and my scalp prickled with excitement. Our grunts and groans filled the air. Occasionally, he knocked a key, sending a solitary note across the room. His pace slowed. I sighed, content to let him use me.
The evening progressed in a haze. I remembered a stupendous orgasm ricocheting around my body after he drew me off the piano, lay me on my back on the long padded stool and fucked me to seventh heaven. From there, he stripped, moved me onto the warm floor and spread me wide again. I hollered at him, begging him to let me come, as if he would say no or tell me not to. I wanted him to know how desperate he made me, how needy I became the moment he lay a finger on me.
Perspiration turned the hairs on his chest into tufted knots. When we paused to catch our breaths, I toyed with them, tugging on them to get his attention.
“Mausi,” he warned. “I’ve not finished with you yet.”
He’d spilled in me once, on the piano stool, and with the piano now out of bounds, he took me over the sofa. The soft fabric and padding came as a blessing after the hard edges of the piano. I burrowed my face into the cushions as he explored my body, taking me on a sensory journey from sucking my toes to pulling on my hair. Every inch of me endured his attention with both trepidation and delight.