Conductor of Hearts: An older alpha male and younger woman short romance (Filthy Rich Love Book 4)

by Sadie King

  I’m so flustered that I miss my turn-off and have to double back to get onto the main highway. I inhale deeply and tell myself to calm down. It’s two days before the audition for music school. Really not the time to lose it just because I met a hot guy.

  I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and try to pick up the rhythm, but I keep thinking about the current of electricity that passed through me when we touched. Did he feel it too?

  I let out an exasperated sigh. What does it matter? I’ll never see him again anyway. Unless I stalk his house because I do know where he lives. Mr. Miller.

  “Laila Miller.” It sounds good said out loud. I laugh at my own ridiculousness. Even if I did see him again, what would a good-looking, obviously rich and successful guy like that want with a girl like me?

  I wake up early the next morning like I do every morning and sit down at the piano to start my scales. The keys feel heavy compared to the baby grand, or maybe it’s my fingers that are heavy and tired from a restless night. I didn’t sleep well.

  My head was full of thoughts of him, and my body wouldn’t relax. It was feverish with heat, craving his touch. The touch of a man I only met for five minutes.

  My fingers drag over the keys, and I can’t seem to move them any faster. My timing is all over the place, and after too many wrong notes I give up.

  Mrs. Hays taught me that sometimes it’s better to walk away for a while than to force it. But the audition is tomorrow, so there’s not a lot of time to get it right.

  I’ll go into work early, I decide. Then I can finish early and get some good solid practice in tonight.

  I’m back at the depot loading up for the lunch run when I see the packages. There’s a stack of them. Wrapped in brown paper and all addressed to Mr. Miller. My heat flutters in my chest. I put them in the back of the van and swing into the driver’s seat. I check my hair in the rearview mirror and head off.

  Ten minutes later I’m pulling into his drive. My heart beats faster as the house comes into view. I pull up and start unloading the packages.

  The door is open again and I ring the bell, my stomach doing little flips. This time he appears quickly, as if he’s been waiting.

  My breath catches in my throat. His dark hair is ruffled and he’s wearing a tight black t-shirt again, showing off his toned arms.

  “You’ve got another delivery,” I say. “Actually, there’s a few. I’ll just get the others.”

  He reaches out and grabs my wrist.

  “Don’t bother.”

  His touch is electric, and it sends a shock of heat straight between my legs.

  “Come inside and play.” He leads me into the house and toward the piano, not letting my arm go until I’m seated on the stool.

  I’m on fire just being near him, and I wonder if he feels it too. I start to play. The notes flow easily, my fingers light over the keys. I feel a weight inside me lift, and I realize how worried I’d been by this morning’s shoddy practice.

  I’m aware of him watching me and it sends a thrill down into my fingers, making them dance over the keys. I close my eyes and lose myself in the music.

  When I get to the end of the piece, he’s standing next to me. I’m eye level with his belt, and I can see the outline of his erection. A rush of heat goes through my body knowing that my playing is having an effect on this man.

  He crouches down so he’s at eye level with me.

  “That was beautiful.”

  All I can do is nod. He’s so close I can smell his aftershave. The tempo of my heart’s pounding in my chest.

  “You’re talented.”

  He reaches out a hand and tilts my chin toward him. I part my lips as his mouth crashes into mine. My lips tingle with desire, sending a thrill coursing through my body. I turn myself toward him, wanting more. His hand runs down my neck and over my breasts.

  He pulls at the bottom of my t-shirt, and we break apart so he can pull it over my head. The cool air makes my skin shiver in anticipation. Then his warm hands are on me, running over my body and cupping my breasts. His hand slides around to unhook my bra, letting my breasts fall free. I hear an intake of breath.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  He sits back on his haunches, his eyes roaming over my body. My nipples harden under his gaze. I barely know him, but it feels so right to let him look at me. I want him to see all of me. He stands up slowly, and when he speaks his voice is husky.

  “Play for me, Laila.”

  The words send a thrill deep into my core. He’s opened up something inside of me. I want to play for him, and I want to do dirty things to him, and a piece of my heart might just be falling for him.

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “Anything, anything you want.”

  I start to play. My body feels free, and the music flows with a freedom I’ve never felt before. I’m aware of him beside me watching my naked skin, my breasts swaying with the music, and it adds a tension and anticipation.

  My breathing becomes heavy as I play; the music builds. He undoes his belt beside me. I’m pulled so tight every note builds with anticipation, dripping with desire.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him reach into his pants and ease out his hard dick. It’s thick and long, and I almost drop a note stealing a glance. My pussy responds with a gush of wetness, and I trip over the notes. The clang of an unruly G flat rings out.

  “Keep playing,” he commands.

  I focus on the piano and pick up the piece.

  He runs his hand down the length of his shaft. Long deliberate pulls, and it’s all I can do to concentrate on the music. My hands are flying over the keys as the crescendo builds. He moves behind me and slides a hand out and into my hair.

  His fingers trail down my neck and slide down to my chest, feeling for the nipple of my breast. I’m hard under his touch, my chest heaving as I keep playing. He presses up behind me, and I feel the hardness of his dick pushing into my shoulder blades. He moves it back and forth across my back as his hand strokes my breast.

  I’m panting now, my pussy throbbing, aching for his touch. My fingers race toward the climax of the piece. He groans behind me, and I feel a drip of precum on my back. The music reaches its height and I crash through the last few notes, the passion coursing through my body finding its release in the final keys.

  I play the final note, and while it’s still lingering in the air, I turn on the stool to face him. His dick is hard and glistening, and without hesitation I open my lips and slide him in.

  4

  Ayden

  The sudden heat of her mouth on my cock makes me cry out. She slides her lips down my shaft, and the wetness and heat make me almost lose it.

  I grip her hair and pull her toward me. Her mouth glides up and down my shaft as her tongue darts out to lick my rim. My nerve endings are on fire as I thrust myself into her inviting mouth.

  Her hand slides around to grasp the base of my hard dick. Her fingers are strong and sure, moving deftly up my cock following the movement of her mouth.

  “Touch yourself.” My voice sounds croaky, and I know I’m close to release. While one hand runs over my cock and balls, her other hand moves down to the place between her legs.

  She slides a hand into her pants and starts stroking rhythmically. The head of my cock bangs against the back of her throat, and she moans as I grip her hair and pull her toward me, making her tits bounce up and down.

  My climax builds as thunderously as the music she played. I thrust hard and release myself inside her. Hot cum hits the back of her throat, and she moans as her own orgasm courses through her.

  Her mouth keeps sucking until her shuddering stops, and she’s got every last drop out of me. I’m totally spent.

  I slide my dick out of her mouth, and she licks her lips. Her dreamy smile makes my dick start to harden again. I want to bend her over this piano stool and claim her properly. I pull her up and kiss her hard, tasting my own cum. She's wet between the legs, and I push m
yself into her.

  Her phone rings out from her discarded bag. I grind into her, ignoring it. The phone rings again.

  “That’ll be the head office checking up on me.”

  “Leave it,” I tell her. “I’ve got plans for you.”

  “I wish I could,” she says, diving for the bag. “But if I don’t answer it, they’ll send a search party.”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” she says into the phone. “Got held up, but I’m about to get back on the road...uh-huh...okay, thanks.”

  She hangs up the phone and starts dressing. I grab her wrist and bring it to my lips, kissing the delicate hairs on her arms.

  “Stay.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to work.”

  She breaks away and gathers her things, handing me the screen to sign.

  “What is someone so talented doing working as a delivery girl?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “So stay and tell me over dinner.”

  “I can’t stay. I’ll get fired. And I need this job.”

  “Quit the job. I’ll look after you now.”

  She laughs as if I’m joking. “I might just take you up on that.”

  Later that evening, I’ve got my laptop open with Buddy sprawled on the couch next to me, peacefully sleeping like only a cat can.

  A friend of mine, Tristan, is spending the summer in the Bahamas, and he wants me to join him. There’s a villa for rent near his right on the beach. I scroll through the photos he sent. Blue skies, deserted beaches, him drinking cocktails with two beautiful women wearing nothing but string bikinis.

  This has been my life for the last several years. I run an online business that means I can work remotely from anywhere. I’ve employed a team who are based all over the world, and I only have to log in for a few hours every couple of days to keep the business running.

  In the last five years, I’ve traveled all over the world, sometimes taking a hotel room for a few days, sometimes renting a place for a few months. As long as there’s a good internet connection I can work.

  It was wonderful at first, seeing the world and all it has to offer. I took cooking classes in Italy, learned to surf in Indonesia, and hiked the mountains of New Zealand.

  But I began to get weary of the traveling life. I started spending longer in places. I rented a hut on Goa Beach for three months, then a chateau in the south of France for six months. But what I was really missing was home. Or a home to be specific.

  I came back to the States and bought this place not too far from where I grew up. I thought I wanted somewhere to settle down. Only now I’m feeling restless again. I’ve realized home isn’t a place; it’s the people who live there.

  “You won’t last three months,” was Tristan’s prediction. “You’ll be back on the road. It’s in your blood; you’re a born traveler.”

  He’s pretty persistent about spending the summer in the Bahamas. While I’m itching to move, my heart sinks at the thought of another frivolous summer. I look at his picture again. The girls in the bikinis whose smiles are a bit too wide, their eyes a bit too hard. I snap my laptop shut, startling the cat.

  “Alexa, play Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata,” I instruct my voice recognition system.

  I lean back and close my eyes, remembering her playing. Her straight back, her nimble fingers, and the way they deftly danced over my balls and dick. Her strong fingers pulling at me while her delicate mouth sucked.

  I’m hard instantly from thinking about her. I pull my throbbing cock out of my pants and stoke it in time to the music. I’m thinking about her mouth and her tits, and it doesn’t take long for my climax to erupt out of me. But instead of feeling satisfied I’m still thinking about her, aching for her. I know I won’t be satisfied until I claim her properly as mine.

  I get up off the couch, a restless energy coursing through me. I jog up the stairs and pace the upper hallway. The music blares out through the upstairs speakers, haunting the empty rooms.

  I fling open the doors to each room I pass. The curtains are drawn, there’s dust gathering on the windowsills, and spider webs forming in the corners of the walls. I wonder what this house would be like with children running through these halls. These empty rooms painted with colorful murals, bunk-beds full of soft toys and novelty pillows. A woman leaning over the bed to kiss my son goodnight.

  A different ache starts to build inside of me. It’s not just this woman’s body I’m after. I want her as my woman, my wife, the mother of my children. The realization hits me like a brick. I can’t explain it. I barely know her, but I know for sure she’s the one for me.

  I jog down the stairs and go back to my laptop. I pull up the email from Tristan and write quickly, letting him know I won’t be coming to the Bahamas. Then I put in the next-day delivery order that will bring her to my house, to my home. That will bring her home.

  5

  Laila

  “Damn.” I bring my fingers to a halt on the keys, which seem to all be in the wrong order this morning.

  “Try it again,” Mom says patiently, “and don’t swear.”

  She's in her bathrobe and faded pink slippers, hunched over the kitchen stove. She insisted on getting up today and making me breakfast to set me up for the audition.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t think I can eat. My stomach’s been doing double flips all night, and it’s not just because of the audition.

  I can’t stop thinking about him. His intense gaze on me, his husky voice, the taste of him in my mouth. I moved around all night, trapping myself in the bedsheets, waking up sweaty and aching.

  I touched myself thinking about him, but it brought no release. It’s not just his touch I crave. I feel drawn to him, like I know him already, like I’ve always known him. Which is ridiculous as I’ve only just met him.

  That’s what comes from reading too many of Mom’s Mills and Boons as a teenager. And now here I am letting fantasies about a man I barely know get in the way of the biggest audition of my life.

  I take a deep breath and start again. My hand jerks out and I hit the wrong key. I come to a clanging stop, tears threatening my eyes.

  “I can’t do it.”

  “Of course you can.” Mom comes over, waving the spatula at me. “You’ve worked hard for this. You can do it. I know you can, and I don’t want to hear you speak otherwise.”

  I can’t help smiling at her cross, no-nonsense approach. It’s the same tone she’s used every time I’ve gotten so frustrated I’ve wanted to give up.

  “You know the piece,” she says more gently. “Take some deep breaths and relax.”

  I stretch my hands out in front of me and close my eyes, breathing in deeply. Once my breath has settled, I open my eyes and begin to play.

  I move through the piece carefully, hitting the right notes, keeping the rhythm. The notes sound different on my old piano compared to his baby grand. Suddenly thoughts of him fill my head–his smile, his scent, his taste. My hand falters, and I fumble a sequence.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” I slam my fingers down on the duplicitous keys.

  Mom doesn’t tell me off for swearing, which means she’s really worried about me. Instead she comes over and rubs my back.

  “Maybe you should go back to bed?” she suggests. “Get some rest and try again later.”

  “I need to go to work.” I stand up, and she moves back to the kitchen. We both know I can’t afford to miss a day of work. With some persuading I was able to schedule my audition for the end of the day, just after my shift finishes.

  Mom serves up the eggs, and we eat in silence. I mostly push mine around the plate and try to take a few mouthfuls to keep her happy. My stomach is clenched in a tight nervous ball, and it doesn’t ease when I leave the house a few minutes later. The tense feeling builds throughout the day, until by the time my shift is almost over, I’m a tight ball of nervous energy.

  The last delivery of the day is to his house. My heart soared when I picked up the af
ternoon deliveries and saw Mr. Miller and his address. It made me smile, and for just a moment the hard ball in my stomach eased a little. Then I remembered the audition and how bad I was this morning, and it tightened right back up.

  Now as I pull into his house there are the familiar sounds of the crunch of the tires on gravel and the scrape of the overhanging trees on the top of the van. When the house comes into view, I feel the knot in my stomach relax a little. There’ a cat sitting on the front step as if waiting for me, and the door is ajar but there’s no sign of Ayden.

  My heart’s thumping louder than a kettle drum as I mount the stairs with my arms full of packages, briefly wondering what he’s ordering but not really caring as it gives me an excuse to see him. The cat wraps itself around my leg purring, and my stomach loosens a little bit more.

  “Hello?” I call as I push the door open.

  He’s sitting on the stairs waiting for me. My breath catches at the sight of him. His hair is shaggy like he hasn’t slept, and dark stubble courses over his chin. As he stands to greet me his jeans tighten over his thighs, revealing the outline of his manly package. I almost drop the packages I’m holding. He strides over and takes them off me, discarding them on the floor.

  “I’ve waited all day for you,” he says, reaching a hand out to stroke my cheek. His touch is electric, and it shoots right through my body. But I’m so wired my head jerks away.

  He drops his hand instantly. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve got this big audition, and I’m gonna mess it up,” I blurt out.

  Before he turns away, I see the relief on his face.

  “We can fix that.” He reaches for my hand and leads me over to the piano stool. We sit together, and before I know it, I’m telling him all about the music school and piano lessons and the shitty practicing I did this morning and how three days ago I could play fine and now I can’t concentrate on the music.

  “Play for me now,” he says. “Play the audition piece.”