I reclined back. He opened my legs, tugged on the clit clamp, and took my left nipple into his mouth.
“God, Kale," I muttered. "I can’t take much more." He released the clamp. Blood rushed to my clit, sending a fiery sensation through my body. Kale twirled my engorged nub with his finger.
“You can come now," he said.
I came so hard I thought I was going to explode into bits of confetti. "Ahh!”
Kale stroked his hard cock, and flipped me over on my stomach in a blinding move. I heard him tear something open. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him cover himself with a condom before he pulled the plug imbedded in my ass, free. My pucker throbbed, but I didn’t have time to bask in the freedom. He fucked me deep, and hard with his latex-sheathed dick while he reached around and worked my clit with his hand.
“Come on, Roslyn, fuck my cock with that sweet ass," he growled.
“I’m coming!” I screamed while he pounded me. And when he plunged what had to be at least three of his long fingers into my quivering pussy, I came again, and again.
“Don’t stop fucking my cock. We’re not done yet."
****
Exhausted, I laid wrapped up in Kale Drake’s arms. He kissed me, liked I mattered, then shifted. He looked at me as if he were learning my face. "Are you happy you decided to come on up to the penthouse?”
“For sure, Mr. Drake."
“Excellent."
Silence filled the space.
“So, I suppose since the party’s over, I should get dressed and go," I said.
“Roslyn, I want you to do a couple of things for me."
“What?”
“I want you to mark off number eight, nine, and ten on your list."
I chuckled. "Okay."
“And since I don’t think you are in need of losing fifteen pounds, and I believe you are fabulous just as you are, I want you to mark off number one."
“You think I’m fabulous?”
He kissed the tip of my nose. "Of course."
“Wow. No one has ever called me fabulous."
“Number two needs to be scratched off as well. I love your curly red hair. You don’t need to straighten it."
“Really? You like this red mess?”
He twirled a finger around a curl. "I don’t think your hair is a mess. It’s totally sexy."
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Roslyn. I’m serious."
“Kale Drake, you are the most amazing person I’ve ever met."
“And I can say the same about you, Roslyn Sumter."
“Thank you."
“You are totally welcome, but I do have one more thing I want you to do."
I gazed into his beautiful eyes. "What’s that?”
“Don’t go. Let’s take a shower together. I need someone to scrub my back, then stay for breakfast," Kale said. "I make a mean omelet."
I giggled. "All right, a steamy shower and an omelet sound awesome."
“Oh, yeah? I almost forgot."
"What?”
Kale gave me a wicked grin. "I think we need to talk about the last item on your list."
“Really?”
"Really," he replied. "I’ve always wanted to sex-up a beautiful woman in the stacks of the Philadelphia Library."
PART THREE
Dear Dark Tales,
I’m not like most of my friends, and have no concept of what it’s like to be considered a child prodigy. Any achievements I’ve gained in the world of classical music, has come with hard work. And any technical talent I may have displayed with my chosen instrument, only derived from hours, and hours, of practice. But being technically proficient isn’t going to cut it. In order to play in the orchestra of my dreams, I have to not only become technically perfect, but passionate about the music I play. And it’s the passion I find the hardest thing to grasp.
I’ve tried almost everything in order to discover the fiery temperament in the first movement of Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata, or experience the evocative brilliance of Bach in his Cello Suites. As a cellist, and hopefully an artist, I want to pass on the love, the sadness, the longing, and the happiness to the people who listen. I’ve always wished to bring the musical notes off the page, for all to see with their hearts. You may ask, why? What’s the point? And here’s the best answer I can give: Music should be more than vibrations floating through the atmosphere. It should be felt in the place that many of us protect, and never allow the heart to go.
So in my quest to bring my music to life, I took the advice of a best friend. He said, "We should experience the emotion the composer hoped to convey, not by words, but by the deeper meaning within the soul of the piece as we play it."
Cordially,
Katrina Wayne
Maestro
“I’m not going to make anyone’s heart explode with that cadenza," I huffed, and dropped my bow. It made a dull thud on the carpet by my feet. "I have an audition with the new Maestro for the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra in two days, and if I play like that, he’ll laugh me off the stage."
“Get naked," Aden, one of my best friends since freshman year in college, uttered.
I rolled my eyes. "You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Aden’s dark eyebrows pushed close together. "I dislike when you do that."
“Do what?”
“Roll those big green eyes at me."
"I might not roll them at you if you weren’t so totally insane."
“Do you want my help or not, Kitty-Kat?”
“Yes. I want, and need your help, but how is getting naked going to solve anything?”
“For once in your stubborn life, listen to me. Take off your clothes."
I stood up from the chair, leaned my cello against the wall, and eyed Aden. "I don’t understand how this is going to help me, but I’ll do it," I said. "Turn around, and don’t look."
“We’re not horny, out of control teenagers. I’m fairly sure you turned twenty-eight on the same day I did last month."
“Yeah, so what? I don’t think you’re going to attack me or anything, it’s just weird being naked around you."
Aden tapped his foot, and crossed his arms. "I’m sure we can both be adults about this. And anyway, the human form is beautiful, so friends or not, naked is a natural state."
“Natural state, ha!”
“Give me a break, Kat. You don’t have anything I haven’t already seen."
“Okay Mr. Smarty-pants. You get naked, and see how you like it."
Aden shrugged his wide shoulders. "Fine," he said and kicked off his Nike flip-flops.
“I wasn’t serious," I said as I saw him remove his T-shirt then go for the cargo shorts.
“To late," he teased, standing there bare-assed, and in all honesty, beautiful. I’m sure I blinked in rapid succession. "I’m naked now. That means you’re next."
Not wanting to be one-upped by Aden, and refusing to let him win this twisted little game he was playing, I unbuttoned my shirt, and took it off. I wasn’t wearing a bra.
“There," I said, smirking.
“Oh no, you don’t. Sweat pants, too."
I scrunched up my nose in protest, but shimmied out of them.
“Are you happy now?”
“Not yet. Lose the panties."
“Come on!”
“Take them off, Kat."
I stripped them off, and stood there, facing my naked, and very male, BFF.
“They’re off," I spluttered.
“I don’t see what all the fuss was about," he said, eyeing me.
“What?”
“I mean, you could pack on a few pounds, and what’s going on down there?” he pointed.
If steam weren’t coming out of my ears, it soon would be. I glanced down at my pubic area. "What do you mean?”
“I mean, what happened?”
“It’s a Brazilian. Most men like it. In fact, most men think I’m pretty damn hot when I’m naked."
“I’m not like most men."
/> “That’s obvious."
“I’d be livid at the person who turned your pussy into that poor bald thing."
“Fuck you, Aden!”
“Are you mad yet?” Aden asked.
“Extremely pissed off, thank you very much."
“Use it. Pick up your cello, and play the piece again. It’s supposed to be primal. Heated."
I grabbed my cello, sat down, and played the hell out of the piece, allowing every bit of frustration I had to flow out of my core, and into my hands, and fingers as I played. The release was almost orgasmic. Furious. Powerful.
“You’ve got it," Aden said, looking at me with an intensity that I hadn’t seen on his face before. "Let’s go over the second chorus."
“But it’s more passionate. Perhaps, sexual."
“Pick up your bow, Katrina, and play. Remember, it’s in G Major."
“All right," I said, and started to play.
“Do you feel the music vibrate through your thighs?” he asked.
I nodded, closed my eyes, and let the music take me where I needed to go.
Aden’s hands rested on my shoulders. He was standing behind me. "More, he said. Give it more." His palms slid down my chest, covered my tits, then he started massaging them, keeping time with the rhythm of the music.
I threw my head back, floated in the sensation of his touch, and glided my fingers across the strings, as my bow worked. I could hear the change in the music, and began to feel the passion that for so long, hid from me.
“From the beginning, Kat. Play it all the way. With everything you’ve got."
I spread my legs even wider, tucked my cello, lifted my chin, and played refrain after refrain, feeling the buzz shoot along my pussy as the reverberation from my instrument, and Aden’s strong fingers stimulated me. I played, and Aden strummed me like a virtuoso.
“Aden," I moaned.
“Complete the movement," he said, stroking my clitoris like the master I’d always needed. "Feel me. Feel the music."
“I’m going to come while you’re touching me," I said.
“Go ahead, but don’t stop playing."
The top of the crescendo, and the peak of my climax, happened in unison. The buildup was strong with the ending exploding in lustful satisfaction as the music within my body erupted, giving the corresponding solo the passion it so greatly deserved.
“Again," Aden said. "Only this time, I’m going to be seated in the chair, and you’re going to be seated on me. I intend on driving the point of your entire repertoire, home."
****
Remembering what Aden taught me, I readied myself for the audition that would be my success, or my failure. Everything I ever wanted balanced on the outcome of my performance.
Breathe through your diaphragm, Katrina. Relax your hands.
Beneath the glaring lights, I walked across the stage, with my cello in one hand, and my bow in another. I took my seat, center stage. I couldn’t see into the audience. It was dark, and the spotlight kept my sight confined to my designated area.
“Welcome, Ms. Wayne. What are you going to play for the Maestro today?” The baritone voice echoed throughout the music hall.
“Thank you. I’m honored to be here," I said. "Today, I am going to play Claude Lamothe’s Clairière-Art et nature."
“An ambitious piece."
I nodded.
“Whenever you are ready," the voice said.
I took a breath, closed my eyes, thought of Aden inside of me, and played.
****
When I was finished with the more than six-minute piece, I heard nothing but silence. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then from nowhere, thunderous applause caused me to look up. The spotlight blinked out, and the stage lights dimmed.
“Bravo! Bravo!”
That was Aden’s voice I heard at the forefront of the clapping. I glanced out and saw him standing with fourteen or fifteen other people who had obviously been seated in the first two rows.
“Aden?” I was completely confused. "What in the world are you doing here?”
“Ms. Wayne," said the portly man standing next to him. It was the baritone voice from earlier. "Allow me to introduce you to our new Maestro, Aden Ravel-Kirov."
Why, that sneaky—
“Welcome to the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra, Ms. Wayne," Aden said. He’d been holding out on me, and after the other day, I thought we knew everything there was to know about each other. "And may I say, your rendition of Clairière-Art et nature was in a word, phenomenal."
Epilogue
“Mr. Blackthorn, you have a call on line four. It’s a Mr. Landau calling," Becca, my secretary, said over the intercom.
“Thank you. I’ll take the call." I tapped the button on the phone for that line. "Wade, how are you?”
“Oh, I’m fine, just fine," Wade Landau, my private investigator said.
“I haven’t heard from you in a while. Do you have anything new on Keira?”
“That’s why I’m calling, Tristan. Now listen, I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I’ve had leads on this case before, and we both know how they turned out."
“Dead ends," I said.
“That’s right."
“That aside, what have you got?”
“I have a possible connection through a source of a source."
“Who’s the connection?”
“Let me find out more, before we discuss it. I need to fly to Spain, and visit with a nun who works in a hospital there. She may have valuable information, and then again—”
“I know. It may be another wild goose chase, but that doesn’t matter. If you have anything, I want you to follow it up, no matter how slim the lead may be."
“This trip won’t be cheap, Tristan."
“Don’t worry about it. Money isn’t an issue."
“Okay," Wade said. "I’ll make arrangements to leave by the first of next week."
“Keep me informed," I said.
“I will. And Tristan?”
“Yes?”
“If we hit another brick wall, you might want to stop the search. I know that’s a hard thing to come to terms with, and I know you cared for this woman, but I’ve been looking for nine years, and I know you have been searching even longer. For the sake of your wallet, and your sanity, give it some thought."
“I still love her, and I’m not giving up, Wade."
“How did I know you would say that?”
www. londonsaintjames. com
Other Books by London Saint James:
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Dark Tales Diaries: Volume Two Page 4
