A Dance for Him (32 page)

Not sure what any of
that’s
about.

Of course, they did use to live in Milan when gramps was in the Foreign Service, so I wondered if they somehow knew him, but that would have been when he was himself a student at the conservatory and studying with Maestro Alfieri, they couldn’t possibly have heard about him then, surely!

I always wondered, but I never asked them why …

In our family one doesn’t ask questions. It’s understood, in a vague but also definite kind of way, that there are just things that one doesn’t talk about, and that one isn’t even to ask why one can’t talk about them.

It was years before I even knew about what happened with mom and dad.

Apparently, when I was eight, apparently mom ran off with another man and then dad started drinking way too much, so I was sent to live with my grandparents. Later I was sent to boarding school, after she was in that car crash on the Riviera with the other guy.

Dad never recovered from it all. He basically - so I’ve gathered, from bits and pieces of information over the years - drank himself to death over the next few years.

No, it’s not a very happy family history, and my grandparents aren’t very happy people either.

To describe them as profoundly repressed would be an understatement …

I’ve always wondered if that’s why I don’t really know what to do with myself outside of music. All those girls at school seemed to take to life so naturally, so blithely, whereas I’ve always shrunk from it. I don’t know why, perhaps I’m just afraid of being unhappy. It was safer and so much more comforting to lose myself in the world of sound, it’s the one thing that’s always been there for me.

Perhaps that’s why I feel oddly comfortable with Maestro Moretti, as though I’d known him for a very long time, even though I’d never met him, even though I was so nervous about playing for him.

Comfortable enough with him, certainly, to stare back into his eyes in those magical seconds …

Although how could I not have - how could
anybody
not have.

I’ll probably remember that gaze, and its effect on me, till the day I die. It was so strange and wonderful, and then there was that odd moment in which I felt like I was staring into my own eyes …

I know he’s probably just casually flirting with me, and if I let him have my virginity, I probably won’t be anything more to him than his latest conquest - how could I compete with all the beautiful women whom he’s surrounded by on a regular basis?

And yet I still want him.

If anyone’s going to break my heart I’d much rather it be him than anybody else …

CHAPTER THREE

Well that was a crazy night.

I swear it’s as though that pretty little slip of a girl has bewitched me or something.

Jerking off after she left took the edge off for all of half an hour, and then my mind started wandering back to how she’d looked at me as I stood there holding her soft slender hand in mine, wondering if I’d imagined the slight tremor of her hand as she gently squeezed mine, wondering if I’d imagined the sweet smell of her excitement on the piano bench, wondering if I’d imagined the look in her eye.

The look of desire, that is: wildly dilated pupils, eyes sparkling with excitement and half-hooded with lust.

I’ve seen that look so many times before, and when combined with a change in breathing patterns, as it did with her, it’s never failed me when I’ve acted on it - it’s always meant that the woman’s panties are just about melting off, and all I’d have to do was to kiss her and she’d have been down on her knees in seconds unzipping my pants and worshipping my massive cock with her mouth before begging me to take her, use her, fuck her.

Fuck, what wouldn’t I give to have that sweet little Evie begging to be pounded senseless by my dick. The shy ones are always the wildest, the dirtiest, not to mention that she totally comes across like a natural submissive …

God, why can’t I stop thinking about her and what she would look like impaled on my cock and moaning from pleasure? I had to jerk off so many times yesterday it was like I was a horny teenager again.

You’re a grown man of forty-one
, Lorenzo, I keep saying to myself reprovingly, but then all I can think of by way of reply to my bloody superego is
All the better to teach her about how good it feels to have a real man’s cock in her sweet little pussy
.

And honestly, she can’t be that innocent. Who could be these days. As much as it kills me to think of some other man - or boy, more likely - pawing at that rare, exquisite creature, more likely than not she’s had
some
experience, in one form or another.

Although I’m willing to bet she probably hasn’t experienced the pleasure of being taken by a man who knows what he’s doing!

No, she doesn’t have the assured sensuality of a woman who’s known all the pleasure that sex can provide.

What she
does
have is that skittish, kittenish air of a girl who’s had
some
inkling of pleasure and wants more but hasn’t quite figured out how and where to get it yet.

Though I think she now might have some idea of
where
she might like to get it ...

And why not? I think I have something to teach her, and I don’t mean just how to play the Chopin sonata or whatever other music she’s brought with her.

Besides, she’ll also have the good old classical music groupie thrill of getting to fuck
the conductor
, which, to be honest, is probably a big part of why she’s giving me those irresistible fuck-me eyes.

It’s quite funny if understandable how women seem to gravitate to the alpha male with the stick, so predictable yet so inevitable, not that I’m complaining. Let’s just say that “I do like a man with a big stick ... Maestro” is a pick-up line I’ve heard more than once, usually accompanied by a flirtatious once-over with maybe a rather pointed focus on my crotch area.

Fortunately I do have a, well,
big stick
, one which I wouldn’t mind showing to little Miss Evie ...

Fuck, it’s going to be hard (ha!) to keep a straight face when she gets here, not when I’ve spent the last night jerking off to lurid fantasies of her in all sorts of positions and scenarios, fucked up against the wall in an alley somewhere, crouching on all fours in my bed with her legs spread to expose her sweet little pussy, riding my rock-hard cock so that I get to see her perfect tits bounce rhythmically as she takes her wanton pleasures, kneeling to receive a faceful or mouthful of my cum.

Oh, how I’d like to make her my little cock-starved cumslut by the end of the summer. There’s something about her that is so eminently corruptible. A smart girl, a fast learner, what more can I say? ...

Fuck, I’m such an old perv. Didn’t think I had it in me, but she just does something to me, I don’t know why, I haven’t felt this obsessively horny in a while …

Oh God, it’s Aurelia calling, probably to announce her. And yes, so it is. “Send her up,” I say, trying not to sound
too
lascivious, though I can’t entirely conceal a slight tremor of excitement in my voice.

This will be awkward - there’s an obscene tent in my pants right now, and while I’m sure she’s interested I think it might be a bit much to rub her face in it (ha!) so early in the game. Don’t want to freak her out altogether. That would be bad. I don’t need her thinking I’m some kind of crazed sex maniac. I mean, she might like it - you never know with the quiet ones - but I think it would be a bit much for a second meeting.

Damn, I think I’m going to have to pick up a score again and carry it around in front of me. Maybe I should have jerked off one more time this morning …

Oh, who am I kidding, it probably wouldn’t have made an iota of difference, it’s like she’s cast a spell on my cock or something.

There she is, I hear that fairy-light footstep again, and then a timid knock on the door.

So timid
, I think.
No, it definitely won’t do to greet her with a blatant hard-on
. And I will myself to visualise everything I can think of that would cause the pressure in my dick to ease up, with only partial success.

“Come in,” I say, and she does - in a barely-there white tie-top and a pair of
very
short shorts. She’s clearly not wearing a bra, her nipples are visibly poking through the thin material of her top.

Who knows if she’s even wearing any panties under those tiny shorts? …

My jaw drops as she enters, and all my efforts go to naught as my cock springs back to full attention …

CHAPTER FOUR

Oh God he’s staring at me so hungrily that I’m getting wet all over again. He’s got that strange, fixed smile on those sensual lips of his as well.

It’s an intent, almost predatory smile, like he’s undressing me with his eyes, like he’s thinking of doing unspeakable things to me.

Surely it can’t be that I’m imagining that just because I actually wish he would do all those unspeakable things to me, whatever they are? …

Because I do so, so much want that. It’s simply not possible to be in his presence without dreaming of surrendering completely to him …

He offers me his hand to shake, and this time his grasp is warm, firm, commanding. “Hello, Evie,” he says, in that velvet voice of his as he looks me up and down with that darkly avid gaze.

He could read the phone book in that voice and I’d still cream myself, so to hear him say
my name
, in that accent, in that smooth, slightly suggestive tone …

Well, it’s a good thing I decided to wear a thong after all, if I’d just gone commando I’d have soaked my shorts by now.

As it is, I’m not sure that they’re not going to be soaked by the end of the lesson, even then! …

He’s still keeping my hand clasped in his as he stares at me. Without thinking, I squeeze his hand gently, losing myself in its heat and size and strength and - oh my God did
Lorenzo Moretti
just wink at me?

It was unmistakable, that was the thing, it wasn’t just a flutter of an eyelid, but a slow, deliberate, pointed wink, accompanied by unusually flushed cheeks and a smile that was nothing short of devilishly enticing.

I wish I knew how to respond. I don’t want to make a complete fool of myself, in case he’s just having his little bit of fun with me, flirting with the starry-eyed groupie fangirl, but I don’t want to disencourage him either …

Oh, who am I trying to fool, I want to encourage him, want him to keep looking at me like that, want him to keep my hand in his, want him to touch more than just my hand.

I didn’t exactly dress up this morning just for random kicks, I pathetically went shopping yesterday afternoon for outfits that I hoped would get a reaction from him, though I didn’t perhaps expect him to be quite that blatant, that intense - not that I’m complaining, ha!

But how do I indicate that to him that I want more, what am I supposed to do, just grab him and kiss him? Or just take off my top, like they do in the movies?