The Protege

Laszlo sits down at the piano, and when I hear the opening phrases of the piece I close my eyes and imagine we’re back at home in the music room, just the two of us, playing together.

I want to move back in with Laszlo. I want to be in that house with him and have everything we once had together, and all these wonderful new things, too. I want us to have that life of music and happiness and I pour that need into the piece, playing with all the longing in my heart. I open my eyes several times as we play to look at him and find he’s watching me, an expression in his eyes that I think I’ve felt before but not seen. As if he looked at me like this when we used to play together, but he just never let me see.

Laszlo arranges for the stage manager to edit the recording and send him a copy that evening. In the afternoon I’ll compose the email to the agent and send it off after our performance tonight.

But first I want something else.

Once we get back to the hotel I put my arms around him and kiss him in the elevator. “All those things that you offered to me yesterday,” I whisper against his mouth, kissing him between words. “I want to be your good girl. Your sub. Your sweet Isabeau. I want you to be dark and wicked. I want you to enjoy the power you have over me. Let yourself off the leash with me.”

He looks down at me with dark, hazy eyes and I know he wants this too. He craves it as much as I do, this heady blend of sex and need and control. And in the end, when we’ve burned hard through each other and into each other, all that will be left is us. As we are. Forged like steel together.

“Put the leash on me, daddy.”

The elevator pings and I let go of him, standing demurely beside him, one hand on my cello case in front of me. Two people get in and turn to face to the doors, pressing the button for the rooftop bar.

I glace at Laszlo as the doors close and there’s a dark flicker in his eyes. He puts his lips close to my ear and murmurs, so quietly, “Do you want to be mine, Isabeau?”

In all the ways. I want everything he’s offering me and I need it to start now.

His lips are warm against my ear as he breathes, “Do you want to be a little slut for daddy?”

I stifle a whimper and nod again.

In a normal tone of voice he announces, “Oh dear, you’ve dropped your bracelet.” Laszlo kneels down and pretends to feel around by my cello case for a piece of jewelry I wasn’t wearing. With his other hand he reaches up beneath my long satin skirt, grasps the back of my thong and pulls it down.

I pretend to look around on the floor while stepping out of my underwear, which tangles on my heels. We attract the other couple’s attention and the woman half turns to us as Laszlo straightens up.

“Did you find it?” the woman asks.

“Oh, she wasn’t wearing any after all,” Laszlo says, surreptitiously pushing my underwear into his pocket. I choke on my laughter. The woman gives us an odd look but Laszlo announces that this is our floor and we get out. I want to hurry, aware of my nakedness beneath my skirt, but Laszlo holds tightly to my hand, making me walk slowly to his room.

When we get inside he puts aside my cello and turns to me. “Do you know how beautiful you sounded on stage? I’m so proud of you.”

Gently, lovingly, he takes off his belt and loops it around my neck. Holding the straps tightly in one hand like a collar he kisses me, his tongue invading my mouth. I whimper as he tugs gently on the belt, bringing me up onto my toes.

Still kissing me, he puts a heavy hand on my shoulder and forces me down onto my knees. Breaking the kiss he looks at me with flashing eyes. “Perfect, baby. That’s just where I like you.”

I gaze up at him, my breath shallow, savoring the sensation stealing over me, watching how it’s spreading through Laszlo, too. This deep connection between us, exposing us to each other. Raw, fundamental, primal.

“Tell me what you want, Isabeau.”

I arch my neck against the leather tight about my throat. “Please be my dom. Show me all the ways that we can make each other feel so very good. Please, daddy.”

His lips curve into a smile. “Open your mouth.”

I do, and he places two fingers on my tongue, which I obediently suck. He groans. “Do you want to be good for your daddy, baby?”