Rhapsody (Butcher and Violinist 1)

My pussy pulsed against the toy’s drumming. My body grew ready to explode.

“Oh.” I stumbled on the notes, paused, and was close to doubling over.

The vibrations stopped.

“Are you okay, mon amour?”

Panting, I looked at him.

Lust covered his face, and deep within the shadows of his eyes, I swore I saw anger.

Are you mad, that I was looking at Rafael?

I thought about what Shalimar had said.

“I think to keep Jean-Pierre’s attention, you must be cerebral like him. . .The woman he will chase is probably one that pours all her attention on him, then later excuses herself to do something else.”

Our gazes met.

Amusement cornered his eyes. “Do you need to take a break, mon amour?”

“No, monsieur.”

With his other hand, he gripped the thick length on his lap.

The men studied our exchange.

Returning to the violin, I tried to focus on my breathing instead of on the liquid heat building between my legs. It wasn’t easy.

For some reason, I decided to play dirty. He had me in front of his men, friends, co-workers, whatever. Either way, he enjoyed turning me on in front of others and having the full control.

How can I control him?

Clearly, he enjoyed my playing.

What would make him intrigued or turned on?

I considered a sexy tune, but the whole time I kept thinking about Jean-Pierre’s song.

And so, that was what I played.

I went into the notes.

He’d been pouring himself a generous serving of whiskey.

When Eros and I began Iliad, he turned to me. Heat blazed in his eyes. The look was a punch to my gut. He craved me. It was all over his face.

I knew as soon as everyone left, he would fuck the shit out of me.

Yes. Sign me up.

But I noticed something else too.

Rafael had paused from drinking too. The scarred man held a curious expression, leaned over to Jean-Pierre, and whispered something in his ear.

Jean-Pierre frowned.

The vibrations returned.

I skipped over notes.

I couldn’t tell, if anyone noticed. I tried to play his song some more. Jean-Pierre increased the level. Jesus Christ! My vision blurred as robust vibrations pulsated through me. Fumbling over notes, I squeezed my thighs and began playing a new song. I wasn’t even sure of how it went, I’d just had the harmony memorized.

The vibrations ended, as soon as I switched to something new.

I paused from playing altogether, needing to catch my breath.

Holy shit.

I bet I looked like I’d just come. Gaze wide open. Face flushed. Mouth parted. Nipples poking stiff through my dress. Curious stares hit me.

“Are you sure you don’t need a break, mon amour?”

I looked at him.

He wore a grin as that wicked hand remained in his pocket.

I blew out a long breath and placed my violin back into position. “No, monsieur.”

He delivered a wicked grin. “Play something sexy for us, bébé.”

Some of his guests snickered.

A silly smile came on my face, no matter how much I tried to wipe it away and focus.

I began a new song and then remained in some of the more popular ones.

A few of the dancers clapped along. Servers brought around drinks. Chatter ensued, and everyone moved deeper into the party. Thankfully, all attention left me.

Everyone except, Rafael and Jean-Pierre.

They both had me in their view.

But while Jean-Pierre’s held lust.

Rafael glared.

I don’t care. I just want this party to end.

My body was no longer under my control. Jean-Pierre had become its authority. I couldn’t execute my finger placements as I would’ve liked. The whole time I focused on the anticipation of sex with Jean-Pierre, versus any of the songs.

My arousal soaked the bodysuit’s crotch and had probably stained the inside of the gown. The sewed-in bra pressed against my tender nipples.

And Jean-Pierre continued to watch me with desire.

I didn’t think I could wait any more.

For the rest of the evening, he tormented. Sometimes he switched it on then off. Other times he left it on through the whole song. And during those times, I rocked against the stool unable to keep my gaze open. Jena-Pierre pushed me to the edge again and again, and then yanked me away right before I fell over into orgasm.

Slowly, men left the penthouse with women. A few went into the other bedrooms further away from mine.

And then Rafael rose, called two women over to him, and walked away. Everyone followed his cue instantly after his exit. They all gathered their things and were gone within minutes.

That left me alone in the room with Jean-Pierre.

He hadn’t moved.

I was a shaken mess, ready to beg him for sex.

A few waiters came in and cleared the glasses and dishes. When the final one exited, Jean-Pierre whispered, “Come here.”

I rose. My legs had fallen asleep and gone wobbly.

Great. There goes my sexy stroll to him.

I forced myself to step forward, forgetting about the damn stool under my gown. It took me a few minutes to get free of my predicament. The damn stool kept getting twisted into the fabric. I didn’t even look Jean-Pierre’s way, I was sure he was laughing to himself.