I don’t want to push Laszlo too far. I need him.
I lift her chin up to mine, looking into the deep green of her eyes. “Are you feeling more relaxed, sweetheart?”
Isabeau nods, sucking her lower lip into her mouth. Christ, I want to kiss her. I don’t think I’ll ever get how she looked when she slunk over my lap out of my head. She’s so close to me and her arms are around my neck, and by moving just a few inches I could press my mouth against hers. I could do even more, and lay her out on the sofa beneath me and find out whether the spanking I gave her made her wet. My fingers were so close to the soft folds of her pussy and I dearly wanted to spread her open and feel for myself. Even better than a spanking for nerves is a spanking and an orgasm, but I’ll have to just use words instead.
Fixing her with a stern look I say, “You’re not going to be nervous tonight, all right?”
She nods, and when I raise a questioning brow at her, she says, “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” I help her up and go to pour her a glass of water while she gets back into her jeans, and she drinks it before going back to her own room, casting a final, slightly flustered, but happy look at me.
As soon as she’s gone I strip off and turn on the shower. I’m still hard, something I hope she didn’t notice. I don’t think she did. I wait, watching the water start to steam but picturing her red ass in her tiny white briefs. I consider watching some porn but it’s no good. I’ll still picture Isabeau. The shy way she wriggled out of her jeans. The eager yet uncertain way she splayed herself over my lap. Her cries as I spanked her. The heat from her red, plump flesh. How I wanted to grab fistfuls of her and spread her open and bury my tongue in her pussy and ass.
I really need to come, now, and it’s going to be while thinking of Isabeau because there’s no way I’m getting her out of my head after that. I can think about having sex with her without actually initiating anything, even when she drapes herself half naked over my lap and begs me to spank her. I groan and get under the water, taking myself in my hand, letting myself think every lurid thought about her naked body that I’ve never allowed myself to indulge in. I picture her over my lap again but this time she’s naked. It’s so easy to imagine slipping two fingers into her pussy while spanking her with my other hand; the sounds she would make as I finger-fuck her. All the while I’m picturing this I’m pumping my hand up and down my cock, eyes closed, one hand braced against the tiles. It feels so good thinking about her that I want to draw it out, but then I imagine that she’s sucking on my cock at the same time as I’m driving my fingers into her, her whimpers muffled because her mouth is so full of me, and I lose it, coming in a rush. Sweet fucking girl, swallow me all down, that’s right.
I shake the water off my face and open my eyes, blinking to clear my vision. The release is intense, and with the memory of her sprawled in my lap and imprinted onto my hands it feels almost as if we have just fingered and sucked each other to orgasm. Is she doing the same thing right now in her own room, getting off while thinking about me, her ass still red from my hand? Is this some sort of comedy of errors where we’re both pretending we don’t want each other while we simultaneously self-immolate from desire?
Maybe. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
As I dress in my tuxedo I find that I’m humming the joyful part of Dvorák’s Ninth and that I’m actually in a very good mood. Lighter and happier than I have been in a long time. I was able to make Isabeau happy. We’re performing together, tonight. Life, unexpectedly, is very good indeed.
When I’m dressed I head out and I smile at Marcus as we wait for the elevator to take us down to the lobby. He’s in black tie as well and gives me a sharp look.
“You seem cheerful. Over your jetlag?”
“Something like that.” The doors slide open and I start to whistle as we get into the elevator.
At half-past seven I’m in the wings, watching the orchestra on stage tuning up and the audience waiting patiently for the performance to begin. I take a deep breath and stride out in stage, shaking Marcus’ hand and then bowing to the audience. They applaud, and then settle into silence as I take my place at the podium.