Pearl on Cherry (30 page)

He helped her dress like he always did—fondling her along the way.

When he was done, he stroked the nape of her neck. “Keep your hair up this time. There’s nothing there to give it away. It’s all under here.” He cupped her breasts. “Plus, it’ll make Tyrone insane as he tries to guess why it was down two days ago when you came in for your audition.”

She smirked. “Such the wily one, you are.”

He huffed for a moment, then pushed his shoulders back. “If I wanted a compliment from you, I’d much rather hear about how my skills in the dark room keep you up at night, wanting more.”

“Why would I ever say that? Good Lord—you know I don’t sleep.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? I’ll visit you nightly from now on.” He motioned for her to come to him.

She stood in place, studying him. “I lack control as it is around you. We need to maintain some semblance of decency. We have our moments during the day that we play, but at night, the staff needs to think me moral.”

He choked back a laugh. She was brimming over with a stubbornness he did not want to contend with, so he stifled his laughter completely away.

“Forgive me. I’m a spoiled man—when you allowed me inside your ass, I hoped it would be a regularly reoccurring experience.” He bowed.

“We had a moment rules did not apply. It was a slipup, but we have rallied and are back to being sensible.” She tipped her chin up.

“Good, good—playact that you are indifferent to it all. That will be good when you are near Tyrone.” He smirked. “This is why I admire you so.”

“Quit being my cute little couillon. I have things to attend to.” She swept past him, and he let her go.

He cleaned up the mess they’d made on his desk, then he went and let his staff know they’d be gone for this party tonight.

* * *

Clarissa was clad in a melon-colored dress that made the blue of her eyes seem almost electrified.

Her hair was pinned up in elaborate twists with a few of her loose curls sweeping around her heart-shaped face.

The pearl drop earrings she wore made him smile.

“Taunting me, my little pearl? Perhaps you’ve forgotten about the underpants I’ve made for you with one of your very own? Hmm?” His right brow inched up to his hairline.

She smirked back and went silent, waiting for him by the door.

He offered her his arm, and they strolled out to his motorcar.

“Someday I intend to fuck you in this transportation,” he said.

She flushed and wore a look of hope.

“Maybe after Tyrone’s party, eh?”

She sucked in her cheeks, then released them. “We shall see if you are in an ill humor or not. That will most likely be the determining factor.”

They drove there in silence, both relaxed and both contemplative.

Once they were there, he brought her directly inside and sat her on a settee by herself as he went to greet their host and acquire a drink for them both.

But as he was looking for Tyrone, Lenora swept down on him in a burgundy dress that screamed of harlotry.

The contrast between her brazen, loose morals in this dress made to incite a man’s lusts and Clarissa’s innocence in her melon-colored dress was fierce.

He kept a respectable distance as Lenora trailed after him. “William, we have much to discuss.”

“We have nothing to discuss, other than your disappearance from the stage. I intend to have you removed as soon as I have time to manage it. As an engaged man, I have little time to trifle with the likes of you.”

Lenora gasped and made this gurgling noise. “How dare you treat me as an inferior! I am the best female presence New York stages have ever known!”

“In the past few weeks, yes, but that is not saying much, now is it? We have had a dearth of talent, all until I found my Clarissa. Miss Stone can sing you off a stage any day of the week.” He grabbed a champagne glass as a servant walked by with it on a tray. “Here. Maybe this will help you maintain your lofty illusion of exactly who you are on that stage. And here”—he passed her his handkerchief—“more padding for your breasts so they’re distracted with your shapely form, rather than your ill-suited voice for the tunes required.”

She readied to splash it in his face, but he was already gone.

The second he was out of her grasp, she was surrounded by two men, leering at her and those said overstuffed breasts of hers.

He found his cherry girl sitting on a large velvet forest green sofa with Tyrone on one end of her and Michael Willis on the other. Willis was new to the stage, but he was already earning a name as a burgeoning opera singer.

Fuck—a flame of jealousy licked its way up William’s spine and pushed him toward her at an alarming pace.

Cherry girl tucked her feet up under her in a most unladylike manner. Tyrone seemed completely transfixed by her, and if he was not mistaken, Willis was also taken by her.

She spoke animatedly, her hands waving about as she discussed the merits of modern composers.

“Surely, you cannot believe Rachmaninoff as influential as Chopin or even Beethoven?” Willis leaned toward her.

As she angled away from Tyrone and toward Willis, Tyrone crept up behind her, leaned in and took a deep whiff at her hair.

William’s fingers flexed, and his jaw set in place.

“There is value from all artistic creation. I rather enjoy listening to Hoffman, Godowsky and Friedman as well.” She set her hands in her lap and clasped her fingers together.

“Your grandfather would be proud of you then,” Willis commented.

“I hope so. He’s the one that taught me to respect those who keep music relevant and moving.” She blinked, licked her bottom lip at the dip and edged her posture up to a more rigid position.

“Play for us, won’t you? I’ve heard your grandfather’s pieces before when I was in Steinway Hall as a young boy. He was very gifted.” Willis beamed at her.

“He would never approve of how my skills have been squandered, but I had little choice. I don’t own a piano or violin anymore. Haven’t for many years,” she explained.

“Tyrone has a violin.” Willis jumped to his feet, and he left the room.

Was he going after this instrument?

William took up residence in the spot Willis had resided in.

“Tyrone, please dissuade your friend Willis from putting me in this position. I cannot play well any longer. I’ve long since given up hope of being proficient at it,” she pleaded.

“Come now, I’m sure you’re as adept at plucking those strings as you are at commanding every male heart around you.” Tyrone snickered.

William stiffened at her side and took her hand in his. “She won’t play if she’s not feeling up to it.”

“Oh, yes, I had forgotten. You are the one to direct her in all things.” Tyrone clicked his tongue, flicked at some unseen bother on his trousers and wore a bored expression.

William sucked in a tight breath. This man was begging to be kicked in the ass and put in his rightful place.

Willis returned with a violin, thrust it at her and his eyes lit up. “Play. Show us what your grandfather has blessed you with. Make him proud!”

She stopped breathing and stared at it like it was an alien object that might bite her.

“How about
I
play?” William offered.

“You can play?” She turned to him, eyes brimming over with affection.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m not very impressive, but if it helps you gain courage, then I’ll do it.” He squeezed her hand.

She swallowed, nodded and her eyes filled with some other more intense emotion.

Pride? A feeling of being valued and prized, maybe?

He didn’t know what had overcome her, but he stood up, flexed his fingers with his palm up to motion for her to hand it over to him.

She did, and the room seemed to go from buzzing and a flurry of activity to stillness.

He tucked it under his chin as he remembered from his past, then when he had the bow in hand, he played one of his old favorites he’d memorized.

His fingers took over as he played the building melody line and let it swell and gain momentum.

Cherry girl gasped a few times as he played and imagined her peppering kisses on his chest.

“La deee daaahah ladidada via viah via miah diah,” the notes sang out.

Kisses on his neck.

His fingers sped, and his heart soared.

Breath of hers fanning out over his belly. She was moving down his body, encasing his rigid cock in her warm mouth.

He closed his eyes and envisioned the way she would take all his come and swallow it, savoring every last drop.

The instrument in his hands was possessed. He swayed to the music someone else must be playing. Not him. It went higher, floated above him and took him to a place where he was light and free.

All he could hear was the rasp of Cherry girl’s aroused breaths.

He bent at the waist as the notes tripled in speed, flew higher, then descended for a moment and went right back up to the precipice, where he’d topple over when she brought him to his climax.

The music
was
her. It was the way she strung him along, told him how to play, what to do. When he spanked her, he did it her way. When he whipped her, he did it to her specifications and delight. He pinked her skin until she was breaking in his arms with a euphoria he’d never known before.

Before long, he was done, and the final note hung in the air.

“Sorry, I know that selection I picked was a little . . .” He trailed off, out of breath.

Cherry girl was sitting on the edge of the sofa, bent over and gasping for air, staring at him like he was a mythical being.

He handed it to her at once, realizing he’d made an ass of himself.

She set it aside, stood before him and simply gawked. “That was incredible,” she whispered.

Everyone stared at him.

No one moved.

“Thank you,” he said, his brow furrowing. Why were they all statues around him?

He pulled her down to the couch with him, hoping the attention would stray elsewhere.

“I cannot possibly play now. I’ll sound like a child at her first lessons.” Her breath hitched. “My word, William. Never give me riches or dresses or motorcars. Just play for me. That’s all I’ll ever ask.”

His neck heated and blood rushed up to his ears, making his head pound a little.

“I suppose I better buy a violin then, since I smashed the one to bits I used to own,” he said sheepishly.

“You what?” She blinked and then her eyes went wide, filled with outrage over what he’d shared.

“Yes—for good reason, too.” He sighed. “We can discuss it later.”

She scooted back in the chair, once more tucking her feet up behind her, rather than sitting proper like the other ladies.

He was glad she broke rules, since he did, too. “I love you,” he mouthed.

She mouthed it right back and bit back a ferocious smile.

Goodness, the woman was aroused from his botched playing. What would she do if he ever practiced and honed this skill? Throw herself at him in nothing but her pearl engagement ring?

His chest bubbled with this delicious heat of acceptance. She loved him.

She truly did.

He was what she wanted.
Him
. A dark, overly somber man who was a veritable beast in private when stripped bare.

His eyes stung with unshed tears of gratitude.

This wonderful woman sat, soaking up his presence like it was the best part of her evening to simply sit close to him.

“Let us have some true entertainment now,” Tyrone announced. He gripped Clarissa’s shoulder. “Miss Stone has agreed to dance for us.” His tone was very close to that of a sneer.

“She has not agreed to that,” William said.

“She has.” Tyrone squeezed her shoulder tight.

William stood up, and in one long stride, he was at Tyrone’s side and yanking him back by the shoulder, pulling Tyrone’s grip off her.

“Ferrismore, find your drink, why don’t you? You’ve pranced around, shown your wares, now leave us in peace.” Tyrone chuckled, and his eyes darkened. He angled toward Clarissa. “This man has a reputation with the alcohol and the ladies. At every party, he’s the first to drink, bed a lady and then the first to leave. I see some things will always remain constant.” He laughed.

Willis cringed.

“Up—away from my girl. You soil her by being this near, and I’ve allowed this to go on for far too long.” William stepped back so Tyrone could obey.

“This is neither your home nor your party. I do what I like.” Tyrone sat back in the cushion, crossed his right ankle over his left knee, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

He blew his smoke up at William’s face.

“Maybe it’s time you entertain your guests with a game of fisticuffs? The first to knock the other down can direct the rest of the party,” William offered.