The Best of Kay Jaybee (8 page)

‘What!' Luke was incensed. She'd promised him two minutes, then one, and now thirty seconds. Richard's mouth attached itself to his, and Luke found himself kissing her back with a hunger that he wouldn't have believed himself capable of.

There was no question. He agreed to the thirty seconds – how could he not?

The second he agreed, Richards gestured to Carter, and Luke was flipped over onto the sofa seat. Richards sat astride his cock before he'd even registered what was happening, and Carter came to their side, and suckled on her lover's breasts.

Thumping up and down on Luke's shaft, Richards swiftly began to come around him, just as every nerve in Luke's body exploded. All the waiting, teasing, and drawn out desire collided in his groin. Growling out his final satisfaction in an explosion of spunk, Luke's hands groped and rubbed at the two women, helping them to reach their own climaxes.

Sliding to the floor, Luke exhaled slowly. The girls left without a word.

Greene and Phelps, both displaying the signs of erotic afterglow that told Luke they'd brought each other off while he'd been busy, looked at him sternly. ‘Thirty seconds then for the seek and rescue exercise?'

‘Yes, Ma'am.'

Greene tilted her head, shrewdly examining the cadet down her nose, ‘You have proved you are capable of stamina, and of withstanding pressure. I hope we won't have cause to discipline you again. Unless of course ... you want us to ...'

Finger Music

The subdued light of the room reflected off the whitewashed brick walls, gathering in one bright spot on the polished floorboards. In the centre of the glow, a pair of oversized brogues were firmly planted either side of a long metal spike; a spike that, as Sally's eyes slowly rose, turned out to be attached to a double bass. The first member of the jazz trio hired to play in the bar where she worked that evening had obviously arrived early to rehearse.

It wasn't the presence of the single musician that halted Sally on her way to the staffroom, but the sound he was creating. The wooden panels beneath her feet resounded to the rhythm, humming against her trainers, as she stood transfixed.

Ignorant of even basic jazz, Sally watched as the man played, his bulk equal to the challenge of supporting the instrument, his eyes tightly closed, lost in his music as his digits danced up and down the fret with a speed and agility that belied his thick fingers. And yet, as she watched, Sally realised she'd been quite wrong. This man wasn't bulky; he was simply tall, fit and immensely strong. A flicker of unexpected electricity climbed up her spine.

With his eyes still shut, a patina of perspiration gathered across his forehead as his fingers increased speed with the tempo of the music.

Sally pushed her back to the door and, bending her knees, slid quietly to the floor, her eyes never leaving those nimble fingers. Vaguely aware that she had never witnessed anything as erotic as those smooth digits as they skilfully played, Sally began to wonder how else he might employ such dexterity.

The tune he'd been playing morphed seamlessly into another, slower this time, calmer, a more sensual glide taking over from the heady yet graceful hammering of the previous melody. Sally glanced up at his face, suddenly realising where she was; sitting on the hard wooden floor, half an hour before the bar opened. Her manager, fellow waiting staff, and the other members of the jazz group could walk in at any moment, expecting Sally to have everything all set up for the evening ahead.

Although his eyes remained shut, Sally felt caught out. She didn't know if the man was aware of her presence or not. Scrabbling back to her feet, she tried to shake off the hypnotic beat that resonated in her ribcage and between her legs. Trying to stop herself allowing her imagination to mentally replace the double bass fingerboard with her own spine, Sally self-consciously began to edge toward the staffroom door.

‘Did you like it?'

His voice was almost as deep as the notes he'd been playing, and seemed to echo into the abruptly quiet space.

‘I … um … yes …' Sally felt an uncharacteristic blush cover her usually pale cheeks. ‘I hope you didn't mind me listening.'

‘That is what I'm here for.'

Already aroused by her fantasies about his manual dexterity, Sally felt a further tug at her crotch as his right eyebrow lifted, and a blast of searing-eyed mischief scorched her.

‘Oh yeah, right.' Her limbs felt awkward and clumsy in the presence of his obvious confidence. It was as if he knew what he'd done to her. As if he'd summed up her physical condition in just one look.

From nowhere, Sally remembered a line in a book she'd once read that had made her scoff: “it was as if he could see right into her soul”. At that moment it didn't seem like the romantic clap-trap she'd taken it for. It felt hot and real, and the black cups of her satin bra no longer felt big enough to contain their contents.

‘Would you like to try?' He gestured to both Sally and the double bass in one go, by tilting the instrument in her direction.

‘Um …I …' Sally's throat seemed to have dried in upon itself, but her feet shuffled toward him anyway, her eyes glancing between the entrance to the staffroom and the door that led back into the main bar. ‘I should be getting the room ready for your gig; the others will be here very soon'

‘There's plenty of time.' Dismissing her task as unimportant, he grasped her wrist and smiled. Immediately Sally felt his pulse match her own, as he stood her so she was sandwiched between the double bass and his body. As his arms passed around her waist she inhaled his intoxicatingly musky odour, her head filled with sudden flashes of a love scene from the film
Ghost
. She really hated that film. A giggle escaped Sally's lips.

Ignoring her nervous laughter, he said, ‘You need to place your fingers like this ' He splayed his hand and rested it over her chest, making Sally take a sharp intake of breath.

Huskily she spoke. ‘You seem to have missed the double bass.'

‘Basics first, honey.'

Sally's sense of humour and feelings of uncertainty escaped in a further strangled chuckle.

‘Are you ticklish?' He moved his hands gently, fixing them upon her firmly, as if holding a set of strings.

‘No! Look, this is silly.' Sally giggled as she wriggled away from him, aware of something dying inside her as she left his grasp. ‘All that is missing is the potter's wheel!'

He scrutinized her carefully. ‘I wouldn't have had you down as a chick-flick romance sort of girl.'

With her self-consciousness climbing to a whole new level, Sally scrubbed a stray red hair from her eyes, awarding him a mental point for understanding which film she was referring to without her having to launch into an explanation. ‘I have a housemate; she makes me watch crap movies.'

His eyes narrowed sceptically. ‘That would explain it.' A giant right palm came forward, bringing Sally back to the matter in hand. ‘I'd like to teach you. Come on.'

‘Someone might see.'

‘Now why would that bother you, I wonder?' He was mocking her, but despite the silence, Sally could still sense the music; and something in her yearned to hear it again. ‘I was only going to show you how to play.'

Sally swallowed. She couldn't believe how badly she wanted this man. She didn't even know his name. He was just an anonymous part of the jazz trio, the remaining members of which would surely be arriving soon.

More than a little aware of her damp knickers, Sally gave in to her reservations and allowed herself to be pulled back against him. The top of her head only reached as far as his neck, and he rested his chin comfortably on her shoulder. He whispered now, the breath of his words caressing her earlobe, ‘Close your eyes and feel.'

This time he squeezed her tightly between him and the double bass and, as if she wasn't even there, began to play.

The shock of the notes as they rang through her body, throbbing between her pussy lips and igniting her breasts, dried her throat further, sending her imagination into overdrive. Bringing the instrument closer, the musician squashed her chest beneath his fast moving arms, making her very aware of the bulge that had developed in his trousers behind her lower back.

So engrossed was she in the sensations the man and his strings were creating, that at first Sally didn't notice that his arm had moved, and was diving inside the thin black T-shirt that formed part of her waitress uniform. Without breaking his stride, the bass player popped her small breasts free from their satin holster and continued his fingering. This time though, her bare flesh and hard, taut nipples had replaced the strings directly, and every nerve in Sally's body shot to her pussy.

Colours danced behind her eyelids, flashing blue and green before, with a firm thrust forward of his groin, and an increase in the speed of the flowing notes, blazing reds and oranges lit up the inside of her eyelids. The lust that the music had been quietly nurturing, combined with the deft touch of his large yet incredibly gentle fingers, abruptly centred itself on her snatch.

Forgetting where she was, and that they might be disturbed at any moment, Sally moved to meet the thrusts. Her arms, previously limp at her sides, reached around to his back, so she could clench the stranger's arse. Pulling him nearer, Sally could feel the erection that was becoming more defined by the moment.

As soon as she grabbed him, his hands abandoned the bass entirely, wrapping themselves around her. Keeping up his tactile fingering, and as if Sally herself was the instrument, he carried on playing, her breasts, torso, and stomach replacing the fingerboard and strings. The only thing missing was the music, yet it was buzzing through her as, shifting his stance a little, he centred his entire musical prowess on her breasts, her nipples becoming the sole objects of his agile playing.

The rainbow behind Sally's eyes exploded repeatedly in time to his intense percussion, and beneath the thin material of her rucked-up work shirt, she felt the rip of an orgasm race through her.

With lightheaded dizziness, Sally's eyes flew open, and she sank back against the musician, her brain struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Despite her dishevelled state, she hadn't removed so much as a shoe, and he was still rock hard, and from the tone of his breathing, was only just managing to maintain his self-control.

Easing the waitress to her feet, the jazz performer leant to her ear. ‘I have to play for real soon. My friends will be here any minute now, and you need to set up the tables.'

Sally nodded dumbly, torn between her body's elation at the intensity of her unexpected encounter, and her disappointment that she hadn't been able to watch him come. It was over. Real life had intervened. She hadn't even had time to see beyond the double bass player's clothes, kiss his lips, suck his cock, or experience him move within her.

A sense of anti-climax filled her for a few seconds before a large, smooth hand cupped her chin lightly. ‘Are you working here all evening?'

Sally nodded, not sure what to say to the man who'd so easily reduced her to jelly.

‘Good. What's your name?'

Her answer came out as a croaky murmur. ‘Sally.'

‘I'm Greg.' He smiled again, and a glimmer of hope sparked inside Sally's crotch. ‘Listen to the music while you work, and then, if you're a good girl, I'll teach you some more interesting notes afterwards; if you'd like me to?'

Not trusting herself to give an audible reply, as a new elation filled with erotic anticipation burned in her chest, Sally nodded again, before making a beeline for the staffroom.

How Sally got through the next few hours she didn't know. With her concentration in tatters, she slopped drinks and mixed up orders while she fought to stop her eyes from persistently straying to the large man stationed at the back corner of the jazz trio's triangle.

The other two members of the group barely registered on her consciousness as the music rippled through her, each new note reminding her body of what she'd so recently experienced, and what she hoped was to come. Every fibre of her being willed the gig to be over, for the audience to disappear, and for Greg's fingers to be back on her tits; for them to move lower and play her between her slick thighs.

When at last they played their final number, Sally could have cried as the audience demanded an encore and the trio happily obliged. Horribly aware that her nipples were poking noticeably at the flimsy fabric of her work shirt, Sally dared a quick glance at Greg's face. From the expression in his eyes she knew he was as desperate for this to end as she was. She couldn't help but wonder how hard he was. Just how big was the erection conveniently hidden behind the body of the bass?

Then suddenly, blessedly, the wait was over.

Shouting goodnight to her colleagues, Sally grabbed her coat and bag. Taking a deep breath, and hoping like hell that Greg hadn't changed his mind and left without her, she pushed open the staffroom door.

Greg stood on his own, one hand resting on top of the double bass case, the other tucked deep in his jeans pocket. ‘You want to come with me?'

‘Will you teach me to play some more?'

‘I'd be delighted.'

She'd expected to be taken to his home, but instead, a wordless half hour later, Sally found herself, in a small airy studio. Clarinets, flutes, violins, a trumpet, and two more double basses were lined up on silver stands against the wood-panelled walls. Amazed at the sheer array of musical instruments, Sally gasped. ‘You can play all these?'

‘Of course.' Sliding her jacket from her shoulders, Greg led Sally toward a black double bass. ‘This one's my favourite.' His fingers made short work of the buttons on her shirt. ‘I only use it on very special occasions.'

Aware that her breathing had reached the heightened state it had been in before the performance, Sally inclined her head, allowing him to continue to slowly strip her.

It was only when her knickers had been inched from her legs, and Greg's fingers were strumming against each section of her freshly revealed flesh, that Sally registered there was no reason why she couldn't reciprocate.

With far less finesse than her companion, she tugged and dragged at his clothes. Naked, he was even more imposing, and Sally gulped back a sigh at the size of the cock that wavered before her, feeling a brief glimmer of fear as he wondered if she'd be able to accommodate it. A fear that was extinguished the moment he manoeuvred her so she was standing so near to the shiny black instrument that the cold strings buffed against her chest, stomach, and upper legs.

Pressing himself against her, his cock digging against the top of her backside, he wrapped his left arm around both her and the instrument, easing them together. Then he lifted his right arm to the top of the instrument's neck, and began to pluck one string at a time.

Sally cried out in surprise at the luscious feelings the twanging of the taut nylon strips engendered against her overheated flesh. Reverberating between her tits, renewed surges of desire coursed through her body as if she'd been hotwired. As the flesh-stifled notes travelled along the strings, her pussy trilled with a response that quickly turned from delicious pleasure to delicious torment.

She'd waited so long, and all the tension that had built inside Sally while she'd watched Greg's hands sweep over the bass all evening, the prolonged pressure of his dick against her, and the warmth from his arm as it held her even tighter, felt too frustrating to bear. She wanted him facing her. She wanted to feel the masculine pulse that thumped against her between her legs now!