ANDANTE
by
Shawna Moore
Chapter 1
Face it, Mara Wynne. You've chosen a very passionate man for these lessons. A man whose passion knows no boundaries when it comes to sex or music.
"Touch the strings as you would your lover. Vary the tension of your fingertips." Armand Crespi's hot breaths snaked across the nape of her neck, but in a blink, his body heat faded.
His hands flailing the balmy summer air, Armand paced the Venice courtyard, cursing the gods for not giving her a virtuoso's concentration or an artiste's dedication. Each stride grated his boot heels over the paving stones and brought shivers up her spine.
Today, for all his formality otherwise, the faded blue jeans delivered a casual fit on his lean body. He might scowl now, but later this afternoon he would be smiling once beside her in the king-sized bed with the mandarin-scented sheets. More wetness pooled in her panties, and she ground her ass against the padded bench.
An audition for the New York Philharmonic was within her reach if her ego didn't shatter and she ignored Armand's harsh criticisms and mercurial moods.
"Are you going to make me a better cellist or simply bemoan my shortcomings?" She propped the unwieldy instrument of her own destruction on the stand. Weeks had passed since she'd had a fun night out with her girlfriends back in the States. But being with Armand here in Italy had its benefits. A slight tug of her damp hands bunched the white gauze skirt above her thighs.
His pacing continued but toward her this time. No mistaking that the devil burned in his eyes. Eyes the color of the fine aquamarine in her mother's cocktail ring.
"Mara, you bring out the best and worst in me so many times a day. Sometimes, even I forget which prevails."
"Another trait I've inherited from the Wynnes. Along with my horrible nose that must have been snipped off before I left the birth canal."
"Your nose and face are gorgeous." Black hairs curled where his black silk shirt lay open. From neck to navel, a slight sheen of sweat lay on his skin.
Her mouth watered. Without a doubt, she'd lick him from head to toe, and savor his thick, hard cock last.
He stood in front of her. The silver buckle on his belt caught the sunlight. Reaching out, she freed the rectangular ornament from its leather nest and slipped the steel bar free. Upon drawing her hand toward his left foot, the strip of leather sang at passing the keepers and meeting the air. Opening her fingers, she let it fall.
A pinch of her thumb and forefinger secured the delicate silver tab. She popped the button and yanked the zipper to its lowest point. Abundant black curls lay between the metal teeth.
She combed her fingers through them. "I worked hard this morning. My fingers are sore and it's past noon. I'm hungry."
"You must learn to ignore the stirrings of your stomach. Virtuosos become so lost in the craft of their music, all base human needs are supplanted. If you complete the sonata without error the first time through, I'll buy you those Pradas."
"You have laid before me a nearly impossible goal. I've been practicing for a long time today. My fingers could never--"
"Never what?" The words burst from behind his lips and struck her eardrums. "You will learn. Surely, you didn't come to Venice this summer merely to see the city's splendor? You have traveled a great distance for these lessons."
"And I've learned more than I ever dreamed possible."
"The lessons never end. Especially not once you are a cellist with the Philharmonic. They continue until the day you lay down your various bows and never pick them up again. Deny your growling stomach for another hour or so."
She licked the length of her lips, and some of the cinnamon gloss coated her tongue. "Oh, I don't want food."
The frown faded. "I can only guess what you crave."
His hips canted toward her, and he tousled her hair. A forward lean allowed her hands better contact with his gaping waistband.
She yanked with every ounce of strength left in her throbbing hands and wrists. "A guessing game isn't what I want to play. And I'll bet you won't criticize my touch once it's on your naked body. To Hell with that cello for now."
The blooding of his cock had begun. He gave an exaggerated sniff, and she splayed her legs wider. The spiciness of his cologne blended with the muskiness of his skin, and she mimicked his bullish snort.
His fingertip poked at her closed lips, and she snagged it between her teeth. Each time she tongued the callused finger's underside, his cock surged and lengthened. Opening her mouth, she let his forefinger plunge deeper inside and sucked it while she cupped his full balls.
She reached underneath the skirt and slipped her hand inside her panties. Each pass of her middle finger over the hood of her clit brought wetness onto the others. Pulling the hand into view, she smeared cum over his cock from base to shaft. A sound bite to his finger brought Italian profanities that mingled with her laugher. He reclaimed his finger and stepped away from her stroking. His mouth drawn into a tight line, he stripped off his boots and jeans and stormed toward the double doors leading to the cucina.
He wasn't pissed off at her. His tirades were all for show. No mistaking his arousal at her teasing. He was likely going to take a quick shower before climbing between those cool white cotton sheets.
Incite him further. "Are you going to fuck me? If so, I can wait until well after sunset for our dinner."
His steps slowed and stopped. He spun around and pumped the cock pointing straight at her. In another breath, his tongue came out to play, but only with the groomed moustache. "Your choice, Mara. Would you rather feast on food or my cock?"
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