Embouchure

It’s selfish of you to be here.

You’re supposed to come for Trucy, for her magic show. You’re supposed to go home with her and Mr. Wright afterwards, and tell her how well she’s doing. You’re supposed to listen to her chatter excitedly about the next big illusion she’s going to try, encouraging her, offering to help in any way you can.

You aren’t supposed to make excuses to stay and watch the jazz band perform.

You aren’t supposed to sit at that table near the side of the stage, where you can get the best look at the tall, sexy, Latino saxophonist.

It’s all so stupid, you know musicians, you work with them all the time. Even saxophone players. But there’s something so…dirty about the way he plays, those long fingers moving effortlessly over the keys, that mouth on the reed. He sways in time to the music, bends now and then to get a better sound, and your mind goes to…places. You wonder if, under the mask he wears, his eyes are closed.

It doesn’t help that the saxophone produces such rich, sensual music. It’s a difficult instrument to play, and you’ve heard plenty who can’t even get a decent sound out of it. But he makes it sing – raw talent or years of practice; probably both. The player and the instrument combine, make your heart beat faster, make you squeeze your thighs together because you really want to squirm.

They’re finished, packing their instruments away, making room for the DJ. He steps down from the stage and you do your best to keep calm as you realise he’s not just walking past you, he’s walking towards you. You manage not to lose your cool when he puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in, murmuring where he’ll be five minutes from now in a low, sexy purr. Somehow, you stay seated while he walks away, resisting the urge to gulp down your drink and run after him.

You’ve been here seven nights in a row, and you’ve never seen him approach a woman the way he just approached you.

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you make your way backstage. You want him – but such horror stories – the whole band could be waiting. Second door on the right, he said, the only one with a star.

Lust wins out, and you knock.

“Come.”

The door’s unlocked, and you enter cautiously, but there’s just him, standing in the middle of the room. He sets his mug on the dressing table and strolls towards you.

“Kitten,” he purrs, wrapping one arm around you and pushing the door closed with the other. “Almost gave up on you.”

He’s so tall, and he smells so good. You fist your hands in the back of his vest as he kisses you, his lips soft and strong against yours. His tongue is warm and tastes of coffee, and you feel wetness between your legs.

He pulls back, a smirk on his face. You feel a hand under your skirt and for a moment you freeze – Zak used to rip your panties off – but this is different – those long, skilful fingers slide slowly up your thigh and stop at the edge of your underwear. Waiting for permission.

“You’ve seen me play for everyone out there,” he murmurs, one finger idly running back and forth along the lacy edge of your panties. “But this performance is just for you.” He leans in and kisses your neck. “…If you’re interested.”

You part your legs without thinking, and he slides a finger between them. You gasp as he touches a spot that Ruff could never find, and Zak never bothered to look for. His smirk broadens and he strokes that spot back and forth, agonisingly slowly. Your breath hitches and you hang onto him, struggling not to hump his hand.

A low chuckle. “Is that a yes?”

You nod frantically, but it’s been a long time – you find yourself asking, “Be gentle?”

“Never refuse a lady.” He strokes you a little more firmly. “That’s a rule.”

You can’t stop a mew as he takes his hand away, regretting your request already, but then he slides to his knees in front of you. You hike up your skirt as he slides your underwear down your legs, and gasp when you feel his hot tongue against you.

He knows just what he’s doing – you can’t hold back the moans as he explores you, wet tongue licking along every fold, diving inside you for several seconds before moving forward, using his lips on your clit. Strong hands keep hold of your legs, his mask is cold against your skin and his beard is rough against your thighs. There’s a heaviness, an urgency, starting to build and you’re so afraid he’ll stop like he did before and you don’t want him to, you want to feel this you need it to happen with another person. Ruff – poor Ruff – he was clueless and you didn’t know how to teach him, Zak was so selfish hnnnngh he’s humming in the back of his throat and you can feel it, your face is burning and your legs are starting to shake. He’s going faster now, stronger, and you clench one hand around your skirt and bury the other in his hair. It’s a struggle not to push down against him, you’re so close, pants and moans louder than before. He sucks hard and it’s happening it’s happening stars explode behind your eyes, your whole body is trembling and on fire you groaned and it was so loud somebody must have heard it. It starts to fade, and you slowly come back to yourself…cooling down…breathe…still in one piece. He’s still on his knees, lapping gently at your sensitive flesh, holding you steady.

He pulls away and stands up, running his hands up along your body as he does so, making sure you stay upright. You lean against him, putting your arms around his neck. You need to be close to him right now. You’ve been married twice and it took a stranger to make you feel this way.

He’s smirking, so proud of himself as he pulls you flush against him, erection poking into your belly. Oh, after that you’ll let him do anything he wants, and you don’t even know his name.

“Feeling all right, kitten?”

You feel like you could sleep for days. “I’ve never felt like that before.” You look up at him. “What’s your secret?”

He laughs, and you feel it in his chest.

“Well, kitten, a woman is a lot like a saxophone.”

He unzips his pants, the sound obscene and filthy, and you realise you’re ready for more. He lifts your skirt this time, and leans close to your ear.

“To get a good sound, you have to blow just right.”