Meryl Lee
The younger the better
CHAPTER ONE
He watched intently from his usual spot at her left shoulder, then shifted awkwardly to a position behind her head. Her body magic had him in total erection. Glancing down he shuddered at the poor concealment of striped trousers. This time he wondered if he really cared if she knew. It was their last time together. This was Celeste, once his child prodigy… now mature and maddening female, about to leave his tutelage. An unbearable emptiness filled the tired frame of the Dean of Music at Gordon Conservatory.
Celeste Ann Dantrelle, virtuoso of piano and organ, and heralded as an incomparably talented dramatic soprano. Now at twenty-two she was about to go from the halls of Gordon to what would surely be a brilliant career.
He, Ulrich Flambeau, had made her. He had taken her in childhood when she was only three and led her through years of preparation. His mind seized on one thought as his gaze wandered over the frame of the girl poised at the massive Moeller organ. He had taken her through so much. But that was precisely what he had never done – taken her!
A shudder rippled involuntarily, low in his gut, as Ulrich felt the grab of lust and the nearing of his last chance. Her dress for her lesson hour with him at the start of this, her final week at Gordon, convinced the organ maestro she was thinking the very same thoughts.
"I hope you won't think me immodest, Dean Flambeau. It isn't my dress," she apologized when he helped her from the cape. His startled glance had lingered a second too long on a decolletage that exposed her superlative breasts nearly to the nipples. "I'm playing with the chamber group at an afternoon lawn party and they asked me to wear this. The hostess sent it over." Her pretty blush told him she wasn't used to such exposure. Ulrich should know. He had been near her almost daily through sixteen years.
She sat confident and cock maddening, staring at the music on the rack of the four-manual organ. The console, mirrored across its top, was a monstrosity fronting her with row on row of ivory, flanking her with massive panels of stops and beneath her feet dozens of foot pedals. And there at the center of the complex organ she had mastered so completely sat the loveliest thing Ulrich Flambeau knew he ever would see in all his lifetime.
"You may play," he said quietly.
The music flowed gently… firmly… superbly from under her fingers, reaching into the heart of the instrument, soaring through its myriad pipes out into the great practice room. This day Ulrich heard none of her genius. Only the sound of his soaring want of this precious girl he had turned into a virtuoso.
From his vantage point behind her he looked down at the casual tumble of rich dark hair framing the beauty of an angel face. That had always been what deterred him before. Large dark innocent eyes, sweet chiseled delicacy of cheekbone and nose and soft satin rich lips. This disarming combination that topped the voluptuous body of a now ripened love-ready girl had awed the man more and more in these last years. And it was soon all to be lost to him.
He stared at nipples clearly urgent against the satin cocktail sheathe, then at the dramatic curve of firm and thrusting milk-white orbs cleaved deeply at their middle. His penis was rigid and painful and the back of her head not two inches from his trouser's front. As she tilted to look down at the pedals, Flambeau had his chance.