I let out a high-pitched moan as I reach my climax. God, I’ve never had such a hard orgasm before. Julian gently bites my butt cheek. “That was sexy,” he rasps, his words becoming bolder and coarser than usual. He repositions himself on top of me. “I’m going to be inside of you, precious, as deep as I can get.” He runs his hand up the side of my leg. “Please. I’d like that.” My folds beg to be touched now. I’m too drenched with my own juice. I cry hard as he slides two fingers deep into my soaked opening again. “I’m just checking to see if you’re ready, and it seems you are. Tell me if this makes you feel uncomfortable, yes?” My head lands on the pillow. “It’s good. Please go ahead.” I imagined this in my head while touching myself, thinking it was his fingers, and now I’m here. It’s happening right now. He continues to thrust his fingers in and out of my opening as he kisses my lips. His thumb finds my clit. “Julian!” I exclaim. My hips move in sync with each thrust of his fin
I’m resting on Julian’s chest when the sun shines through the window. I bury my face against his side and inhale his pleasant male scent. His smell from last night still lingers on his body.Julian is truly mine now.“Good morning, beautiful.” He rolls to the side and faces me. “How are you feeling? Are you sore?”“A little. But I like it sore.” It’s as if his manhood is still impaled on me. We had sex until after three, and I apparently had countless orgasms. I loved every moment.He kisses my forehead as he embraces me. “Stay like this a little longer.”“I have school at nine. And you have one at ten.”“Then stay with me again tonight.”“I can’t. I need to write new music for the competition. That, as far as I remember, was your idea.”“Then do it here. I’ll help you.”“No way.” I sit up and move away from him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to work with you around like this. It will also be unfair to others. That feels like cheating.”Julian rests his arm on the back of his head. “It
“There are perceptions of legato that we can create using this slow reverberation and horizontal nature,” our conducting professor, Professor Ward Leighton, says as he sways his baton left and right. A dozen of us are holding violins in the studio performance room. “It is light in the sense of floating through time without any resistance or shift in speed,” the professor continues. “Play the second stanza.”My gaze automatically goes to the score. We’re performing the Salut d’Amour.I rest the violin on my left shoulder, my face angled against the chinrest, and my fingers gently resting on the fingerboard. I tune to the first string and float the horsehair over the A string with the bow. While our Professor swings his baton and left hand in delicate, careful waves, my fellow undergraduates and I play in unison, producing a soft, melodious, incessant sound.He cuts the play after four staff lines and continues with his lesson.“Perhaps we can go for a denser legato with tension on eac
I toss away another music sheet for the gazillionth time. I can’t think of anything! My mind is completely blank, and I can’t come up with a theme or catchy tune, either.I can’t even ask Lora for help because we’re both practically participants. We shouldn’t be looking at each other’s pieces like we used to do when we had homework. Not that she would mind, but she hasn’t come up with anything yet. She’s probably in her room right now, scratching her head over a pile of crumpled papers on the floor, too.This was the time I usually asked Kristoff. He didn’t care if we were contenders and always helped me. He was never interested in winning any of it. Even though it was late at night, I would usually call him.I’d call him whenever I was down. He would give
“I thought we were going to your place,” I remark casually. We’re now sitting in the same private dining room at Le Papillon. I eat another small bite of my chicken fricassee. “But the food here is delicious, so it doesn’t really matter.” “I figured you were hungry, and cooking takes time.” He eats some of his food and sips his red wine. “Besides, I’m sure you enjoy the truffles here. I found it rather amusing to see you indulge in that sweet. I’d like to see it again.” He looks at the remaining chocolate on the table. I nearly choked. “What?” He chuckles. “Never mind, precious. We’re still going to my place after this. I can’t let you go home just yet, or would you prefer I drive you home?” “No!” I utter. “Please, I’ll go with you. We never got a chance to talk abou
“We keep bumping into each other these days, Jules. Now I’m curious if you’re following me.” Stella smiles flirtatiously, flaunting her luxury handbag and a huge diamond stone ring on her finger. Bumping into each other? So this isn’t the first time they’ve crossed paths. That, however, is not surprising. Julian is under no obligation to tell me about it, either. “Stella,” Julian says sternly, then shifts his gaze to her date. “And Director Matt Johnson.” “Julian Sebastian,” the guy says. “I’m surprised to see you still coming here.” “Well, I don’t recall being blacklisted from coming here, considering I’ve done nothing wrong.” Matt laughs mockingly. “It’s been a long time.”
“Stella and I were together for eight years,” Julian says, which is a surprising way to start. “I met her in college, but she was already signed to a small label. She had been singing in bars and at parties for some time, but she had never quite found the success she sought. I helped her write a few songs until she eventually released her first successful album. She was twenty-three, just like you.”“Eight years is a very long time,” I state pointedly. “You’ve shared much of your lives and grown and dreamed of so much together.”Now, how can I compete with that? No wonder there was still some tension between them in the restaurant.His brows knitted together. “We did, but she turned on me. She seemed to value her career more than the relationship.”
After I’ve showered and rested for a while, Julian leads me to the grand piano by the windows, where we sit on the bench. He wants to show me how he writes music. “We don’t always compose and write about ourselves, do we?” he asks. I nod and smile. “Sometimes we write about what we see, or maybe you’re a patriot who wants to write a song about your country. There are many themes to choose from. Let’s start with using your senses. How do you feel about your surroundings right now?” “Um...” I survey the penthouse, the living area, the fireplace, the piano, and even the lights. “It’s peaceful, cozy, and dim, but not sad.” I shrug as I look out the windows. “It is still rather chilly outside because of the snow, but here it is quite warm.”