Maestro, p.1
Maestro, page 1
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Trademarks Acknowledgement
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
A Totally Bound Publication
Maestro
ISBN # 978-1-78184-940-8
©Copyright Elizabeth Coldwell
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright January 2014
Edited by Sarah Smeaton
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Sizzling and a Sexometer of 3.
This story contains 48 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 7 pages.
Paramour
MAESTRO
Elizabeth Coldwell
She admires his dominance on stage, but does Jax have the courage to let this gorgeous young opera singer dominate her in the bedroom?
Opera is Jaclyn ‘Jax’ Wiltshire’s great passion, and she loves her job as chief costume designer for the prestigious London Opera Company. However, at forty she’s still single, and she can’t help but envy her best friend Helen’s happy home life with her husband and children.
Jaclyn’s life is turned on its head when world-renowned tenor Kieran Vale arrives at the opera house. The company’s artistic director sees the chance to stage a production he hopes will be talked about for years, with a scene that requires Kieran to strip naked on stage. The handsome, demanding Kieran is very comfortable in his own skin, and when Jax begins to fit him for costumes, she realizes what a great body he has, and how attracted she is to him.
Kieran enjoys flirting with her. Their teasing develops into something more intimate as she begins to realize he has a distinctly dominant side. But she can’t really believe that a man eleven years her junior would be seriously interested in her? Kieran makes it clear to Jax he needs a woman who will submit to him. With a fiery leading lady who has the hots for Kieran waiting in the wings, can Jax find the courage to let her guard down and allow this gorgeous Dom to make her his?
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
ITV: ITV plc
La Calisto: Francesco Cavalli
La bohème: Giacomo Puccini
Carmen: Georges Bizet
Ring Cycle: Richard Wagner
Chapter One
Mercury, the messenger of the gods, stood basking in the afternoon sunshine. His broad, bare chest gleamed with sweat, and his winged sandals were laced all the way up his muscular calves. Seemingly lost in thought, he nonetheless turned his head at my approach.
“Hey, Jax, pet. How’s it going?”
Any illusion of his actual divinity that hadn’t already been dispelled by the cigarette he held between his fingers was shattered by his ringing Geordie accent.
“I’m fine, Richie. Looking good by the way.” My gaze lingered on his pleated leather kilt. It had taken a couple of nights’ hard work in my studio to stitch the thing together, but the result, even at close range, was pleasingly authentic. So was his staff, adorned with a pair of writhing snakes, that had been manufactured out of wood and plastic. For anyone sitting high in the circle, or at the back of the stalls, Richie Beresford would truly appear godlike.
He flashed me a smile, clearly appreciating the compliment. “Hey, I heard that Marshall’s going to be announcing who’s got the lead in Perpetua today. Rumor is it’s Kieran Vale.”
“Really?” I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice. Marshall Wincott had promised a big name for what would be the centerpiece of the London Opera Company’s two hundred and fiftieth season. Announcing that he would be performing Giuseppi dalla Bonna’s masterpiece Perpetua, a work that had fallen out of favor due to its notorious difficulty to bring to the stage, had already raised eyebrows in critical circles. Securing Kieran Vale, currently the hottest property in opera, to play the leading role would be a real coup.
“Well, I’d better be off.” Richie ground out his cigarette beneath his sandaled heel. “I’m due to make my curtain call.”
He dashed off, not quite reaching Mercury’s superhuman speed, in the direction of the backstage area. Being late for a cue was the surest way to earn the full hairdryer blast of one of Marshall Wincott’s dressing-downs, and Richie clearly didn’t want to risk that. More sedately, I headed for the costume department, clutching a ham salad sandwich and pot of fruit compote and yoghurt that formed a very late lunch. With all the costume changes for today’s matinee performance of Francesco Cavalli’s La Calisto completed, I’d at last been able to nip out for something to eat.
My phone buzzed as I pushed open the door to my private domain within the magnificent opera house. After setting my sandwich down on the table where I normally cut fabric to shape and pinned garments together, I checked the text message. My usual reminder from Helen.
Are you still up for tonight? Rhys and Caitlin are really looking forward to seeing you.
I sent her a quick reply, confirming my attendance. For once, I had the luxury of an evening off, and I’d arranged to go over to Helen’s for dinner. I didn’t see her half as often as I’d like—my job had become so demanding since I’d been promoted to head of costume design back in December—and I was looking forward to the chance to catch up.
Kirsty, my assistant, bustled into the room with a sketch pad under her arm. Already we were working on new designs for Perpetua, and seeing what we could recycle from the various old costumes we had in storage. Marshall had told us very little about the staging of the opera as yet, only that he would be keeping to its original Ancient Roman setting. He wasn’t a great believer in transplanting classical works to the modern day.
“I was just talking to Richie Beresford outside,” I said, removing my sandwich from its greaseproof wrapping and picking at a piece of lettuce. “He reckons that Kieran Vale’s lined up to play Marcus Andronicus.”
“Is he now?” Kirsty could hardly keep the grin from her face. “Bagsie me that costume fitting. I mean, he is as hot as they say he is, isn’t he, Jax?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never worked with him.”
She shot me a surprised look. I’d been in the industry for so long, spending the last dozen years with the LOC, she seemed to think I knew everyone who’d ever sung an aria. All I knew of Kieran Vale was the moody black-and-white press photos, the sell-out performances and platinum recordings that had made him a multi-millionaire by the age of twenty-nine, and, of course, the bad-boy reputation.
“Anyway,” I continued, “nothing’s confirmed yet. And you know how Richie likes to gossip.”
“Yeah, he’s got a wicked tongue, that one.”
The double meaning in Kirsty’s words was impossible to ignore. An image flashed into my mind, of Kirsty peeling off Richie’s kilt to reveal a cock as hard and upstanding as Mercury’s staff, before sinking to her knees to take it in her mouth. I’d no idea where it came from—I wasn’t in the habit of weaving erotic fantasies about my colleagues—but it reminded me uncomfortably of how long it had been since I’d found myself in a similar situation.
Immersing myself in work would help to take my mind off my continuing lack of a sex life. It always did. I let Kirsty spread her sketches out on the table, and munched my sandwich while she talked me through her costume ideas for Roman soldiers and temple handmaidens.
* * * *
By the time I left for Helen’s Highgate home that evening, Kieran Vale’s recruitment to the cast of Perpetua had been officially confirmed. A press release had been sent out, in which Marshall Wincott expressed his delight at acquiring such an accomplished tenor for the production, while a couple of the female cast members had tweeted their excitement at the prospect of working alongside Kieran. Their comments were mostly along the lines of— OMG, he’s so gorge.
The one woman who hadn’t gushed about Kieran’s appointment was Mercedes del Bosque, the Spanish soprano who’d landed the opera’s title role, that of the doomed Perpetua. Her official quote had only mentioned herself. It didn’t surprise me. She’d had a small part in an LOC production three years ago, and even then she’d shown signs of being temperamental and difficult. Reports of her most recent performances suggested she’d completed the transition from aspiring diva to fully-fledged entitled bitch.
I didn’t want to think about her, or anything to do with work. Visits to Helen’s were an opportunity to escape all that.
I’d barely gotten through Helen’s front door before Rhys and Caitlin threw themselves on me. The twins were already in their pajamas, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before they were packed off to bed, leaving me to have dinner with Helen and Jim.
“Aunty Jax, come and see the dinosaur I made at school,” Rhys urged.
“I can do a cartwheel, Aunty Jax. Watch me!” Caitlin launched herself unsteadily into the gymnastic maneuver, almost colliding with the telephone table in the hall.
“Hey, monsters, stop showing off!” Helen scooped Caitlin into her arms and dropped a kiss on the end of her daughter’s nose. “Come on, say goodnight to Aunty Jax and then it’s time for bed.”
The twins obediently wished me goodnight, even though it was clear they both wanted to stay up just that little longer. Helen had always been firm about bedtime on school nights, though, and she trooped the two of them up the stairs to bed.
Jim emerged from the kitchen holding two glasses of red wine, one of which he passed to me. As I sipped it gratefully, he said, “You look like you needed that. Work a bit fraught again?”
I shook my head. “No, just the usual scrum on the Northern Line. There’s nothing worse than being pressed up against some total stranger’s sweaty armpit. But tell me about you,” I said, as we went into the living room. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How’s the screenplay coming along?”
“Great. Just submitted the finished draft, in fact…”
Jim had been commissioned by a small independent production company to write the script for a two-part crime thriller that would be shown on ITV in the New Year. I knew he’d been agonizing over the twists and turns in the plot for weeks, but now it seemed everything had come together at last.
“Dinner’s ready.” Helen’s voice interrupted our conversation.
We took our places at the table, and Helen served up generous portions of homemade asparagus and goat’s cheese quiche. She’d owned an upmarket café before putting her career on the back burner when the twins had come along, and she still loved to cook.
“This is absolutely delicious,” I told her. “I should invite myself round more often.”
“Well, you know you’re welcome any time, Jax.” Helen drank from her wineglass. “So, what’s the gossip?”
Though I’d promised myself I wouldn’t talk shop tonight, I couldn’t resist spilling the news that Kieran Vale had committed to appearing in Perpetua.
“Oh, wow!” Helen exclaimed. “He was on the last Royal Variety Performance. He’s a serious hottie.”
“Hey!” Jack’s tone was one of mock-offense.
Helen took her husband’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Darling, you know no one’s as hot as you are…”
The look they exchanged sent a pang of envy through me, which I did my best to ignore. Helen and Jim were such a perfectly suited couple, and even though their relationship had its ups and downs, it was obvious they were as much in love now as when they’d married fourteen years ago. From the hints Helen dropped, their sex life was still pretty spectacular, too, particularly on those weekends when they packed the twins off to stay with Jim’s mother on the Sussex coast.
As for me, I hadn’t expected still to be single at the age of forty, but sometimes that’s the hand life deals. It wasn’t, as I’d pointed out to Helen, that I had such ridiculously high standards no man would ever be able to meet them. He just had to have certain characteristics, without which he’d never be right for me. I’d never told her that in addition to being witty, considerate, and not still living at home with his mother, he had to be able to awake the submissive heart I kept buried deep inside me. I kept no other secrets from my best friend, but somehow I didn’t feel able to explain that what I needed more than anything was a man who would compel me to obey his every command, and who would punish me with his palm, then soothe my hurt with his words and his love.
Looking at Helen as she joked about how I’d have to let her know whether Kieran Vale was as stunning in real life as he was on TV, while Jim responded with pretend-huffy comments about sleeping in the spare room, I wondered if I’d ever find what they had.
* * * *
It was gone midnight when I finally got home to my flat. I hadn’t intended to stay quite so late at Helen’s, but she and I had lingered over coffee reminiscing over our university days, while Jim had loaded the dishwasher and tidied up the kitchen. I’d no idea what brought on this burst of nostalgia, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded of all the ridiculous things we’d done back when we’d had no real adult responsibilities.
But as I undressed for bed, pulling my wavy chestnut hair out of its ponytail to tumble around my shoulders, I realized it wasn’t the past I was thinking of, but the immediate future. For all that I’d tried to play down my feeling about Kieran Vale’s imminent arrival at the LOC, the thought of having the man in my fitting room intrigued me. He had a look common to all my fantasy men. Unruly blond hair, slightly hooded blue eyes, and an air of just having been woken from the rudest of dreams. The smirk that played on his lips in a couple of his press photos suggested he was remembering that dream in all its deliciously dirty glory.
Tired as I was, I knew I wouldn’t sleep for a while. Thoughts whirled in my mind, most of them concerning the enigmatic Mr Vale. I kept my toy box under my bed. After fishing it from its hiding place, I flicked the catch and pushed open the lid. My kinkiest possessions were in that box. A pair of black leather handcuffs lined with red faux fur, and a pink, heart-shaped paddle I’d bought on impulse from an online erotic boutique and never had the opportunity to use. Or, more accurately, have used on me. I dreamed of being asked to take down my panties and present my bare bottom so it could be stained red by judiciously applied strokes of that paddle. It would sting, and I would wriggle and beg for mercy every time it landed, but the man who held me so firm in place over his lap would not come to a halt until we both knew I’d been properly punished.
What I needed now was in the bottom of the box. A sturdy vibrator in soft, midnight blue silicon, with a second, shorter prong jutting from its base, designed to provide stimulation to the clitoris. Thoughts of being spanked by my faceless dominant had already gotten me wet, but I needed a little more lubrication to help that big, thick toy slide into me with ease. I greased up the shaft with passion-fruit-scented lube, stroking the ridged length as if it really were a nice, hard cock. Kieran’s cock.
Now there was no denying where my fantasies were headed. As I turned the vibrator on, selecting a low speed and pushed the buzzing toy between the lips of my pussy, I again pictured myself bare-bottomed and helpless over my mystery dominant’s knee. Except now the man had an identity. He was Kieran Vale.
In my imagination, I looked over my shoulder, a pleading look in my eyes. Kieran gazed down at me, the paddle clutched in his hand, his expression impossible to read.
“Please, Sir, no more,” I begged, trying to rise from his lap. “I’ll be good, I swear.”
“Oh, Jaclyn…” His rich Canadian-accent bore a tone of reproach. “How many times have I heard that before? And yet you never seem to learn.”
With that, he pushed me firmly back into position. I didn’t see him raise his arm, but I heard the swish of the paddle in the air, and felt it land on flesh already burning from his previous strokes…
The fantasy I’d weaved, so lush in its detail I could almost believe I actually was having by arse paddled by this gorgeous young stud, spurred me on. The vibrator hummed inside me, and its bunny-eared attachment pressed against my clit, sending fierce sensations straight to the place where I needed it most.
I had no idea whether the real Kieran bore any resemblance to the assured dominant I dreamed of, but my body reacted powerfully to the idea that he might. As I turned up the speed a notch, my inner walls convulsed around the thickness of the vibrator. The bedsprings creaked beneath me as I bucked against the mattress. Calling out something that might have been Kieran’s name, I reached my orgasm.
