I can't really say where this story came from, but it started with the name of the protagonist, which then became the title. It can't be much of a surprise that I'd write another story about a musician sooner or later. The tone of this one is a little different—more in the vein of "The Forbidden Dance."
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Hope you enjoy,
By Ria Restrepo
Copyright ©2019. All rights reserved.
Lounging in the open window, the wild summer wind teasing her silk robe, she looked down at the alleyway below. The humid breeze was a welcome relief from the oppressive heat that hardly ebbed even after the sun went down.
Suddenly, the banging of a metal door broke through her lethargic haze. Someone burst from the back of the nightclub across the way. She didn't need the silhouette of a guitar slung over his back to recognize him. It was the wandering troubadour who sang in the club whenever he was in town.
Since she first saw him, she hadn't missed a performance, including that very night. She'd hung around for a while, hoping she might entice him into spending the night with her. Unfortunately, she didn't get the chance.
Right after his set, he went to the private room below the club to play cards with men she knew well to avoid. She watched as he frantically looked both ways down the alley as if the devil was on his tail. Apparently, things hadn't gone his way.
Not thinking twice about it, she softly called down, "Up here."
He looked up, then quickly scaled the fire escape to her window.
She moved aside so he could come in.
Once in her apartment, they stood out of sight, on either side of the window, and watched as two henchmen emerged from the same door. They looked around, then split up—each one going down the alley in different directions.
He let out a deep breath. "Thank you."
Her apartment was dark, but the moonlight streaming in highlighted his strong, handsome features and cast his sandy brown hair in an ethereal cerulean hue. "My pleasure."
Looking at her for the first time, he took in her semi-dressed state. "What's your name?"
She flipped open her robe enough to show off the blue rose tattoo on her hip above her black lace panties. "What do you think?"
He cleared his throat. "I should probably go."
"No need to rush off." She went to her bed, sat on the edge, then patted the space beside her. "Stay awhile."
"But I can't pay you. That's why they're after me."
"Did I ask you for money?"
"No, but…aren't you, ah…"
Her lips curved into a sultry smile. "Tell you what, why don't you sing me a song. Then you can have whatever you want."
He considered that for a moment. "Anything?"
"Sure." It wasn't like she hadn't heard and done it all before.
Pulling his guitar off his back, he nodded. "Okay."
Leaning back on her elbows, she watched as he got situated on the bench of her dressing table.
After making sure the instrument was tuned to his satisfaction, he started playing a sweetly poignant melody she hadn't heard before. His eyes closed, with a voice like warm honey, he sang a song about wandering through the desert and meeting a gypsy princess, who ultimately broke his heart.
She wondered what he saw in his mind's eye as he sang—or who.
With the final note ringing in the air for a moment, he finally opened his eyes.
"Is it true?" she asked.
He shrugged. "It's just a song."
Somehow, she doubted that.
Her robe had been gaping open, barely concealing her large breasts. She noticed his gaze lingering there and smiled. With one hand, she pulled the end of the sash so it came undone, then brushed the silk aside, completely revealing herself to his hungry eyes.
"So, what will it be?" she asked.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I want to watch you get yourself off."
The request took her by surprise. Not that she hadn't pleasured herself in front of men before, but only until they were fully aroused. Then tending to their needs took priority. They rarely cared if she got satisfaction from it—just that she made pretty noises while they took what the needed. But he actually wanted to see her come for him.
She trailed a finger down her chest and captured a nipple between her fingers. "You want to see me play with my pussy?"
"Cunt." He got up and laid his guitar on the stool. "I like the word cunt. It's fucking hot."
"Mmmm, yes, it is." She squeezed her nipple, twisting it a little, and sucked in a breath as tantalizing sensations streaked throughout her body. "Just watch me get my horny little cunt off? That's all you want?"
Moving towards the end of the bed, he rubbed himself through his jeans. "And I want to come all over your tits."
The sound of that turned her on more than she would have thought. Usually, she didn't care one way or the other if a man came on her. Undoubtedly, it was the idea of his come, specially, marking her skin that made her cunt clench with rampant desire.
Abandoning her nipple, she lay back, lifted her hips, and slid off her panties so they fell onto the floor at her feet. Propping herself back up on an elbow, she clearly saw his erection straining against the denim. He was still tugging on it through the worn material.
Licking her lips, she hitched her foot up onto the edge of the bed and spread herself wide open so he could see her shaved sex. She could feel her wetness sliding between her cunt lips and knew they must be glistening with her juices.
As he watched, she delved her fingers between her drenched slit and found her clit. His gaze was locked on her cunt as she circled the swollen nub again and again. The pleasure of her own touch was intensified by performing just for him, knowing she was making him hard. But she craved more. She needed to see him.
"Please, I need to see your cock." She panted as the waves of bliss grew stronger. "Please stroke it for me."
She'd never had to ask before. Men didn't hesitate to whip out their cocks for her—whether she really wanted them to or not. It was surprisingly thrilling having to beg him and made her arousal crest even higher.
Thankfully, he eagerly opened his fly and freed his cock. She moaned at the sight of him. He was impressively hard, the head wet with pre-come. As he fisted his shaft in a firm grip, she pushed two fingers into her tight sheath. In time with his hand moving up and down his cock in long strokes, she finger-fucked herself, using her thumb to tease her clit.
Sooner than she would have liked, she felt her orgasm fast approaching. She wanted to prolong it, watch him jerking his cock for longer, but she couldn't resist letting the pleasure overwhelm her. Falling back onto the bed, she cried out as the ecstasy ripped through her, coming harder than she ever had before.
Her body was still shuddering from the aftershocks when she hazily felt him climb onto the bed. She opened her eyes in time to see him furiously working his cock over her tits. His body tensed and he grunted as he shot a thick load of spunk into her abundant flesh. Several more milky ropes of come followed until her tits were thoroughly coated.
Completely spent, he collapsed beside her on the bed.
For long minutes, the room was only filled with the sound of their heavy breathing.
When hers had evened out, she looked down at her messy tits. She couldn't resist running her fingers through the creamy streaks, rubbing it into her nipples and down onto her belly.
He groaned. "Fuck that's hot."
"Yeah, I love the feel of your come on my skin." She traced a slick finger over her tattoo.
"Why do you call yourself Sapphire?"
Normally, she didn't like talking about herself, but looking into his crystal blue eyes, she found herself answering. "I was born in September, so it's my birthstone. And I always loved the color."
"What's your real name?"
She smiled. "Play me another song and I'll tell you."