Guest Post by: Lisabet Sarai
A violinist, a violist and a seductress.
For twenty-two years, the Goldberg brothers – Richard on cello, Harvey on viola, and Albert on violin – have made music together, earning a decent living and a modicum of respect in the classical music community. When Richard’s sudden demise forces Harvey and Al to find a replacement cellist, neither can imagine how their new colleague will shake up their middle-aged lives.
Deidre Rasinovsky-Corbatta is an unlikely addition to the Goldberg Trio, a shapely siren with purple hair, scarlet lips, and a rose tattooed on her ample breasts – but she plays the cello like an angel. The passion she pours into her music spills over into her relationships with the two brothers. When both Al and Harv fall in love with her, will this tear the trio apart – or transform it?
Kinky Literature – https://www.kinkyliterature.com/book/914-goldberg-variations/
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1157445
Apple Books – https://books.apple.com/us/book/x/id6443274647
There was a soft knock at his door. Hurriedly, he replaced his cock in his trousers and sat up. “Come on in,” he called, expecting Harv. When the door swung open, though, he was face to face with the object of his fantasies.
She was dressed in her usual black. Rather than the form-fitting, Emma-Peale-like costumes she mostly favored, tonight she wore something delicate and flowing, with a scooped neckline that showed off her exquisite shoulders. Her lipstick was softer, cherry instead of fire engine red, and she was barefoot.
“Good evening, Albert.” He cringed. No one had called him by his full name since his mother died. “Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”
“Um, sure. Come on in, like I said. What’s up?”
She sat herself on his bed, her garment swirling gracefully around her. His nose twitched as the air filled with patchouli. “I know that I’m being nosy, but I’m concerned about you. You seem terribly tense. So tense that you’re making mistakes in your performance, mistakes that I know you wouldn’t normally make.”
“I’m really sorry about today. I don’t know what was wrong, but it won’t happen again.” Al felt guilty and miserable as a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar.
“I’m not blaming you. I just want to help.” She gestured toward the entrance. “Why don’t you close the door, so that we don’t disturb Harvey? And then I have something here that I think might help you relax.”
Al recognized the earthy smell of marijuana before she even produced the joint. He hastened to follow her instructions. Harv didn’t approve of drugs.
He found a lighter in his bureau and applied it to the joint until the tip glowed red as Deidre’s hair. She inhaled a lungful of the sweetish smoke and held it for thirty seconds. At the same time, she held him with her gaze. Was she challenging or inviting him?
Al felt his cock swell uncomfortably inside his trousers. Deidre passed him the smoldering butt, her fingers brushing briefly against his in the process. It was only the slightest touch. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions, he told himself. It could be completely innocent.
Yeah, right. Here she was in his bedroom, sitting next to him on his bed, with the door closed, wearing something that looked more or less like a negligee. Innocent? Hardly. But she was the one in charge, that much was clear. He didn’t dare to make the first move.
Trying to ignore his throbbing hard-on, he took a big hit of the pot. The harsh smoke seared his lungs. As he released it, he felt the drug rush through him, lifting him like a strong breeze. “Mmm. Good stuff. Thanks. But I wouldn’t have expected someone like you to – indulge.”
Deidre laughed, that low, sexy laugh that made his balls tighten to aching rocks. “There’s a lot that you don’t know about me, Albert. Here, take another toke.”
Al obeyed her. He figured that he would always obey her, whatever she ordered him to do. The second lungful was more powerful than the first. He closed his eyes, floating on a cloud of lust and THC.
The next thing he knew, her hands were in his crotch. “What have we here?” She laughed again. “You seem to be already unzipped and ready for me.”
Oh God! He must have forgotten to zip up after he jerked off. Embarrassment welled up briefly, but the drug soothed it away. Her hands were precise and knowing. Her fingers danced along the length of his shaft with the same power and skill that he had noted when she fingered the neck of her cello. She plucked a pizzicato rhythm on the sensitive ridge underneath the head of his cock, then played him with long lingering strokes that arched up his spine. His groans were a new kind of music, as she brought him ever closer to crescendo.
Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter. Sign up for her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh