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The room was bathed in golden light, filtered through the heavy velvet curtains. The grand piano gleamed under the chandelier, but tonight I couldn't concentrate on the notes. Not with him sitting so close to me.

Maestro Darnel. Thirty-five years old, long, elegant hands, an aristocratic build and gray eyes that seemed to see straight into my soul... and into my most forbidden thoughts.

"This is the third time you've gotten this passage wrong," he murmured, his voice warm as aged cognac. "You're forcing me to punish you."

My heart raced. "I... I'm sorry, Maestro."

A silence. Then, with a slow gesture, he placed the score on the piano and drew me to him. "Lie down."

His thighs were firm beneath my belly as he pressed me against him, my hips raised, my silk shorts slipping to reveal the lace thong beneath.

"Thirty strokes," he announced, caressing my bare skin with deceptive gentleness. "And you'll count each time out loud."

The first slap sounded, dry, precise. "One!" I gasped, more surprised than truly hurt.

The second, louder, made my flesh flush. "Two!"

As the punishment progressed, something changed. Her breathing grew heavier. My moans took on a different tone. And when I dared to look back, I saw his erection distort his linen pants.

"Twenty-one," I gasped, cheeks on fire, sex soaked.

Suddenly, his fingers replaced the spanking, creeping under my panties. "You like that, don't you, my disobedient little pupil?"

I couldn't answer-his hand closed on the back of my neck while the other explored my wetness with virtuoso expertise. The piano echoed as he turned me over to sit on the keys in a dissonant chord, his kiss swallowing my cries as he finally penetrated me.