“Would it interest you to know,” Marta said conversationally, “that I am currently not wearing any drawers?”

Andras swallowed hard, a series of increasingly lascivious images flashing through his mind. “That is interesting information. Any particular reason?”

“Well,” said Marta, “we’re alone in the music room, and knowing you as I do I thought you might want to have your way with me.”

She spoke so casually Andras did not immediately understand her. “You mean you want to… in here?” 

“My goodness, aren’t you coy. And here I thought I’d been raised to never talk about anything rude.”  Marta stood, her hips swaying enticingly. “Seeing as you are technically my family’s employee, Mr. Kiraly, I’m tempted to order you to bend me over that piano and, if you’ll pardon the phrase, fuck me.”

If, at that very moment, the ghost of Mozart himself had appeared to bestow his blessings, Andras could not have been more awed. He’d been imagining this very scenario since the closing night of Don Giovanni, but had never for a moment thought…

“Good God,” he said. “Good God, yes. Get over there and pull up your dress.”

With a wicked grin, Marta leaned over the keys and lifted her skirt and petticoats, her head resting on one arm. Her bottom was utterly perfect, deliciously plump and tinged with pink, and Andras felt a sudden overwhelming urge to spank her, to make her rosy skin glow even brighter. If only they had more time… 

Marta let out a faint whimper, jolting Andras out of his thoughts and sending a rush of pure lust through his veins. He reached down between her legs, assessing whether she was wet enough, and shuddered as her arousal coated his fingers. Without further ado, he moved her legs slightly farther apart and entered her with one deep thrust.

To his astonishment, Marta nearly screamed the minute he pushed into her, her muscles clenching around him and her entire body shaking in ecstasy. 

“Did you just…”

“Mmm,” Marta sighed in agreement. “Apparently I’m easy to please today. Mind you, you’re not allowed to stop.”

If only it could be like this all the time, Andras reflected: joy and pleasure and music, instead of secrecy and fear. It would never be enough to have Marta as an illicit lover, Andras knew that now—she was meant to be his wife, the mother of his children, his constant companion until they both grew old. 

Had Andras been capable of speech he would have expressed all of this aloud. As it was, all he could do was continue thrusting into Marta’s warm, willing flesh as she convulsed around him not once but twice more, her cries muffled by her sleeve. Andras nearly sobbed in relief when her tremors ceased; he’d never want to deny her any pleasure, but he was too close to the edge himself to maintain any control. At the last possible second he pulled out and spilled over her bottom, his climax so intense it nearly blinded him. Luckily he’d maintained his grip on the piano, or he might have collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Marta, beneath him, remained slumped over the piano, her head resting on her arm. Her half-closed eyes and faint smile made her look nearly angelic, though the effect was spoiled by her hiked-up skirts and the seed glistening on her smooth skin. Andras could happily have stood there and gazed at her for hours, but hours were not something they had, and Nella or one of the other servants would come looking for them soon. 

With a smile, he leaned close to Marta’s ear and murmured, “Mmm, Bosendorfer.”

She twisted to look at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Did you just say the piano’s name instead of mine?”

“Only joking, darling,” Andras assured her. Reluctantly, he released her from his arms and buttoned up his trousers before wiping her clean with his handkerchief. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

“Yes, well.” Marta briskly pushed her skirts back into position and adjusted her hair. “I suppose I should be relieved you’re not saying Clara’s name while you’re having me. Sometimes I think you’re like one of those sultans who had harems, except your harem consists of Clara and myself.”

Andras laughed. “Would it help to know that Clara could never drive me mad with lust the way you do?”

“It would.” Marta’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “And you should know by now that I never mind sharing you with music.”