Alpha´s Desire Page 11

  Eva felt herself opening up wider to this man. She felt a desire to let him do anything he liked, to give herself completely over to him.

  She sat up, pulling Ambrose with her. Her hand reached down for his belt, then she unzipped him, pulling out his enormous, rock hard member. Eva straddled his body and pushed his torso into the ground. She lifted the thick hips he’d shown such appreciation for and slid herself on top of him.

  Eva groaned as she felt him fill her and Ambrose groaned beneath her. Eva lifted herself then pushed back down. Her hips lifted and rocked as she ground herself on top of him.

  “Fucking hell,” Ambrose looked at Eva with a look of pure greedy lust.

  Puffs of air filled Eva’s lungs and she listened to the music build around her, inside of her. She’d never felt so completely inside a song before.

  Ambrose put his hands on her hips and watched as she twisted, grinding on top of him. He lifted her body and rolled on top of her. His face was held just above hers and she watched his eyes lower to her neck again. She tilted her head back, instinctively moving for something she couldn’t comprehend.

  The feeling of abandon was rising through her body, every cell alive and electric. His fingers moved over her and she forgot everything else.

  Ambrose grabbed her ample ass and plunged himself deeper inside of her, Eva cried out with the pain and pleasure of it.

  She arched her back, forcing him to hit new depths within her that she hadn’t even known existed before.

  Sweat surfaced over her face and back as his hand reached around her head, fingers holding her neck firmly.

  Eva felt a rising sensation deep within, she was on the edge of a precipice and she couldn’t see the drop.

  He reached his head for her neck but she lifted her leg putting it between her and Ambrose’s torso then lifted her hips. Her wedged leg kept Ambrose from moving closer to her but also allowed him to move deeper inside of her and Eva gasped loudly at the new angle.

  “Oh,” she cried out desperately as her ability to hold back receding from power.

  Ambrose lifted his head and let out something close to a howl as he climaxed, filling Eva once and for all in completion.

  Eva dropped her head back onto the carpet, devoid of anything but the pleasure and sensation that swilled through her every pore.

  Ambrose lay down next to her, his head thrown back, chest heaving for air. She stared unseeing onto a grand fresco painted across his ceiling. She’d not noticed it before, perhaps because of the soft muted lights. Naked women in all their glory rolled ceremoniously across the ceiling of the room.

  “Are you always that good?” Eva let her head swivel toward him for a moment before looking back at his remarkably high and ornate ceiling.

  “Sometimes better,” he trailed a finger across the soft skin of her neck.

  Eva lay on the itchy rug for a few more minutes before summoning the energy to sit up.

  “How about that drink?” she looked down at Ambrose, wondering if he was going to kick her out now that she’d opened her legs for him. Ambrose lifted up onto his arm and smiled.

  “You turn the record over, I’ll get the drinks.” He got up and moved off toward the kitchen.

  Eva pulled the remains of her lacerated panties and stockings off and balled them up next to her shoes before getting up to wind the record player once more and turn the record over.

  “Here,” Ambrose held out a short highball glass to her, “come this way.” He walked through the spacious apartment, through another room, and finally into a library.

  “This is amazing, I didn’t think you could get apartments like this in New York anymore.” She looked around at the rows of books.

  “I’ve owned it for a long time. I own one in Paris, and Milan as well.”

  Eva raised her eyebrows. He was famous and certainly successful but she’d still not expected him to possess quite so much wealth. An apartment like this, next to Central Park, in the middle of Manhattan would cost millions.

  She walked over to where Ambrose stood.

  “The view,” she sighed as she looked over the park. “I live just over there.” She pointed in the direction of her apartment though it could never be seen with the large park between them. Perhaps in the daytime, though she wasn’t sure she would ever get a chance to look across in the daytime.

  There was a large reading nook in the windows and Eva climbed up and sat back, Ambrose followed her.

  “Do you like the darkness?” He looked over at her and she wasn’t sure what he meant.

  “I like the moon… and I’ve always been a night person.” She looked back out at the dark park, the lamps that lit up only a small space around them. The city lights glinted from all directions past the park. “The darkness is mysterious, full of surprises, the good as well as the bad. It is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”

  Ambrose nodded.

  They talked long into the night. Ambrose told stories of the cities he’d performed in. The way different audiences appreciated opera, some dressed in ball gowns and black tie, some in jeans.

  Eva talked of her school years, how she’d always known she was made for this particular kind of music and the way she felt like it brought her closer to her mother and father.

  The last thing she remembered from the night was looking out the window, over the park, and wishing she could hold onto it, just that way, forever.

  She woke up the next morning still in the library nook looking out at Central Park where runners and walkers were just beginning to get their morning exercise in. Her neck and limbs felt sore from sleeping in such an awkward position and she stretched out slowly.

  Eva looked across from her but Ambrose was gone.

  She stood and listened, not hearing anything. She walked through the library back the way she’d come but she didn’t see him anywhere. When she finally landed in the kitchen there was an omelet still warm on the stovetop, a bowl of sliced fruit, along with a steaming carafe of French pressed coffee.

  She smiled lifting the note that sat innocently next to the plate.

  Early appointment—sorry I won’t be there to see you off. Enjoy breakfast!

  A

  PS You have an audition with Luciano on the 11th at 3pm

  At first the note made her sad. He wouldn’t be here to see her off, which of course meant she was to leave. She also didn’t have his phone number or any way to get in touch with him. But the fact that he’d followed through on his promise of an audition brought her spirits up and she smiled. He really did like her voice, he hadn’t just been trying to get her into bed, and if he wanted to work with her in the future then there might be something else in that.

  She ripped off an empty section of paper from the note and wrote out her phone number. Just in case.

  Eva ate the omelet, which far surpassed her expectations, and had a steaming cup of coffee as she walked through his apartment one more time. She appreciated the opportunity to be a snoop without Ambrose watching her.

  She went to the closed doors and opened them. His bedroom fit in with the grandeur seen in the other rooms. He had a large dressing room, and a closet filled with high end, well made suits.

  She went back to the library and glanced over his books. Biographies of great musical men and women, stories of the opera and the building of various opera houses, but a few of his books seemed to run to the occult. She picked up a large, leather bound volume and glanced through it.

  There was talk of the moon, of vampires, and the “the royalty of the darkness.” The book had to be at least a hundred years old and Eva smiled at it. Had the person been writing fiction or what they thought was reality? She shook her head slightly trying to imagine the sort of person who would write such a book.

  Then she stopped. On one of the pages on a thin white sheet of paper was a name.

  Ambrose Leroy, was written next to the title Vampire King of the Underground.

  Eva furrowed her brow. What did that mean? Had Amb
rose’s parents owned the book and chosen the name for him with specific intent, or maybe Ambrose himself had begun using the stage name because he’d read it.

  …endowed with an abnormal amount of strength, Leroy is famous for his trance inducing voice.

  Now that was too strange to be a coincidence, he must have chosen the name for himself after reading through the book. A shiver ran up Eva’s spine and she closed the book, putting it perfectly back in its place.

  She imagined Ambrose coming home to find Eva snooping through his private possessions.

  Time to go home, she thought.

  Chapter Four

  “So there is a distinct possibility that I might be singing in Ohio for the next few years, or year at least,” Bridget said with equal parts excitement and dread.

  Eva heard the sound of traffic over the phone and thought Bridget must be walking somewhere.

  “I really can’t talk,” Eva rasped into the phone. She pressed the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she moved a stack of papers.

  “I don’t get it, you were fine a few nights ago.”

  “I don’t get it either, but I can’t talk. I’m supposed to be going to that audition in two hours and…” Eva found the pack of lozenges and shoved a lemon honey drop into her mouth.

  “But you can’t sing.”

  Eva felt the panic and pressure she’d been feeling for the last five days. As soon as she’d left Ambrose’s apartment she’d noticed the quality of her vocal chords had gone down hill, worse than they had been at her last appointment with the doctor.

  She’d tried cleaning out her apartment, opening windows, airing things out. She’d even spent a night on Jerome’s couch wondering if there was something else in her apartment causing the symptoms, but nothing worked.

  “Ok, email or text me about the audition…I’m really sorry about your voice,” Bridget’s words sounded awkward to Eva’s ear. Her friend probably felt guilty for acing her own audition while Eva wouldn’t even be able to sing through her own.

  “Mm hmm,” Eva hummed before hanging up her phone.

  Her throat felt constricted, all of her felt constricted. She had no way of getting in touch with Ambrose to cancel her audition so she was just going to show up and admit the truth, then hope they would be able to understand her.

  She knew very well that there would be no follow-up audition offers after that. No one wanted to take a risk on an unknown singer with a possibly defective instrument.

  Eva dressed in her best silk button up with a curve hugging knee length skirt and heels. She would at least make an impression on Luciano Costantini even if it wasn’t with her voice. In the back of her mind Eva also thought she might run into Ambrose again and if she did then she wanted to look her best.

  She’d had no calls, no texts from him even though she’d left her phone number. She’d tried not to think about him but her mind had other plans, continuously circling back to the famous baritone, his amazing voice, and the things he’d done to her on his coarse Persian rug.

  When Eva arrived in the Metropolitan Opera building it was void of all the dressed patrons and fanfare she’d experienced on her last visit.

  “I have a meeting with Luciano Costantini,” Eva’s voice croaked out but it was a little less fragile then it had been at her apartment. She’d tried in vain to warm up and given up, feeling as though she was causing damage to her vocal chords even doing the most gentle of exercises.

  “Your name?” the man in a security outfit asked, looking down at a clipboard.

  “Eva St. Marie,” she tried to stretch her vocal chords and they seemed to respond the smallest amount. Her stomach began to twitter. What if she could sing after all? She chided herself at the thought, she was in no condition to sing and it would be stupid, even irresponsible of her to try.

  The man nodded when he found her name.

  “Just have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here,” he nodded to a row of seats and Eva took one. She’d brought a recording of herself on CD but it wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t sing anytime in the near future.

  Eva looked at her hands, they were growing sweaty with nerves. She chided herself. There was nothing to be nervous about, she wasn’t even singing.

  “Eva St. Marie?” A woman in rolled jeans and bright red clogs stood in front of her. Despite her causal apparel she was an incredibly fashionable older woman. Her hair was swept into a messy but perfect looking chignon, red lipstick presided over her face as her one concession to formality.

  “Luciano is looking forward to meeting you,” the woman looked back at Eva and Eva smiled. “He’s heard such good things about you from Ambrose.”

  Eva smiled.

  “We’re just over here,” the woman turned down another corridor and there in another doorway stood Ambrose, face-to-face, and lip-to-lip with another woman.

  The woman in the red clogs coughed to alert the kissing couple that they were not alone.

  “Oh excuse me,” the blonde who had just been kissing Ambrose said quickly when she saw Eva and the other woman, “I’ll just get back to rehearsal.” The woman was blonde, stick thin, and tall. Eva felt herself go white. That woman was the complete opposite of Eva, her dark curly hair, and her ample backside.

  A wave of jealousy, that Eva had never experienced before, washed over her. She looked away from Ambrose who turned to look at the two women who now stood in front of him.

  “Ah you made it.” He walked to Eva and kissed both her cheeks though she didn’t bother making any kissing motions back to him.

  “Yes, I made it,” her voice was crisp and clear. The tension in her throat and around her vocal chords was gone but Eva was so unhappy about the circumstances in which she’d found Ambrose that she hardly recognized the difference.

  “Good,” he looked over her face then winked. Eva felt her face grow crimson. After she’d just seen him tongue in mouth with another woman… and not just another woman…a woman who looked like a lingerie model. Unforgivable.

  “You look gorgeous, as usual.” Ambrose hardly looked at her while he said it and Eva felt a stream of free-floating resentment shoot through her.

  She wanted to snap back at him, say something snarky… but instead she smiled tightly, “Thank you.”

  The blow probably wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been daydreaming about him for the past five days. She’d imagined herself showing up to his performances in the front row, where he would throw her kisses when he took his bows. She’d imagined them in his dressing room, legs spread, helping him warm-up. She’d imagined showing up to some of her alumni events with Ambrose Leroy on her arm.

  None of that mattered now. She inwardly scolded herself for being so stupid, stupid enough to let the daydreams go on in the first place.

  Eva’s thick, dark hair cascaded down the back of her purple silk blouse.

  The woman guiding Eva turned away from Ambrose to an adjacent door and opened it, holding it for Eva and then Ambrose to walk through.

  “Luciano it is my great pleasure to introduce you to the voice of the decade, perhaps even the century,…” Ambrose lifted a confident hand in Eva’s direction, “this is Eva St. Marie.”

  “If only I had a permanent escort to give me such introductions everywhere I went.” Luciano Costantini was a handsome older man with thick black eyebrows and silver hair. “But alas, I am not as lovely as you.”

  Luciano Costantini took Eva’s hand and kissed it and Eva actually blushed.

  “Thank you, Mr. Costantini,” she couldn’t help but smile.

  “Call me Luc,” he winked at her a bit like Ambrose had, “I knew your parents, they were amazing people—the great talents of their time.”

  Eva felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the man standing in front of her. She happily ignored Ambrose and focused her gaze on the warm and charming face of the older man. He might be nearing sixty but the man had charisma.

  “It’s nice of you to say so,” Eva’
s voice issued out like the sweet tinkling of a bell.

  “Nice, nothing—I never say anything I don’t mean, something not everyone thanks me for,” he lowered his eyes and voice.

  “Now,” he clapped his hands together and turned back to a table he’d been sitting at with sheets of hand written musical notation in front of him. “I believe you are planning to sing something for me today?”

  Eva inhaled as deeply as she could. Her voice sounded and felt fine when only moments ago she’d sounded like a throaty victim of laryngitis. It made absolutely no sense. She looked uneasily at Ambrose then to Luciano trying to decide what she should do. If she was to sing, then she should at least warn them of the problems her voice was having, shouldn’t she?

  “I was thinking of singing The Nightingale,” Eva said, throwing caution to the wind. This was where she was meant to be, this was what she was meant to be doing. If she didn’t risk it now, then, when would she?

  The woman who had guided Eva through the back rooms of the Metropolitan Opera moved to the piano and sat down. This casually stylish woman was Luciano’s wife! Of course she’d heard that his wife always worked closely with him in transposing music, Eva just hadn’t put it together. His wife was rumored to be a great pianist in her own right, someone who might have had an excellent career on the stage had she not dedicated herself to her husband’s work.

  Eva walked her sheet music over to the other woman who took it with an outstretched hand and a smile.

  “Any preference in tempo?”

  “Just as is,” Eva hummed a bit of the song, more for her own sake then the other woman’s. Her voice felt and sounded like she’d been warming up all morning.

  “Ok then.” The woman spread the music out in front of her and practiced a few chords as Eva walked back to the middle of the room.

  As the music began Eva was conscious of Luciano’s seasoned eyes. Those eyes had witnessed, not only the greats of his time, but her parents as well. She felt the intent gaze of Ambrose and the knowledge of it spread a silky warmth through her body.

  She looked over the heads of both men and let her voice lift and move with the steady rhythm of the music. The song was something she’d only worked on away from school, with so many exquisite Italian arias to choose from, picking a Russian song was a bit of a risk when singing in front of an Italian composer. But that was why she’d chosen it, she was certain that he’d heard those arias thousands of times and she wanted to bring something different to the table. Something fresh.