He dialed it up once more, and she crossed her legs, the pressure from her thighs intensifying the feelings flooding her. He eyed her with a pleased look, nodding at her crossed legs as if to say smart thinking. The Allegro non troppo crested, more instruments joining in, playing, building, mirroring the pulsing in her body. Jack grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed her as if he had to touch her while he was doing this.

She gasped, and her noise of pleasure made landfall at a brief pause in the score. She was sure someone had heard her, and she dropped her gaze down, embarrassed momentarily. Here she was, seated in the balcony of a concert hall, desperate for an orgasm.

He leaned in. “No one heard you. Tell me if you want me to let you come.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Do you want to wait until I can fuck you in bed? So you can scream and moan like you want to?”

“I want that,” she whispered in a barren voice. “But I want to come now.”

“You’re so turned on, aren’t you?”

He sounded as if he wanted to pounce on her.

“Yes. I’m unbelievably turned on,” she whispered, her voice sounding like she might very well cry if he didn’t take care of her.

“You must be so wet.”

“I am.”

“You should hold back. Can you hold back until later?”

She clenched her teeth. She knew what he was doing now. He was playing her. He wanted her to be strong. To say she could handle it. If she used reverse psychology and told him she could wait, then he’d probably let her come. As a reward. But the game was exhausting her right now. She wanted him. Without games. For real. She told him the full truth. “No. I can’t wait.”

“But I want you to,” he whispered. “I want you to wait for me.”

He turned off the toy, and she wanted to wither. To die. She thought she might claw her way out of her own skin right now. To climb the walls of Avery Fisher Hall. Anything to release this desire from her body. She hated that she was encased in it. That she’d been reduced to nothing but this.

It was so base. So animalistic. But at the moment, she was no longer a professional, no longer an evolved being. She was a fucking animal, and she wanted to be satisfied. And the bastard wasn’t letting her. She inhaled quietly. The orchestra played, shifting to the second movement. Everyone listened. The minutes ticked by. Jack’s fingers uncurled. He no longer had a tight grip on the remote. He was focused on the stage, and he was nodding his head, keeping in time to the music. He stuffed the remote in his pocket, then returned his hands to his lap. He wasn’t even touching her. He wasn’t even thinking of her. He’d asked her to wear a goddamn butterfly to the symphony and she’d done it for him. She’d let him turn her up and turn her down wherever and however he pleased. And now he was bored with her. Interested in something else. She was nothing but a plaything, and the worst part was she was still aroused.