His chapped lips were pressed against my ear as he breathed harshly, overcome by the tightness of my slick pussy. His hands were clenching at the shee...s on either side of my head. He was thrusting for himself; he was searching for his own pleasure. Together we built up, got closer and closer to the goal that we both wanted to reach. My free hand reached down and began to fumble against my clit. The bundle of nerves was hardened and standing at complete attention. It was dying for a touch,. He wore his reading glasses and was still dressed, but without his jacket and tie. He wore a lavender robe, the sash knotted around his waist, as was the old man's custom in the evening. Mozart was nearing seventy now, three years after Eva had first met him, but he looked the same to her eyes. She sometimes thought he'd always been exactly so; never young, but born old and endless as if he were a constant part of the world. Mozart frightened her that way and she forced herself to smile.She was. More

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