“Just as well, because you won’t get it, not from him.”
Just because you didn’t, thought Lydia rebelliously, but she didn’t say the words. She liked Vanessa, despite her pursed lips on the matter of Milan, and valued her opinion.
“I must admit,” she said, looking back out to the cityscape, “I wish he’d drop all this crap with Mary-Ann. She doesn’t deserve it. Sometimes I physically itch to write to the trustees.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I can’t be the one to rock the boat. I’m the newbie here. Why don’t you tell them?”
“If I grass Milan up my life won’t be worth living. But he likes you—seems to even care about you. Perhaps he’d forgive you, if you spilled the beans. Made it look like an accident, or a drunken confidence…”
“Don’t, Ness. I can’t do it. Don’t make me feel bad.”
Vanessa shrugged. “He seems to have eased off her a bit lately, anyway.”
It was true. Rehearsals over the month of March had been relatively pleasant with only occasional spanners thrown into the works by her jealously intense lover. She had a feeling, though, that he might be saving up his big guns for this tour.
He had been good-humoured for weeks, spending lots of time with her, devoting his attention to their developing relationship. While he encouraged her to sleep with Evgeny, he never pushed her into anything, taking time to ease her into the triad dynamic. She was even starting to quite like the cellist and understand what made him tick. At bottom, he and she had a lot in common. Their mutual love for Milan was only a part of it.
But tonight was to be the night. The first proper threesome.
Lydia shivered a little, then was galvanised into action, remembering that she had arranged to meet her two men in the lobby in five minutes.
“Let’s hope this tour goes smoothly,” she said, reaching for her jacket to ward off the April blusters. “Where do you recommend we visit, then?”
Vanessa lay down on the bed, lacing her fingers behind her head.
“Oh, Milan’ll know everywhere,” she said. “You don’t need me.”
“Yes, I do,” said Lydia. “Don’t say that.”
Vanessa smiled ruefully.
“Okay,” she said. “You don’t need me…yet.”
Vanessa was right—Milan knew everywhere, and he took them to all the best and most beautiful places, finishing off at the elegant Café Gerbeau where he bought them fresh cream pastries and hot chocolate.
As soon as the last crumb was eaten and the last blob of cream wiped from the tip of her nose, Lydia felt the mood shift. The day of innocent pleasures was about to morph into the night of guilty ones.
Evgeny seemed to tense, his eyes flicking rapidly between Milan and Lydia. Milan braced an arm on the backrest of his chair, letting his head recline against his hand, the pose too deliberately relaxed to actually be so. The playfulness in his expression swept away, replaced by serious shadows. He looked at Evgeny, then Lydia, for a long time.
“That was nice,” he said at last, as a waitress cleared the plates and cups and left their bill. “But there was a lot of sugar. I like sweet things sometimes. Sometimes I don’t.”
“Don’t talk in riddles,” begged Lydia.
He laughed.
“Okay. You are nervous, yes? You want to do this?”
She glanced over at Evgeny, whose face was open and relaxed. It reassured her, and she nodded.
“You are free to walk away any time,” said Milan quietly. The waitress took the coins, avoiding their eyes. She seemed to understand that the three customers were experiencing a moment.
“I know that,” whispered Lydia. “I don’t want to walk away from you.”
Milan ran a hand through his hair, holding the fingers close to the scalp for a contemplative second or two before withdrawing them with a flourish and a tumble of locks—a gesture that never failed to quicken Lydia’s pulse.
He offered his fingers to Lydia, reaching out to her across the table.
“Let’s do this, then,” he said.
Lydia walked back to the hotel arm in arm with Milan and Evgeny, meeting the curious eyes of passers-by with a lascivious smile. Yes, both of these gorgeous men are mine. Aren’t you jealous of me?
Milan, alone of all the orchestral players, had his own hotel room, and a double at that. He invited Lydia and Evgeny to sit down on the bed while he retrieved a laptop from one of his travelling bags and began fussing with it.
“What are you doing?” Lydia asked, wondering anxiously if she should be touching Evgeny or getting naked straightaway. How did these things get started?
“I thought we could get in the mood with a little video. One of my favourites. You and Evgeny, that first time.”
“Oh, I’ve never seen it!”
“I know. Why don’t you pour us all a drink from the mini-bar, hey? Champagne might be appropriate.”
Lydia, grateful for the nerve-calming alcohol, poured the fizz into two wine glasses and a tooth mug, which were the only receptacles available. She took the tooth mug for herself and tipped back a mouthful of bubbles while Milan placed the laptop on the bed in front of her and took his position at her rear, leaning over her shoulder while he clicked to open the relevant file.
At first, only a brownish gloom showed on screen, but then there was a gusty sound and Evgeny appeared in shot, looking spectrally pale, his dark eyes burning coals. He leant forward, adjusting something, and the colour contrast improved dramatically. He took an elaborate bow to the camera, then reached forward, directing it towards the bed in Milan’s Barbican flat.
Lydia breathed in sharply, seeing herself sitting on the edge of the bed, looking apprehensive.
Milan put an arm around her stomach, hugging her back against him.
“You look so scared, miláčku,” he crooned, kissing her hair.
“I was,” she whispered.
On the film, Evgeny’s voice rang out from just outside shot.
“Are you wet yet?”
Lydia-on-film looked disgusted and clicked her tongue. “Is that how you seduce people, Evgeny? Porn dialogue?”
“Oh, oh, oh, excuse me!” Evgeny swooped into shot, pulling Lydia to her feet and dancing lightfootedly around the floor with her. “Is that what you want? Seduction?”
She laughed as he whirled her around, a high, giddy sound.
“Evgeny!”
Out of breath and pink-faced, they span to a halt, then Evgeny bent to take a kiss and the camera caught their mouths crashing together and their tongues battling forward, while Evgeny’s hands explored the length and breadth of Lydia’s body.
In the hotel room, Lydia began to feel her body drift out of her control, her nipples stiffening and her pussy melting in anticipation of those hands on her again, plus two more.
Milan, attuned to her racing pulse and flushing cheek, unbuttoned her shirt and slid his hand inside, his lips dabbing at her neck and shoulders.
“Put your hand on her leg,” he told Evgeny, who obeyed, clapping his palm on her stocking-clad knee and rubbing it, tickling the sensitive skin underneath.
On the film, the kissing couple had tumbled backwards on to the bed and were rolling around, limbs entwined, hair everywhere.
Evgeny had managed to straddle her, ruthlessly divesting her of her striped, long-sleeved T-shirt, then her jeans. In socks and underwear, she wriggled beneath him in a pretence of reluctance, but he leant forward and pinned her by her upper arms, diving back into a kiss that ended much farther down her body than it started.
Her bra was next to go, leaving her breasts vulnerable to the voracious hands and teeth of the Belarusian, who took full advantage of them. While Evgeny-on-film nipped and lapped, Evgeny-in-reality inched Lydia’s skirt upwards. The nylon of the stockings felt humid and clingy now, and her knickers were soaked. Milan was unabashedly fondling her breasts inside their bra cups, whispering in her ear about what a filthy, fuckable little slut she was and how she was going
to get the seeing-to of her life that night. Lydia moaned as Evgeny reached her stocking top and his fingers hit bare thigh.
On the film, Lydia was naked. Evgeny had unbuckled his belt with a matador flourish and flung it across the room. He growled and pushed Lydia’s legs wide apart, then began to eat her out with the single-minded determination of a wild animal while she uttered broken sounds and hid her face from the camera with a forearm.
“How did that feel?” Milan’s voice was silk in her ears, taking her mind off the pinching in her nipples. “Evgeny’s tongue on your clit?”
“He was rough and greedy.” She sighed. Evgeny’s fingers were inside her knickers now, dabbling in the juices they found there. “Like a ravenous wolf.”
Both men chuckled at the image.
“Looks like he’s getting a feast,” said Milan. He eased Lydia’s shirt off and unhooked her bra, then reached down for the zipper of her skirt. Evgeny took over, shifting it down over her thighs while Milan bit and sucked at the base of Lydia’s neck, ravaging the soft skin there.
Once Lydia was down to hold-up stockings and knickers, Evgeny returned his hand to the wetness beneath the silky material, but this time his fingers were joined by another set.
Lydia lifted her bottom from the bed and moaned as the two men fingered her ruthlessly, covering every part of her slick, sensitive sex while she ground against them. The film blurred and distorted, though she vaguely knew that, in it, Evgeny was fucking her now, his taut muscled arse rising and falling with gathering speed while the camera watched indifferently.
In reality, the champagne glasses lay abandoned on the floor while Lydia lay back and spread herself, at the mercy of her two lovers, one of whom—she didn’t know which—wrenched down her knickers and pulled her thighs wider. She arched her knees and stared at the whirling ceiling, wishing it was mirrored like Milan’s so she could gaze up at the decadent tableau they must make.
Fingers were everywhere, between her lips, flicking at her clit, pushing up inside her cunt, stroking her skin and pulling her bum cheeks apart. One of them had a hand on her breasts, kneading and pinching them while the hard work went on below.
“We’re going to make you come and come, and come again tonight,” said Milan, and his words came out in savage puffs of warmth on her clit, his hair brushing her thighs. “You’re going to lose count.”
She heard herself cry out in orgasmic rapture on the laptop, and her real voice joined the recorded version while she bucked and kicked against the force of her climax, spending on two sets of hands, feeling two sets of male breath laugh against her pussy.
“You’re definitely ready,” said Milan. “We’ve trained you well. Okay.” He switched off the video recording. “Now to the real business. Come down, miláčku, come down, that’s right.” He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead until her breathing regulated.
Evgeny kept a steadying hand on her thigh, as if he thought she might rear up, though nothing could be further from her mind.
“Was that good?” whispered Milan. “From the way you are trembling, I think it was.”
“Good,” said Lydia faintly. “Very.”
“Well, Evgeny, I think we are wearing too many clothes. Let’s let Lydia catch her breath for a minute while I…”
Lydia watched Milan reach over to the other man and pull him forwards by the belt of his trousers, which he proceeded to unbuckle. Lydia hadn’t seen this look on Evgeny’s face since that fateful, rainy night at the Barbican when she had first become aware of their relationship—he seemed to transmute from sulky, arrogant brat to adoring submissive at the first hint of Milan’s touch. His wide, lash-fringed eyes betrayed a vulnerability Lydia had rarely seen and he lifted his arms, wordlessly allowing Milan to pull his sweater over his head and expose his pale, hairless chest with its peaked little nipples. Milan pressed a fingernail into one of the nipples and Evgeny gasped, tensed slightly, but didn’t withdraw an inch.
Next, the trousers and boxers came down simultaneously, and Evgeny’s erect cock sprang up, only to be firmly enfolded in Milan’s fist and given a brief pump.
“It’s not just Lydia who’s ready,” commented Milan. “You’re always ready, aren’t you, slutboy?”
“Yes,” breathed Evgeny, his eyes closed and head thrown back. “God, yes.”
“Have you seen this, Lydia?”
She certainly had, and she nodded to that effect.
“Of course you’ve seen it. Lots of times,” Milan continued. “You’ve had it in your mouth, your pussy, between your tits. Where do you want it now?”
“Mouth,” said Lydia, who had decided beforehand that Milan would be the man to fuck her properly, while Evgeny could pick up what was left.
The Belarusian did not look disappointed with this deal, however, and he smiled wickedly as Lydia rose to her knees and took his shaft in reverent hands. She glanced up at him before bending her head to her task—he looked like a czar, proudly ruling over his concubine. So different to the way he had looked for Milan. Lydia felt a moment of misgiving, wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life, but then Milan gave a gentle nudge to the nape of her neck and she plunged down, accepting the familiar, bulbous end of Evgeny’s cock into her mouth.
Her tongue worked deftly while her lips stretched, letting him in inch by inch. Behind her, she registered the rustling of clothes, then the snap of rubber. Milan had a plan.
“He tastes good, doesn’t he, miláčku?” The seductive voice was close to her and he placed a hand on her flank, stroking it up and down. “I know he does. I make him eat half a pineapple every day, you know. It sweetens the juices.”
Lydia almost snorted mid-suck, but she held her nerve and carried on.
“Your juices don’t need sweetening, do they? Let me check.”
She whimpered, despite her full mouth, as Milan dipped a finger between her pussy lips and ran it back and forth until it was coated. The smacking sound of his lips and a long, ‘Mmm…’ expressed his verdict.
“No, quite sweet enough,” he said.
Then his hands were on her hips and his chin and nose nudging inside her thighs, and he pushed his tongue up inside her, gorging himself while she quivered under his attentions. Evgeny put a hand on top of her head, holding her in position as if he were afraid she might pop off and abandon him in favour of Milan’s masterful tongue. She sucked harder, not wanting to disappoint him.
Milan drew a final zigzag around her clit then took his mouth away, keeping his hold on her hips and positioning her so that her bottom was raised and her thighs wide.
She had to stop sucking at the moment of penetration, needing to revel in it without distraction. She always loved that instant of being entered, filled and taken, especially by Milan whose cock was the perfect satisfying length and width. Slackening her lips around Evgeny’s manhood, she waited until Milan’s haunches bumped hers before resuming the blowjob with a vengeance.
She was tossed back and forth like a ship on a rough sea, pushed forward by Milan with each thrust so that Evgeny had to shift a little bit farther back until his feet hit the headboard. Then they achieved an ideal state of tension, with Evgeny resisting Milan’s efforts to force him into the wall, so that Lydia felt she was being crushed from both ends, caught between the rock of Milan and the hard place of Evgeny.
Suddenly her mouth filled with saline creaminess and Evgeny yanked at her hair while he puffed and sighed above her. He managed to hold her tight while Milan continued to fuck her, caressing her breasts all the while. Lydia kept her mouth over Evgeny’s softening cock, somehow needing it to feel complete, while Milan moved closer and closer to her G-spot.
“Look at her, Evgeny. She can’t stop sucking you.”
“I know. She likes to have her mouth full.”
“Did she do it right?”
“Oh yes. She’s had practice.”
“I know Lydia never misses a practice…” Milan panted, and Lydia flew into her orgasm, grippi
ng Evgeny’s thighs hard and moaning around his cock. This seemed to give the signal for Milan to let go of himself and pour out his own climax. The room seemed to spin and surge with sex as the three of them collapsed into a steamy embrace, kissing and sighing into inertia.
The evening had only just begun.
It continued with room service, spoon-feeding, cream smeared on breasts and licked from fleshy crevices, bubble baths full of slippery limbs, more champagne, Milan and Evgeny showing Lydia how the boys do it, Milan and Lydia showing Evgeny how to do it standing up, more kissing, more tongues, more fingers, more orgasms.
When midnight struck, Lydia and Evgeny were in the sixty-nine position while Milan slid a lubricated finger up Lydia’s back passage, testing her for resistance.
“This is what comes next,” Milan told her darkly, rotating his fingertip inside the tight little space, finding the limits. “I want to have your arse while Evgeny takes your cunt. I want to have you filled so full you can’t think. I’m going to do the dirtiest things you can imagine to you, and I’m going to make you want them.”
Lydia came, for the fifth time that night, almost weeping with exhaustion, over Evgeny’s tongue. Milan’s finger in her bottom made her feel so bad, so used, so filthy and so hot. She had a vague feeling she ought to be ashamed of herself, and that turned her on even more.
Evgeny conceded defeat. “I don’t have any more in me,” he said, letting Lydia off the hook—or the cock. “I give up.”
Milan released Lydia from his anal explorations, and she sank back into his arms, yawning.
Evgeny stood up, dishevelled and slightly flustered.
“You want to shower?” Milan asked lazily.
“Yes. But I’ll do it in my room.”
“What? You aren’t staying the night? Hey, the bed is big enough.”
“It’s okay. I want a bit of space now.”
Lydia felt the muscles of Milan’s forearm stiffen around her stomach.
“What’s this bullshit? Space? You’ve never wanted to leave early before.”
“I need my sleep, Milan. It’s too uncomfortable with three in the bed. It’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Highly Strung Page 8
