The dress was a simple affair, easily removed, and Milan made quick work of getting it around her ankles and out of the way.
Onto the thick pile carpet she fell, on her knees. She let Milan position her on all fours, then she cried out, half-surprised, half-ecstatic, when he roughly pulled aside her knickers, unbuttoned himself and shoved straight into her without warning.
She had expected a little more foreplay, though it was hardly necessary, given the furtive humidity of her pussy.
Milan had noticed this too, sighing deeply as he sank into the hilt before stopping to tell her how tight and wet she was.
“You need this as much as I do,” he whispered. “Maybe more. Hold tight, miláčku, because you’re going to get it.”
Lydia let out a little yelp with each firm forward thrust. Milan kept the pressure high from the start, holding her by her breasts, rolling her nipples while he pumped into her.
“You haven’t been fucked like this in a while, hey?”
He was right, but how did he know? Lydia was a little too caught up in the moment to let the thought crystallise, though, and she carried on whimpering and feeling the carpet get rougher and rougher against her poor knees.
He moved one hand to her hip and held it with pinching fingers while he increased to a yet more brutal pace. Lydia felt the sting inside her, but she wanted it, wanted his length and thickness to make its presence felt. How had she gone without this for so long? Her cunt spread and stretched under the onslaught, as if eager to take as much as he could give and more.
“You know you can’t live without it,” he breathed. She no longer felt the hand on her hip, but now his fingers were at her clit, rubbing and stroking for dear life.
She moaned into the carpet, barely able to breathe, her fingers curled around the fibres. Milan’s thrusting made a slap-slap-slap noise against her upper thighs and the curve of her bottom. His cock felt huge inside her and she knew she would still be feeling the effects tomorrow. The thought of it, added to the stimulating effect of his fingers on her bud, tipped her into orgasm.
Yes, yes, yes, she was filled with his length again and she was his.
Milan slapped her thigh as she came then rode her into his own climax, high and straight-spined behind her. She peeked around and saw his eyes tight-closed and his face in pained ecstasy.
She loved him too much.
Then she realised something.
Milan pulled out slowly, but however careful he was, he couldn’t prevent a little trickle of his seed from leaking out and down her thigh.
“That was what we needed,” he said thickly, lying down on his back beside her, his face turned to hers. One of her cheeks lay against the carpet while the other offered its heat to the ceiling.
“Milan,” she said, finding the power of speech with some difficulty.
He kissed the tip of her nose and bunched his fingers in her hair, which was lank and heavy now.
“My love, my Lydia,” he said.
“You didn’t…”
“Hmm?”
“Protection,” she whispered.
“You’re on contraceptive pill, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“I always use a condom with everybody else. I am safe, I am clean. You know I would never do anything to put you at risk. You know that, yes?”
“Yes.” And she did. Bizarre and unreliable as Milan’s behaviour could be at times, he was scrupulous about sexual etiquette. “But you don’t know about me…”
“Yes, I do.”
“What? You haven’t been stalking me in my bedroom, have you?”
He yawned and gave her a feline smile. “No need.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone knows von Ritter can’t get it up.”
Lydia sat bolt upright and slapped at Milan’s arm.
“That’s not even true! And who’s ‘everyone’?”
“Sarah knows quite a few of his old girlfriends, from the BDSM clubs.”
“Sarah’s a bitch.”
“Yes.” Milan nodded. “She is. But she knows a lot of people and she fucked his best friend for years, so… I think I believe her.”
“Well, she’s talking bollocks, if you’ll excuse my language.”
Milan burst out laughing and pulled her back down by the elbow until she lay in his arms.
“Excuse your language? You are so sweet.”
“I’ve seen the lovely Sarah give Karl-Heinz a blow job, as it happens. And she swallowed. So she knows for a fact that he can get it up and he’s far from impotent.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” said Milan dismissively, “he can do it in a girl’s mouth. But that’s it. Nothing else. Or is all my information wrong? Hey? You should know. Tell me.”
Lydia wished for a moment that she could. It would be satisfying to wipe the self-satisfied smirk from Milan’s face.
But she had to shake her head.
“I think you’re wrong about him not being able to maintain an erection for penetration, though,” she said earnestly. “I think he can. But he has to work up to it.”
“Whatever,” drawled Milan. “I don’t want to talk about the man’s intimate sexual dysfunction.”
“Well, neither do I,” huffed Lydia, feeling cross at being drawn into a discussion that seemed deeply disloyal.
“Good. But it was okay not to use the condom? That’s what we really need to know.”
“It wasn’t necessary,” she admitted. “But you should have said something beforehand.”
“I couldn’t wait. And the last thing I wanted to think about was you in the sack with him.” Milan seized her hand and knitted their fingers tight together.
“I thought you weren’t the jealous type.”
“I’m not. But I don’t like to think of him satisfying you more than I do. I don’t like to think of that at all.”
“You’re such an egomaniac.”
“But you love me.”
“You’re bloody lucky that I do. Or I’d have killed you by now.”
He kissed her, soft and sweetly.
“Tonight it will be me who kills you,” he said. “With sex. Oh, look at your poor knees!”
He caressed the raw-rubbed patches.
“Oh God, carpet burn,” she said, squinting down at them. “Better wear trousers to tomorrow’s rehearsal.”
“You’d better stay on your back in bed tonight,” he said. “And that’s lucky, because it’s just where I want you.”
Chapter Four
“I think the interviews for the new Leader are overrunning,” replied Ben to Vanessa’s repeated complaint that the rehearsal was very late in starting. “I know they were doing them this morning and von Ritter’s obviously on the panel. I guess we just wait.”
He struck himself on the head with a drumstick, harder than he intended. The look on his face made Vanessa laugh then sigh.
“Idiot. Just because you were dropped on your head as a baby doesn’t mean you can reverse the process with a drumstick.”
“Ooh, you cheeky mare.” He brandished the drumstick in her direction. “Watch your step. There’s a lot of things you can do with this.”
“Like sticking it where the sun don’t shine?” she replied smartly.
He put it down and whacked discontentedly at a glockenspiel instead.
“It is a bit boring, isn’t it?” he conceded.
All around them, the orchestra players fussed and chatted and tuned their instruments for the nineteenth time. The noise became more deafening with every minute of lost practice.
“We could have had an extra half hour in bed,” grumbled Vanessa.
“Mmm.” The faraway bliss that dimmed Ben’s eyes put a smile back on her face.
“To sleep,” she said firmly. “There was quite enough of the other already.”
But the memory of it had put a glow in her cheeks and perked up her mood.
Ben had a habit of waking her up slowly, infiltrating her edge-of-sleep dreaming
by running his tongue lightly and gently around her pussy. She would be roused from filthy dreams to the reality of her lover’s mouth on her clit, his warm breath bringing her gently to wakefulness.
“Good morning, madam,” he would say, his voice buzzing tantalisingly against tender flesh. “I hope you’re enjoying the service.”
Her moans of sleepy delight were encouragement enough, leading to a more thorough version that ended in an arched back and bucking hips.
Gorgeous as it was, it made her want to go straight back to sleep again afterwards.
But that would be rude, so she repaid his hospitality by taking every inch of Ben’s morning glory into her mouth and drinking deep of his cream.
She washed it down with orange juice on those occasions. On others, she climbed on top of him and gave him a leisurely morning ride. She loved to watch his still-drowsy face and his awkward, messy hair while she ground herself down on him, nice and slow.
It was so much better than an alarm call.
“Do you want a drink from the machine?” she asked, blushing at these recent memories, sure that the brass players next to them would know what they had been up to. The brass players always seemed to assume everyone was shagging everybody else, though, so they might as well prove them right.
“Yeah, go on. Black coffee, ta.”
Vanessa sauntered out of the rehearsal hall into the lobby where the vending machines were stationed. Taking her time choosing between latte and cappuccino, she didn’t notice a group of people crossing the floor behind her until she sensed a presence hovering very close to her left shoulder.
“I thought you were a fruit tea kind of girl.”
She clenched her fist around the handful of coins she carried and she spun around, horrified.
“You! What are you doing here?”
“Fruit tea. Fruity. Actually, you were both.”
The man in front of her smiled, slowly and with a measure of gloating triumph.
“Long time no see, Ness,” he said.
“There’s a reason for that,” she replied tightly.
“Bygones, love,” he said, with a tut. “You’re going to have to let them be bygones. Because we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.” He extended his hand. “I’m the new Leader.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she blurted, stepping back so that her spine bumped the coffee machine.
“I don’t think I will, actually,” he said, his smile sharkier than ever. “But thanks for the suggestion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk contractual terms with Lord Bicester.”
Vanessa was too stunned to move—all she could do was stand there watching the man’s impressive frame swagger back across the hall.
Strange, she thought, how every man she had dated since him had been his physical opposite. Milan, slender and sinuous as a panther, and now Ben with his lanky limbs and sweet face. Yet her ex-husband was a powerhouse of a man, built like a rugby prop forward with huge shoulders and a barrel chest.
And his face, craggy and rough-hewn, wasn’t the kind of face she’d normally look twice at. Permanent stubble and small, hot, blue eyes—a bit like a less flabby Henry VIII—but the suggestion of sensuality he exuded was so strong that she had given into it easily. Yes, much too easily, without reflection or a pause for consideration. She had rushed headlong into marriage with Dafydd ap Hughes and she had certainly repented at leisure.
She shut her eyes and shook her head as he disappeared up the stairs.
This had to be a bad dream. She was going to wake up any minute.
Except von Ritter walked across the hall, shaking her out of her unpleasant trance and proving that everything was quite real.
“Vanessa? Come on, we must rehearse. I am unfortunately late.”
She followed him back into the rehearsal room and sat down beside Ben, avoiding his eye.
“Too late, eh?” he said. “Ah well, at least we can start playing now.”
“Let the games begin,” she muttered.
“What?”
She shook her head and took up her position for the Mendelssohn overture von Ritter had mentioned from the podium.
But her mind was not on her music today and von Ritter took her to task for forgetting to come in at the right bar, something he had never had to do before.
She was almost in tears by the end of the rehearsal and when Lydia passed, violin case in hand, she grabbed at her arm.
“Time for a coffee?” she said, so desperately that Lydia’s face assumed an immediate expression of concern.
“I was just going to ask you the same question,” she said.
“Brilliant. Let’s go.”
“Um,” said Ben, appearing over Vanessa’s shoulder. “I thought we were going to see that film?”
“Oh. Ben. I’m sorry. I just don’t feel up to it. Would you mind if we postponed? We can go tomorrow instead.”
“Are you okay?” The anxiety in his voice brought her even closer to the edge of tears.
“Fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired. I need an evening off.”
“I didn’t realise I was some kind of tough job that you need to take breaks from,” said Ben, a tad huffily. “Okay, sure. I’ll, er, see you tomorrow then.”
“You know I didn’t mean it that way,” said Vanessa to his retreating back, but he just lifted a hand and waved silently on his way to the door.
“He’ll be all right,” said Lydia, touching her forearm.
“Shit,” said Vanessa, her voice wobbling. “Will he?”
“Of course he will. He adores you. Come on. Let’s get that coffee. I’ve got all sorts to tell you.”
“So have I.”
Vanessa and Lydia took giant glass towers of coffee over to a corner table and set them down carefully before seating themselves.
“You go first,” said Vanessa, a little calmer now she wasn’t sharing a building with Dafydd.
“Oh, mine’s the usual. I shagged Milan.”
Vanessa laughed despite herself. “That’s not news,” she said. “That’s just inevitable. And? One-night stand? Or is he a reformed character now?”
“That’s what I’m trying to work out. I probably should save the sleeping with him bit until after I’ve worked it out, but what the hell? I might as well enjoy myself.” She took a reckless slug of coffee and wiped the froth off her upper lip.
“Good on you, girl,” said Vanessa. “He’s given you enough heartache. Just have a bit of fun—you deserve it. Oh. What about von Ritter though?”
Lydia grimaced.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt him. I really like him. And I’ve told him how things are… God, perhaps I should just tell him it’s over. But it might not be…”
“Well, what a delightful dilemma,” said Vanessa. “Two hot men on a string. Your violin string.”
“I feel like a bit of a tart,” she confided. “But I’m not ready to choose yet.”
“Well, if they aren’t forcing you to, just go with it. Go with the flow, man.” Vanessa half-closed her eyes and blew out imaginary marijuana smoke. “You need to mellow out.”
“I think I’m the least mellow person on the planet. Plus, Milan is so bitchy about Karl-Heinz, it makes me want to stick by him and defend him.”
“Yeah, Milan needs to learn that he doesn’t endear himself to people by slagging off everyone else. He can’t stand competition, can he?”
Lydia sighed. “Nope.”
“That’s why he needs some. Keep him on his toes.”
“You could be right.”
There was a pause while both women assessed their coffee for readiness to drink. Still too hot.
“So,” said Lydia. “Is everything okay between you and Ben? Apart from that little tiny glitch back there?”
Vanessa stared into her cappuccino foam.
“It was,” she said. “It was perfect. Too good to last.”
“What? You’re not going to finish it, are you? Ness, you can’t. You two are
so good together. He makes you so happy. It’s not the age gap thing, is it?”
“No, no, nothing to do with that. It’s, oh God, I don’t know where to start really.”
“Jeez, you’re shaking. Something’s really got to you, hasn’t it? Ness, what is it?”
“I know who the new Leader is. I guess they’ll announce it on Monday.”
“What?” Lydia’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s that got to do with you and Ben?”
“It’s my husband.”
Lydia looked blank for a moment, then her jaw dropped.
“What? The new Leader is your ex?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God.”
“Exactly.”
Vanessa braved the scalding coffee and took a gulp. It burnt her throat and made her chest constrict but it seemed appropriate somehow.
“You never talk about him,” said Lydia quietly. “What’s he…like?”
“An evil bastard. That’s what he’s like.”
“Tell me.”
Vanessa smiled weakly. “This is a cautionary tale. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
“I’ve made plenty of my own.”
“But you’re working through it, Lyd. You’re getting there. Anyway. I met Dafydd at the Royal College of Music when we were both eighteen. He, as I’m sure you’ve worked out for yourself, was studying violin. In the first week of term he was very rude in the canteen about percussionists and we became mortal enemies from that day.”
“Oh no. Enemies to lovers.”
“Not for a long time. We didn’t get together at college. He was constantly baiting me, though, and trying to get a reaction from me.”
“Like a boy in the playground tugging your pigtails? So he fancied you then.”
Vanessa shook her head. “I didn’t realise at the time—but you’re quite right. He craved my attention and did worse and worse things to get it. But of course, I was an ice maiden.”
Lydia laughed. “That’s the last thing you are.”
“Okay, I wasn’t an ice maiden. But I had a boyfriend. A nice boyfriend, called Shaun.”
“What happened to him?”
“After we graduated, he got a place in the Ulster Orchestra. We tried to keep the relationship going, but it was too long-distance in the end. Anyway, I’ll never forget the day I got my acceptance from the WSO. I went up to Dafydd in the canteen, got right down in his face and said, ‘You’ll never guess who I’m playing for next season. Only the bloody Westminster Symphony’. And he reached into his pocket and just held out his acceptance letter for me to read. From, of course, the WSO. I wanted to sink into the ground. Talk about good news, bad news.”
Close Harmony Page 4
