Musical Beds (10 page)

Lydia rose and snatched the bottle from the bedside table.

“This is going down the sink,” she said.

In the bathroom, she upended it, watching the potent liquid that was stripping her Milan down to nothing disappear through the plughole. The room stank of alcohol, so she pumped air freshener liberally over the basin.

Milan had made no effort to stop her and, when she came back into the bedroom, having tossed the empty bottle into the recycling box, she stood at the foot of the bed with her arms folded.

“Okay, Milan, this is how it’s going to be. You can’t look after yourself and you don’t seem to have the wherewithal or the self-discipline to kick the drinking, so I’m going to move in here.”

He made an effort to straighten his spine.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. I am not going to stand by and watch you ruin all your chances, I’m just not. Because, despite everything, I love you and I want you to be happy.”

“Oh, Lydia…” He held out his hands, but she waved him away.

“This doesn’t mean I’m your girlfriend again. I’m not sharing your bed. I’m not going near you physically until this…phase…is over. Do you understand?”

“No sex?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I think this is my apartment…last time I checked…”

“You aren’t capable of acting like an adult, so I’m going to be, I don’t know, some kind of guardian or whatever, until you are. It’s that, or I tell the trustees.”

“You fucking wouldn’t.”

“I fucking would. Try me.”

“You know, I don’t think I want to try you. You are frightening me right now.”

Lydia smiled. She felt a surge of wonderful, powerful optimism. Amazing things happened when you found your strength. She was going to get Milan back on his feet and she wasn’t going to take even an ounce of crap from him this time.

“It’s only because I care about you,” she said, more gently. “You are one of the most incredible people I’ve ever known, and I can’t bear to see you like this.”

“So I have a nursemaid.”

“Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as a friend who wants to take care of you.”

His lips curved sardonically.

“It should be me taking care of you,” he said.

“You can’t. Not now. You just need to get off the booze, that’s all. Anyway, let’s start with food. I’m going to cook you something and you’re going to eat it. Then I want to hear your
Lark Ascending
.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

She thought, with momentary regret, of Vanessa and Ben on their picnic rug enjoying the sunshine, instead of cooped up in this trashed flat with an alcoholic. But she didn’t let it sway her. Picnics in parks would happen again. Milan’s health was the pressing issue.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

Heading for the kitchen, she called Vanessa to let her know she wouldn’t be back that weekend. Vanessa tried to demur, to lure her back, but Lydia had made up her mind.

She made herself and Milan an omelette and salad with what sparse ingredients remained in his fridge—apart from all the vodka and champagne—and they ate together, Milan slightly more sober after showering and dressing. Well, half dressing. He wore a pair of jeans and nothing else. Lydia tried not to be distracted by his chest and those sinewy, strong upper arms as he toyed with his food.

“So it’s two months until the Prom,” she said. “Eight or nine weeks. I’m staying here until then, at least.”

Milan shredded some salad leaves between his fingers, never putting anything into his mouth.

“When did this happen to you?” he wondered aloud.

“When I met you. It’s been happening ever since then. I used to be such a pushover at first—but I’m not anymore.”

“Hmm.” He raised bleary eyes to her. “I liked you when you were a pushover.”

“I know. But I didn’t like it much.”

“Lydia, I want you here. That isn’t a problem. But I want you here as a lover. Not some kind of jailer.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. And I know you aren’t.”

“Okay, but I have to tell you—eight or nine weeks without sex isn’t going to happen.” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

“What are you saying?”

“Maybe I’ll bring people back here with me. How will you feel about that?”

She stared at him, stumped. Would he really do that?

“What, to sleep with?”

“No, not to sleep with. To fuck. Well?”

She swallowed, less keen on the omelette all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong with your right hand?” she asked, her voice crooked.

“My bowing hand? I need to keep it rested.”

He showed his teeth. You couldn’t really call it a smile.

“Would you be so cruel?”

“Cruel? It’s not me moving in with somebody and denying them sex.”

“I’m not saying never…”

“You are out of your depth, Lydia. If you love me, be my lover. If you don’t, go home.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Fair? When am I fair?”

It was a valid point. He stood up and stalked around the table, crouching over her shoulder, taking the fork from her hand, putting it down. She shut her eyes, weakened by his hot breath next to her ear.

“If you stay in this house, you stay in my bed,” he whispered. “Those are my terms.”

“The trustees,” she said, clutching at her bargaining chip, but feeling it slip from her fingers with each moment he stood close to her.

“You don’t want to tell them. I know you don’t. You don’t want to hurt me.”

He put his hand on her neck and she knew she’d lost the battle.

But the war could still be won—the larger struggle of getting Milan to stop drinking and start functioning as a human being again.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she admitted. “And you know I still love you. But I don’t think it’s right…”

“I don’t think it’s right, I don’t think it’s right,” he mimicked, sliding his hands down her front, clasping them under her breasts, leaning right into her and kissing the side of her face. “What’s not right? The way I touch you?”

“No… You know what I mean…” She breathed more heavily, feeling herself cutting adrift from her common sense and resolve.

“What’s not right? Two people who love each other, giving each other pleasure?” His fingers curved under the hem of her top, brushing the soft skin of her stomach.

“Milan…”

“I’ll stop drinking for you. Come back to me. That’s all I want.”

Her heart flipped and all her resistance dissolved.

“All right,” she said.

He pulled off her top and cupped her breasts, kissing her neck with ravishing skill.

More sex, less drink
, thought Lydia hazily.
It could be a good thing.

She let him help her out of the chair and move her, his hands on her shoulders, to the bedroom.

“I’ll play for you,” he promised, “but not until I’ve played
with
you first.”

He pushed her down on the bed on her back, kneeling astride her, kissing her hard while their jeans buttons clicked and snagged together at their waists.

Once again, Lydia had to ask herself how she had ever lived without this, when the feel of his lips on hers was the only thing she could ever want in the world. She surrendered to the moment, pushing her fingers eagerly into his hair. She detected the traces of alcohol behind the fresh toothpaste and salad dressing, but it was faint enough now not to taint his breath.

His bare chest pressed down on hers, and her nipples hardened and pushed into him. Mid-kiss, he took off her bra and dropped it off the side of the bed. They rolled over and over, pressing denim-clad crotches together until the jeans had to go. Unbuttoned and discarded in a fever, they lay on the floor while their owners enjoyed free-limbed, naked embraces under Milan’s ceiling mirror.

His erection pushed insistently at the soft skin of her inner thigh. She took his face in her hands and kissed it all over, amazed to be doing this when she had feared she might never get the chance again.
Please don’t play games with my heart
was her silent prayer. He flipped her onto her back and buried his mouth in her neck, nipping and sucking. His cock had reached her pussy now and it ground against the thin barrier of her knickers, his intent unmistakably clear.

She arched her back to push the knickers down and expose the truth she could no longer hide—her wetness, her heat, her readiness for him.

“You couldn’t live without this,” said Milan hotly in her ear. “You would have come back to me, sooner or later.”

She felt she ought to deny it, but she would have convinced nobody, especially not herself.

With the fervour of starvation, she pulled his body against hers, her hands clasped around his back, feeling the tremendous power of him as his shoulder blades flexed beneath them.

The kisses turned ferocious, holding her in thrall while he dealt with the condom, never letting her forget what she was in for.

“Say you need me,” he demanded, rubbing his tip up and down her slit, crossing her clit with each pass.

“I need you.” But not as much as you need me.

Thoroughly lubricated, he rested the bulbous end of his cock at the very outer reaches of her cunt, as if waiting for her to give the word.

“Mmm,” he said, making the tiniest moves around and back and forth. “Something is very wet here.”

“Yes, yes, please.” She wriggled her hips and clenched her fists at the back of his neck.

“You want something?”

“Please, Milan…”

He moved an inch forward then stopped.

The tantalising effect on Lydia almost drove her wild. He was in her and yet not in her. She had a fraction of what she needed. It was almost worse than having nothing of it at all.

“Please, more,” she whimpered.

“More? More of what?”

“More of your cock,” she explicated, her cheeks flaming into heated life.

“You want to get fucked?”

“You know it.”

“Good.”

Another inch—oh, it felt so good. Her walls began to stretch and a spasm of some kind of pre-pleasure quaked through her. She needed more, urgently and immediately.

“How much do you want this?” asked Milan.

“So much, God, so much.”

“What would you do for it?”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, that’s a good answer. I want you, like this, whenever I set eyes on you, Lydia. I want to know that I only have to look at you and you are flat on your back.”

“You can have that. You already have that.”

“I know.”

Another inch—oh, getting closer now, closer to the feeling of fullness and possession that she craved. He rocked gently back and forth, circling and dipping in her shallow end.

“All the way,” she gasped. “Please, all the way.”

“But I’m enjoying this,” he said. “And, you know, I might not have much self-control in most things, but, when it comes to fucking, I can hold myself back for hours. I’ll show you sometime. Maybe today.”

“Oh, Jeez, Milan, no. Please just fuck me.”

“You don’t want finesse today? You don’t want technique?”

“No! I just want a good seeing to. This is unbearable.”

She was trembling now, her legs like jelly, her skin breaking into beads of perspiration. He granted her another inch. Now he was halfway there, and she was halfway to madness.

“Okay, Lydia,” he said, twisting and turning in his semi-sheathed state. “Now shall we talk about my
Lark Ascending
?”

“Oh, God, Vanessa was right about you! You are a sadist.”

“What?” He reared up, braced on his palms and stared down at her, boundlessly amused. “Vanessa said that? What did she mean?”

“Nothing. Forget I said it.”

“No, no.” He made a move as if to withdraw.

Lydia yelped and tried to clamp her legs around his bottom, trapping him inside her.

“Don’t you dare,” she panted.

“You tell me what Vanessa was talking about, then you get the full service, madam.”

“She told me about this club you took her to in New York.”

“Oh.” He chuckled in reminiscence. “I see.”

“I didn’t realise you were into BDSM.”

“I’m into everything, miláčku.”

“Yeah, I should have known.”

“So what, you want me to spank your ass? I can do that for you.”

“Milan, you know what I want. It’s right here, inside me. But I want more of it.”

“Okay. We do the kinky stuff later, right?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too much. That’s always your problem, you know.”

“I don’t want to think any more, Milan. I want to…”

“I know.”

Then, with a firm thrust, he was all the way in.

Lydia released a long, shuddering, contented sigh. It was enough, for a moment or two, just to savour the feeling of him filling and stretching her, joined with her, the way it should be.

She bent back her legs to give him all the space he needed, and twisted her hips in little corkscrewing motions as he plunged in and out. She wanted him to know how welcome he was. She wanted every bit of him, all poured into her, his essence, his soul. It seemed a fair exchange, when she gave her own so willingly.

The long build-up made Lydia’s climax swift and easy to claim, almost laughably so.

At least, it made Milan laugh, as he thrust through her moans and cries.

“You needed that, huh?” he grunted, increasing his speed.

“Oh, God, so much,” she said, shaking her head from side to side on the pillow, still glowing with the effervescence of orgasm.

“So do I.”

She treasured the rigidity of his arms and his gluteal muscles as his own release stormed through him. The rictus of near-pain on his usually composed face touched her heart and made her feel that she was, after all, doing the right thing.

She called Vanessa from the bathroom after her shower, hoping that Milan was still as sweetly asleep as he had been when she’d left him.

“Hi, Ness,” she said. “How’s the picnic?”

“You mean, how was the picnic? Delicious, and long gone, I’m afraid. Where are you?”

“I’m at Milan’s.”

Silence.

“Are you still with Ben?” Lydia hoped the answer was yes, hoped Vanessa’s day hadn’t been put too out of joint by her sudden flight.