Highly Strung (8 page)

Chapter Six

It seemed that all the expensive wrappings and trappings had been bought only to be taken off. The moment Milan got her through the door of his flat he pushed her against the wall and began undoing buttons, his mouth all the while working on her with hungry determination. By the time the coat fell to the floor, her lips were softened and wet from kissing, her cheeks burning and legs weak. He covered her bare arms and shoulders with his hands while he nuzzled her neck. He reached around, found the fastening of the dress, worked on it with lightning speed. The petticoats went the way of the dress; then Lydia stood, or rather swayed, in her precious underwear and barely-there stockings, ready for sex. Ready to be ravished.

Milan directed his right hand to her breasts, while with his left he gripped the underside of one thigh, pulling it high to wrap around his hip. Lydia whimpered into his mouth as her pubic triangle made contact with his bulging crotch. He upped the ante, grinding it against her, maintaining the high pressure of his tongue inside her mouth.

The sensual abandonment he transmitted infected her and she lost herself in lust, twisting against him, drawing him in, glorying in the surge of blood and spirit he aroused in her. It was like a delicious, exhilarating version of a fight, a fight that would end in pleasure rather than pain. Lydia found strength she had not known she possessed, struggling to bring him closer and harder, pinching and clutching, biting and kicking, but always forced in the end to submit to his superior power.

He jammed her thighs apart, unbuckled his belt and loosened his trousers, then brought one hand beneath her bottom to lift her upward so that her feet left the floor. She whimpered in alarm, but Milan kept her pinned to the wall, firmly in position, so that she let go of her momentary panic and helped him work on getting her legs wrapped around him and her arms holding tight, ready for the act of ultimate contact.

He was able, though it didn’t look easy, to reach inside a shirt pocket and find a condom while keeping her in place. Lydia hoped he was mindful of her aching spine and already straining thigh muscles and would make this fast and hard.

Once the condom was on, Milan wasted no time in sheathing himself with pinpoint accuracy, filling Lydia before she could prepare herself.

She gasped, pinned inexorably by his erection, held against the wall by his quivering body. His heart hammered, through the material of his shirt, against her flattened breasts. His eyes, when she looked up, were dark, almost angry. It felt as if he was punishing her for something. For making him want her? For what she had said about Mary-Ann? For being female, being there?

Whatever the reason, it provoked him to push strong, powerful thrusts into her, slamming her bottom into the wall, grunting into her mouth.

There was no tenderness here. All was raw and animal, barely concerned with her pleasure. She began to be afraid, began to try and push him back, but he finished almost immediately, pouring out his orgasm and accompanying it with a nip of her lip that felt as if it had drawn blood.

He drew back, gasping all over her, holding her so tightly the breath almost left her body, still inside her but softening.

“Milan,” she said and her voice wobbled, on the edge of tears.

He dropped his head down to her shoulder and groaned as if in pain.

“I’m sorry,
miláčku
,” he whispered. “So sorry. Did I hurt you?”

He lifted his face, searching her eyes, looking as stricken as she felt.

“A bit,” she admitted, her throat still thick and tight.

“I forget, sometimes.” He seemed to be speaking to himself.

Pulling out of her and discarding the condom, he gathered her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed while he crouched over her, stroking her sweating forehead.

“What do you forget?” asked Lydia in a broken whisper.

“That you’re a girl. And girls can’t always take it the same way. Evgeny likes it rough. I’ve got into the habit.”

“I thought I was going to break.” Tears slid down the side of Lydia’s face. Milan kissed them away.

“I promise I won’t break you. I am a stupid idiot. I get, what you say, carried away. Too much passion. I must learn to control it.”

“Violence isn’t passion.”

“No. You are right, Lydia.”

He lay down, holding her loosely, as if he thought anything tighter might snap a bone or two.

“Forgive me. I will be better next time.”

Lydia let her thoughts gather like clouds as she lay in his embrace.

Evgeny likes it rough
.

A plague on Evgeny and his complicating existence. Why couldn’t Milan be a simple soul who stuck to one lover at a time? Why couldn’t love be easy?

“I will run a bath for you,” said Milan. “For the rest of the day, I treat you like a princess. No more rough stuff.”

Lydia made an inarticulate sound that might have been assent or resignation, and he hopped off into the en suite bathroom and began running the taps.

She stared at her reflection in the ceiling mirror. The bite had not drawn blood, but her lower lip looked swollen and purplish. Her hair knotted and tangled all over the place and the beautiful bird of paradise on her knickers had been slashed with an irreparable rip across its plumage. Putting a hand to her inner thighs, she wondered if they would bruise—and the same thing went for her spine. Solid supporting walls were not easy on the coccyx during frantic standing-up sex, that was for sure. She would make a note of it.

The memory of Milan’s brutal fucking was somehow much more potently erotic than the reality, and she began replaying it in her mind while her fingertips lingered at the crease between thigh and groin. Her clit, which had been so rudely ignored during the sex, began to awaken, sending its vibes of longing through Lydia’s body, tensing it up once more after the relief of the end of the onslaught.

My turn now
. She put her fingers on the swelling flesh and pressed, keeping away from the sore area below, watching herself move her other hand to her breasts, palming them slowly and rhythmically.

“Come on in—the water’s lovely.” She heard Milan’s voice float through the en suite door. He had turned off the taps and it sounded as if he was in the bath.

“Just a moment,” she said dreamily, rubbing and lifting her hips towards the reflective glass.

“What are you doing? Can’t you move? Lydia?”

He sounded concerned and she clicked her tongue in exasperation, hearing him rise out of the bath and step out on to the floor. Couldn’t he wait five minutes?

“Hey!” he said, catching her in the act. Dripping wet, with just a towel held in front of him, he looked mouth-wateringly gorgeous and a little bit put out. He shook a finger at her.

“No orgasms happen in here without my involvement,” he scolded. “Even if I’m only watching. Take your naughty fingers out of your pussy.”

“Ohhh,” moaned Lydia, who had been rolling closer and closer to a sweetly anticipated climax.

“If you like, I’ll put my naughty fingers in there instead,” he offered, swooping down close to pull her up off her back and on to her feet. “That’s quite acceptable.”

“You live by some odd rules,” remarked Lydia, allowing him to lead her into the bathroom, where a bath topped with extravagant foaming bubbles awaited them.

“They are my rules,” he said, unhooking the bra and suspender belt. “I can’t live by any others.”

“Life could be hard for you, then,” she said, wriggling back against him as he put a hand over her mons.

“It has been already. But no more. I live my way, no arguments. And in my life, my woman does not come without my cock, or my tongue, or my fingers inside her. You understand?”

“Your woman,” snorted Lydia, but then she sighed as he found the needy clit bunched up and hidden inside the folds of her vulva.

“Mmm, this needs attention,” he said into her hair. “But get into the bath first. We can do that later.”

“Later!” Lydia did not think she could wait too long, but Milan’s raised eyebrow persuaded her to step into the bath and defer her gratification, at least for as long as it took to get lathered up and sponged down.

Milan attended to her so tenderly that it was hard to believe this was the man who had almost fucked her through the wall less than half an hour before. Nonetheless, Lydia trusted him, and leant back against him, letting the minor aches and pains dissolve into the frothy water. She breathed in the perfume of foam washes and shampoos while he treated her body like a rare and precious gift.

“Now you’re clean,” he said, grabbing a bath towel from the heated rail and helping to fold her into it, “we can get you good and dirty again.”

“You’re insatiable,” she said, hoping this might be true.

“It has been said,” he admitted.

Back on the bed, Lydia lay naked and with legs spread, floating on a current of sexual magnetism and desire. Milan took his time, teasing her slowly with tongue and hands, covering every inch of her skin with thorough purpose.

He brought her to orgasm first with the tips of his fingers, then with broad strokes of his tongue. When the third wave approached, Lydia, sensitised to the point of madness, begged him to stop.

“Surely…you must want…” she panted, with a significant look at his growing cock.

“It’s about what you want now,” he said, bending and kissing her clit, folding his tongue over it in the process.

She shivered and tried to clamp her legs shut, but the position of his head prevented her.

“I want to make you come,” she said. “Like you’ve done for me.”

“I’d love to fuck you,
miláčku
, but I think it would hurt now…”

“No, I mean…” She tried to sit up, but he stopped her with a hand on her stomach.

“When you’ve come three times, we’ll talk about this.”

“But Milan,” she wailed, her clit throbbing and unbearably ticklish.

“I want you to know what I can do to you. And this is only the start.”

She lay back down.
In for a penny
, she thought. Then,
ohhhhwooooowarrrrrrgh.

Afterwards, Milan let her wrap her grateful lips around his cock and suck him until he gave his essences to her, thrashing and moaning, finally in her power. Lydia adored the knowledge that she had reduced this emblem of arrogance and potency to this shivering, mewling mess just with a few flicks of her tongue. She revelled in the act, trying to spin it out until her cheek muscles surrendered and she pumped him to his final crisis.

“Do you like to give head?” Milan asked sleepily, cradling her afterwards. “Some girls don’t.”

“I like what it does to you. I like the power.”

Milan chuckled.

“So do I. This could be interesting.”

Lydia paused, not sure she wanted to mention the wilder shores of Milan’s sex life in this intimate moment of coupledom, but too curious to resist.

“Does Evgeny like it too?”

“Evgeny? What about him?”

“Does he like power?”

“No, Evgeny does not like power, except as a receiver.”

“And does he give good…y’know…”

“Head? Yeah. He does. Why are you so interested in Evgeny suddenly?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? If you want us to work as a threesome.”

“Tchah, Lydia, it’s just sex. You don’t have to fall in love with him. You barely have to know him.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes and no.”

“Do you love anyone?”

Milan sighed.

“Not in the way you mean, probably.”

Lydia looked away, then glanced up at herself in the mirror.
This will never go anywhere. I should leave.
But Milan looked so sad, so defeated. He missed having love in his life. He wanted it.

“Have you ever loved anyone?”

“It’s very soon to be talking about love,” he almost snapped. “It’s like music, it comes when it comes. You can’t force it.”

“But you must
like
Evgeny? And me?”

“What, you have to like people to sleep with them? You like me? You think I’m a nice person?”

Lydia was stumped by that one.
Actually, no, not really
. But she couldn’t say it out loud.

“I don’t really know you,” she said at last.

“No.” He sounded bitterly satisfied, as if her answer vindicated his own self-loathing. “And you shouldn’t want to, either. But you should want to fuck me. One thing I know how to do is fuck. And play violin.”

“And conduct?”

“Yes, and conduct.”

He turned his head to regard Lydia intensely.

“Like your friend,” he said. “Mary-Ann.”

Lydia chewed the inside of her cheek, sensing that the conversation was about to take a sinister turn.

“When did you get so friendly?” he asked.

“Last night. Bumped into her in Starbucks then went to see that film at the ICA. She’s okay, Milan. I like her. She’s just trying to do her job.”

“It’s not her job to do.”

“Of course it is. The trustees appointed her.”

“It should be me.”

“Have you ever asked them why it isn’t? Perhaps they don’t know you want to conduct. Perhaps they’d be delighted to hear it.”

“No, they wouldn’t. They like me where I am, at the front of the violins, drawing the crowds. And besides, the trustees would never appoint me. They think I’m too…I don’t know.”

“Too what?”
Too Milan
.

“Unpredictable, I guess.”

“Why do they think that?”

“I went missing for a couple of months once, before
The Next Big String
was made. I went to Brazil. I had to. But I didn’t tell them and they weren’t too happy with me.”

“I don’t suppose they were! Why did you disappear like that?”

“I need to get away sometimes. They forgave me because they knew I was going to be making the show and it would drive concert sales. But they don’t like me. They’ll never give me the conductor role.”

“So why even bother with all this intrigue?”

“Because I can’t do things through the proper channels, so I have to take matters into my own hands. You’ve seen how loyal the orchestra is to me. They want me. The public wants me. In the end, that will convince them, I’m sure.”