Musical Beds (14 page)

He kissed so beautifully, too, not with Milan’s savage intensity, but with a measured self-assurance, an authority that made her believe it was right and proper. She held on to his arms and let herself fall under his spell, feeling such blessed relief at having him here with her, a man who was master of himself and not some raging fuck-up, for a change.

Breaking off, he put an arm around her, keeping his other hand on her face, so she had to look at him, his unfathomable eyes and his slightly parted lips.

“If I send you home now,” he said, “I suppose you will pretend none of this happened next time we meet.”

“No, I won’t,” said Lydia, stung.

“You will say it was the drink, the upset over Milan, you were on the rebound, et cetera.”

“I won’t,” she insisted.

“I want your promise.”

“I promise. But you could do the same thing.”

“Yes, I’m very attached to Milan Kaspar.” His tone was light, but she knew there was real venom behind it.

“Shut up. Don’t joke about that. I don’t know why you did that…just then…but you seem to be saying that you meant it. The kiss, I mean.”

“I did mean it. I meant it very seriously.”

“Perhaps,” said Lydia, not sure she dared say the words that had formed in her head, “you shouldn’t send me home, then.”

He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose.

“I don’t want to be accused of taking advantage,” he said. “I want to give you some time to think. But not too much time, because I have a feeling you think too much about things. So come and see me tomorrow after rehearsal, and we’ll talk.”

“Talk?” She held his gaze, feeling the full beam of its seductive intent.

“Perhaps more than talk,” he whispered, then he kissed her again. “I hope so. But, for now, let’s find a taxi and you can go home.”

Chapter Ten

By the time Lydia had made her way to the rehearsal—late, thanks to ridiculous staff shortages on the Tube again—she had made up her mind.

In the sober light of day, it was not a good idea. She was too raw over Milan, still in love with him and, besides, orchestral players should not shag their conductors. It was a recipe for disaster.

The Elgar Violin Concerto was already in full flow by the time she entered the hall, Milan playing with as much of that ferocious passion as she had ever heard from him. He sounded amazing and, for a while, all she could do was stand by the door and listen, agog, falling in love with him all over again. Oh, why did life have to be like this?

Von Ritter noticed her and frowned, presumably unimpressed by her lateness. Oh, dear. He wasn’t going to be at all happy with her today. She scuttled over to her chair and prepared to play as quickly as she could.

Their conductor worked them hard, leaving no time for breaks, scarcely a moment to breathe, until the end of the rehearsal came. The dreaded moment, thought Lydia, packing away her violin, avoiding looking at Karl-Heinz. All the same, the memory of that luscious kiss kept interrupting her thoughts, picking away at her resolve. When would she get the chance to kiss like that again?

“We need to talk.”

It was Milan, looming over her, his hair flopping over his brow, one hand on a hip while the other brandished his violin bow.

“Do we? What about?”

“You know what about. You are fucking von Ritter.”

“Jesus, keep your voice down!” She looked around to make sure nobody was listening. Luckily, most were deeply engrossed in the conversations they’d been denied during the rehearsal. “And I am not…doing anything…with von Ritter.”

“He took you to the concert last night.”

“Going to a concert isn’t the same as shagging a person, Milan. And what if I was, anyway? How dare you dictate my love life to me, since you’re the one that wrecked ours?”

“You don’t want him. He can’t have you. You’re mine. You’re meant to be mine. If he touches you, I’ll—” Milan’s eyes were like pure blue fire.

“What? What will you do? Trash what’s left of your career? How would that help, exactly?”

“Stay away from him.”

“Is everything all right, Lydia?”

Karl-Heinz, down from his platform, called to Lydia from a few feet away. She stood up, grabbing her case with determination.

“Yes, it’s fine,” she said. “You were going to buy me coffee, I think?”

“Yes. Are you ready?”

“Absolutely.”

With a final, furious glare at Milan, Lydia left the room with von Ritter. A string of incomprehensible Czech words followed at their heels.

“He seems a little hot under the collar,” murmured von Ritter as they crossed the hall.

“He’s a jealous twat,” said Lydia. “Doesn’t want me, but doesn’t want anyone else to have me, either.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Cross.”

And something else too. Defiant. Determined to do the opposite of what Milan wanted. He had changed her mind for her. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of spending the next few months moping around in solitary depression. She was going to bloody well enjoy herself and rub his nose in it.

“Shall we take tea at my hotel?” Von Ritter took her arm once they were out on the pavement. “It’s quite close to here.”

“Don’t you have your own place?”

“Not yet. So, how are you today?”

Lydia’s stomach flipped. That was a loaded question, if ever she’d heard one.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said delicately. “That was a very bracing rehearsal.”

Von Ritter laughed. “Bracing? Does that mean hard work?”

“Yes, I think it does.”

“I always make sure my orchestras know how high my expectations are, right from the start.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And the same for my lovers.”

That flip of the stomach again. Oh, God. Was she really going to do this? He seemed so very exacting and imperious.

“I see.”

They arrived at one of the more fashionable boutique hotels in Mayfair and made for its cafe. Once petits fours and tea were on the table, von Ritter leant back in his chair and gave Lydia a long look of appraisal.

She wasn’t quite able to return it.

“You’re overthinking things, aren’t you?” he said softly.

“No,” she said, meeting his gaze now. “I don’t think so.”

“So tell me, Lydia. What are your thoughts about last night?”

He sipped his tea and made a face.

“I’m not really a tea-drinker,” he muttered.

Lydia, meanwhile, tried to gather her wits for what she felt might be a challenging discussion.

“Last night was nice,” she said.

Von Ritter inclined his head, an indication that she should expand her answer.

“But?” he said.

“But…nothing. It was nice. I enjoyed it.”

“All of it?”

“Apart from Milan being weird. Everything apart from that.”

“What did you enjoy the most?”

She took a deep breath. “Your company.”

He smiled.

“I’m honoured. So, are you saying you want more of it? My company, that is?”

“Yes.”

The word was out. She felt light and free. She smiled with the unexpected pleasure of doing what she wanted, instead of what she ought.

“Right.”

He paused to stir his tea again. Lydia felt as if she were awaiting a verdict in a trial. It was almost as if he were psyching himself up to reject her. But that wouldn’t make sense. Why would he do that, after the kiss and bringing her here?

“Lydia, I’m very conscious of the fact that we don’t know each other very well.”

“Not yet.”

“Indeed. Not yet.” He smiled. “Before we go any further, I’m going to tell you something about myself. Something that might alter your opinion of me.”

“Oh. Gosh. Go on, then.”

“I mentioned having certain tastes that don’t appeal to all.”

“Ah. Yes, I remember.”

“I’m going to tell you what those tastes are. If you then decide to walk away, you must promise me you won’t tell a soul. I don’t want this repeated as gossip all over the orchestra. Is that clear?” His mouth, a straight line, challenged her to defy him.

A little afraid, Lydia nodded.

“I’m not a gossip.”

“Good.”

“Okay, then. When it comes to relationships, I like things a certain way.”

“What way?”

“I like—most particularly in the bedroom—to be in control.”

Lydia’s macaroon began to crumble between her fingers, the fine pink dust showering her bone china plate.

“Are you talking about…you know…kinky stuff?”

“Yes. I suppose I am. Now, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not a sadist. I don’t like torturing people or anything like that. I’m on the milder end of that spectrum.”

“I see.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never really…”

“Thought about it?”

“No. I have thought about it. I’ve never done anything much like that, though.”

“Oh, you’ve thought about it. And what did you think?”

“Bits of it might appeal to me.” She felt squirmy and hot, discussing her sexual preferences in a chic hotel tea room.

“Which bits?”

“Can we… Do we have to talk about this in here?”

“Of course not. But if you come to my room you are placing a lot of trust in me. Do you trust me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Thank you. Shall we go upstairs?” He held out his hand, and Lydia could see that, as in control as he was trying to look, his chest rose and fell more rapidly than was usual for him.

She noticed that her hands were shaking and her knees felt like sponge as she followed von Ritter up the stairs. She thought about that favourite fantasy of hers, the Saxon warrior spanking her with the flat side of his sword. Was she coming close to realising it? Not that von Ritter was a Saxon warrior, though he could conceivably come from Saxony. Oh dear, her thoughts were running away with her. Nerves.

Inside the hotel room, she watched von Ritter place the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign over the outside door handle and she shivered.

“Sit down,” he said, waving his hand once the door was shut. She took a seat and folded her hands in her lap. Von Ritter stood in front of her, arms folded, looking her over.

“Hmm, I don’t believe there’s a submissive ‘type’, but I do get a certain level of vibration from you. I think it would work for you. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure. I’d be interested to find out, though.”

“When you say you’ve thought about this, do you mean you’ve had fantasies?”

Lydia bit her lip and looked at her fidgeting fingers.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Can you tell me what they were?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can…just…come out with it…”

“Maybe if I mention a few things you can say yes or no?” He put out a hand to squeeze hers, the human contact exactly what Lydia needed just then.

“Okay.”

“Being tied up?”

She nodded.

“Spanked?”

Another nod.

“Having sex toys used on you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And maybe anal sex?”

“Oh, I’ve done that.”

“Good. Anything else? I mean, there are infinite variations. These are some of the commonest. Role play?”

“Yes.”

“You know, I think we will get on very well.”

Lydia smiled. The situation was so odd—being quizzed about her sexual fantasies by a man she had done no more than kiss—that it almost felt normal.

“Of course, we will have to work on your punctuality first,” he said. Instantly his brow had darkened, his eyes clouded, his lips straightened.

Lydia sat right up, suddenly on alert, as if she was in for a telling off at school.

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry I was late for rehearsal. There were staff shortages on the…”

She trailed off in response to von Ritter, who had put a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.

“The excuse is not necessary, Lydia, though I appreciate the apology.”

“I’ll set off earlier tomorrow,” she said, but she couldn’t prevent an embarrassed little smile crossing her face. This was where the game began. She knew she ought to be getting into a penitent role, but she was too excited and a little scared. If seeing von Ritter was a bad idea, how much worse was letting von Ritter dominate her? Her body, treacherously, seemed to think it was a very good idea, signalling its desire to squirm and tremble while her knickers dampened.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You will. And we will make sure of that with a little…motivational exercise.”

“Motivational exercise?”

“Yes.” He helped Lydia to her feet, holding her by her wrist before taking his place in her chair.

 She stood in front of him, head bowed, unable to meet his eyes for fear she might burst out into inappropriate laughter.

“Now, before we start this,” said von Ritter, “we need to decide on a safeword.”

“What’s a safeword?”

“It’s what you say when you think things have gone too far and you want to stop. You can say it at any time. I won’t argue with you and there’s no shame in it, okay? You are new to this and we take it at your pace.”

“That’s good to know,” she said, her heart beating a little slower again after a speeding up that had left her breathless.

“So what will your word be?”

“Paganini,” she said—the first thing that came into her head being the name of the person whose story had made her want to take up the violin.

Von Ritter smiled. “I like it. Paganini it is.”

Then he was straight back into stern mode, patting his thigh.

“I want you to put yourself over my lap, please,” he said.

“Oh, God, I’m not sure about this.”

“If you don’t want to—”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll give it a go.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded and leaned towards him, wondering how people generally got themselves into position for a spanking. He helped her out, grabbing her around the waist and tipping her over his lap. He raised one leg, positioning her jeans-clad bottom more prominently. She kept her legs straight, feet on the floor, arms dangling over the other side. It felt remarkably comfortable, almost relaxing. Von Ritter rested one hand loosely on the small of her back while the other spread across her denimed bottom.