Ben hopped over to the bush and gave them an investigative swipe.
“No. Going nice and stiff, though. Those jeans’ll be a treat to put back on.”
“So, what shall we play next? Game of I Spy?”
He sat back down beside her and put his arm around her waist.
“Do you promise you’ll think about my birthday?”
“I promise.”
Chapter Twelve
The rehearsal was going well, but Lydia’s concentration wasn’t at its best. Unusually for her, she was wearing a dress, a shortish number with a flippy skirt, and she found the air on her bare legs distracting. But not quite as distracting as trying to keep her knees pressed together while she played.
Because Lydia was not wearing any knickers.
In the week since she had accompanied von Ritter back to his hotel room, he had taken up the habit of setting her little tasks for each day. Although he had professed to want to take things slowly, Lydia felt that she was in the middle of some kind of sensual waltz, being whirled around the dance floor until her head spun.
She had gone to an equestrian tack shop the day before and bought a riding crop, with which von Ritter had promised to whip her on the backs of her thighs if she didn’t practice her violin playing to his satisfaction. Buying the item had been embarrassing, because she’d been sure the assistant had known that it would never be used on a horse, but it had thrilled her all the same.
And now she faced the prospect of going back to von Ritter’s hotel room and being tested on her violin playing. She hoped she wouldn’t be found wanting. Or did she?
They still hadn’t had full sex, von Ritter limiting their physical contact deliberately so that Lydia felt her frustrations climb higher day by day. He would touch her, sometimes gently, sometimes roughly, but he would always stop before she reached orgasm. In fact, he had forbidden orgasms until their first night together, and Lydia had obeyed the command, although it would have been very easy to cheat, lying in her bed at home. But she didn’t want to cheat. She was too curious to know where this odyssey of sexual exploration might take her, and the excitement of being under von Ritter’s spell was drawing her further and further along the road.
If she wasn’t mistaken, their first night together might well be tonight.
She smiled to herself as she bowed away, then her eyes slid over to where Milan sat, waiting for his solo.
He was being difficult, of course. Well, when was he not?
Earlier in the week, he had confronted her about her relationship with von Ritter. She had not seen the point of denying it, so he had spread the story far and wide until the orchestra and all of the trustees knew about it. There was no rule about fraternisation of members, though, so nobody was particularly put out.
Most were amused, Lydia’s reputation as an unlikely femme fatale being something of an orchestra joke. Milan’s tactic had backfired, merely highlighting him as the jealous ex-lover who had lost.
Vanessa was supportive of the relationship, approving of the impeccable von Ritter.
“He’s the kind of man you should have gone for in the first place,” she said. “A safe pair of hands, bit of a father figure. I know there are the rumours about his temper but I haven’t seen anything to justify them. Have you?”
“No. He did admit to it himself, though.”
“Did he?”
“Yes, but he said he’d never hit a woman.” She paused. “In anger.”
Vanessa gave her a searching look.
“You mean he’d hit a woman without being angry?”
“Well, I don’t know if hit is the right word.”
“What is?”
Lydia was blushing furiously by now, wishing she’d never taken this tack.
“I don’t know…” she said. “Change the subject.”
“No, I don’t want to. You’re bright red, Lyds. This is a sex thing, isn’t it? He’s kinky, isn’t he? I knew it.”