Lydia stiffened.
“We haven’t decided yet,” he said, putting a hand on her thigh. “We’ll see what the evening brings.”
The evening brought a move into a large drawing room behind the banqueting hall, and the guests seated themselves on luxurious chaises longues and divans while fruit and petits fours were passed around with the postprandial liqueurs.
“Who will be first?” asked Werner from a throne-like seat in the corner of the room. “Who has prepared something for us?”
Lydia sat on a cushion at Milan and Evgeny’s feet, leaning back against Milan’s shins while he stroked her hair.
She twisted her neck to grin knowingly at him when the Linberghs were first to volunteer. Who would have guessed?
She relaxed her muscles and prepared for a show. The Linberghs, stunning and sexy, wouldn’t be hard to watch, at any rate.
To applause, they strode into the centre of the room, where a velvet- and silk-covered divan, piled high with cushions, awaited them.
Mr Linbergh—Ross—took Natasha in his arms and they swooned into a passionate kiss, just like so many of their movie clinches, perfectly photogenic and calculated to arouse.
On breaking the embrace, Ross turned to the audience and spoke.
“You know how much Natasha and I love to get down and dirty for you, and we’ve been looking forward to tonight ever since we both wrapped up our latest projects. But tonight we want to add a little something to the show.”
Lydia’s heart started racing. Why were they looking at Milan?
“Tash has never forgotten the time she and Milan gave the triple-O performance some of you might remember.”
Some enthusiastic nodding and muttering broke the fascinated silence.
“So I’d like Milan to join us,” Natasha said, beckoning a finger. “If that’s okay with you, honey?”
Lydia held her breath.
“You’re putting me on the spot,” demurred Milan. “Lydia?”
Lydia had no idea what to say. She knew she didn’t want to watch Milan fucking Natasha, but, on the other hand, she didn’t want to be the one responsible for dampening the party spirit.
Ross seemed to pick up on the reason for the hesitation.
“If you want young Lydia to join in, that’s cool. Lydia, I’d be honoured.”
His gleaming movie star smile beamed right at her. Ross Linbergh, the Oscar-winner, was inviting her to take part in a foursome. Every woman in the place stared at her with jealous expectancy, along with several of the men.
“If you don’t want to, it’s okay,” whispered Milan.
“But then you—”
“I don’t need to fuck Tash Linbergh. I’ve done it before. We can sit this out, it’s fine.”
But Ross Linbergh’s piercing blue eyes and his tousled beach-blond hair were just feet away, his vibrations of desire radiating towards her, the vibes joined by the almost tangible waves of Natasha’s need for Milan. When would a chance like this come again?
“I’m not scared,” said Lydia, half to herself, half to the room. “I can do this.”
“I’m very proud of you,” murmured Milan, hiding his words in the gale of applause that greeted their rising to their feet.
Lydia was lightheaded as she crossed the rug to where the golden couple awaited them. Natasha was first to seize her and crush her against her bosom, which felt surgically enhanced inside its Grecian column dress. The scent of priceless crushed flower petals emanating from the movie star dizzied Lydia, who accepted a voluptuous kiss on the lips while the room’s approval buzzed in her ears. Then she was handed over to Ross, who turned her out to face the room, clasping strong arms around her until his fingers found the hem of her tiny dress. Once they’d curled inside, he began to flip it teasingly up and down while his lips dug into the soft flesh of her neck.
She could see Milan grabbing a fistful of Natasha’s hair and tilting her head back for a fierce kiss. It looked so hot she almost forgot Ross’s manipulations and the eyes of the audience on her, until she noticed Evgeny’s face.
Thunder.