‘I wish you’d mentioned this before,’ I grumble. ‘I’d have gone to the beauty salon, or done a spray tan or something.’
‘You’re perfect as you are,’ he says, gliding dangerously near and running a hand down my spine.
‘I’m far from it. But thanks.’ I struggle out of my knickers and pull a face at my somewhat untended pubic triangle. No doubt O and Rachael will be porn-star smooth. But, then again, I’m not a porn star. So why should I care?
I return to the dressing table and my mascara while he stands behind me, putting stuff in his hair. I wonder if any other couple has ever prepared for an evening out like this? Him all spiffy and suave in his expensive shirt, her butt naked in full maquillage?
Our reflections in the mirror give me that dreaded flush of lust. Tonight is going to be difficult. I wish I knew how difficult.
I wait for them in the living room while Lloyd answers the door. I am discreetly arranged on the sofa so that my legs are crossed and my arms folded over my breasts, but all the same, I can’t help feeling a little … what’s the word …?
‘Oh, Sophie, you’re naked!’ trills Rachael, bursting in with a bouquet of bright orange and yellow flowers.
That’s the one.
‘It’s the new black, apparently,’ I say, taking the flowers from her and going to put them in water.
Lloyd joins me with two bottles of wine that O has handed over and uncorks the red to let it breathe.
‘I feel really weird,’ I mutter to him. ‘Really really weird.’
‘Good,’ he says, beaming. ‘Just put those in the sink and come and sit down. I want to get this show on the road.’
On opposite ends of the sofa, O and Rachael sit, chatting, both looking a million dollars in skimpy dresses and strappy shoes. They were obviously given a dress code too.
My assumption had been that I would be made to watch while Lloyd romped with the two submissive stunners, but my own nudity has thrown me and I no longer know what to expect.
On the one hand, it would have been enormously difficult to watch Lloyd fuck two other women with no chance of being asked to join in.
On the other, it’s what I was prepared for. And now it isn’t going to happen.
‘Sit between them,’ Lloyd suggests. At least, it’s phrased as a suggestion, but I don’t think it really is. He watches us for a moment while we all look up at him.
‘Sorry,’ he says, reviving from a trance-like few seconds. ‘I just don’t think my sofa has ever looked quite so sexy. Anyway. I thought we could start with cocktails. I’m going to do a little trick I used to sometimes show off with in my mixology days. I’m going to make you each a personalised cocktail.’
‘Ooh.’ O and Rachael are impressed, though I’ve seen him do this a hundred times.
‘Starting with you, O, I think you’re a sophisticate who would go for something stylish and classic, not too sweet, perhaps a little citrusy – am I right? And you’d go for lighter spirits rather than dark. The drink’s appearance is important to you. Tell me if I’m wildly off base.’
‘No, no, you’re not.’
‘OK, then. It’s a classic, but never a cliché. I’m going to make you a Cosmopolitan.’
‘Lovely! I’m just in the mood for one.’
‘Great. Now, Rachael … you’re adventurous and well travelled with a taste for the exotic. You like new flavours and experiences. I’m going to give you something with a horrible name but a great kick – a Monkey Gland.’
‘What the hell’s a Monkey Gland?’
‘Gin, Pernod, orange juice, grenadine.’
‘Yummy. Go for it.’
‘As for Sophie, well, I know what she likes.’
‘I know what you’re going t
o say,’ I warn him. It’s an oft-repeated gag in our relationship.