“Whoever else she spends time with, she will always come back to me.”
Karl-Heinz turned his face away from Lydia.
She reached out for his hand.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“I can’t compete with him,” said von Ritter. “I’ve always known it.”
“It’s not a competition,” said Lydia, squeezing his fingers. “It never was. It can’t be.”
Milan spoke up from his prone position on the bed. “Are you finished with that lotion?”
“Yes,” said Karl-Heinz tersely.
“Pity. You have an amazing touch. If I pay you, will you give me a massage?”
“Milan, now isn’t the time…”
“Yes, it is,” said Lydia urgently. “Go on. Give him a massage. I’ll get the oils—I know where they are.”
She skipped to the bathroom cabinet and chose the scent she thought would turn Milan on the most. She knew she hadn’t imagined the chemistry between them during the whipping, nor the spark of attraction she’d seen from Karl-Heinz when he looked at Milan. What if these two damaged souls could help each other to heal? What if they could all be together, a triangle of lovers? It hadn’t worked with Evgeny, but Karl-Heinz was so much more mature than that poor boy had been.
She handed the ylang ylang oil to Karl-Heinz.
“When did you last give a man a massage?” she asked softly.
Milan twisted his neck to stare at them.
“You’ve been with a man before?” he asked.
“Yes,” admitted Karl-Heinz. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“You’re bisexual?” A slow, seductive grin spread across Milan’s face. “I think that’s my business. I’d like to make it my business. But first things first—my shoulders are in crazy knots. Help me.”
Karl-Heinz gave Lydia a piercing look that indicated he knew exactly what she was up to, and she’d pay for it in stripes on her bottom later.
She giggled, hugging herself and shivering, then raised a questioning eyebrow.
He shook his head, but not very convincingly, and straddled Milan’s thighs, oil bottle in hand.
Lydia perched herself on the chair in the corner—a chair she had often bent over for Karl-Heinz to spank her—and settled in to watch the show.
Karl-Heinz, kneeling up with his sleeves rolled to the elbow, set to work kneading and rubbing Milan’s back and shoulders. The oil seemed to irritate his whip marks at first, which gave Karl-Heinz some fairly obvious satisfaction.
“Your punishment is not over,” he observed.
“It’s perfect,” moaned Milan. “Pleasure and pain all at once. God, you’re good at this. How many men have you had? I’m very curious now.”
“Curiosity killed the Kaspar,” said Karl-Heinz primly, pushing his knuckles hard between Milan’s shoulder blades.
“God,” sighed Milan. “Please. Don’t stop. Tell me.”
“I’ve only had one relationship, as a much younger man. But I have also played with a few guys, at private parties. BDSM scenes, always. They never developed into anything more.”
“So you and Hackmeyer aren’t…?”
Karl-Heinz laughed sharply. “God, no. No, he’s straight as a die.”