“Such a boring little man,” said Milan with a dramatic yawn. “I think he’s in the closet. I think he’s wanted me to fuck him ever since we were students, and that’s why he hates me so much.”
“You never made it as a psychologist, did you, Milan?”
Lydia laughed and the two men stared at her, as if they’d forgotten her existence.
“Look at our little Lydia,” said Milan. “She was such a virgin when I met her.”
“I was not.”
“Maybe not technically,” he said with a smirk. “But you couldn’t believe the things I did to you. Could you? You’ve
come a long way, baby.”
“You corrupted her,” said Karl-Heinz, resuming the massage. “You showed her what she could have.”
“Like the devil in her wilderness,” said Milan, obviously enjoying the symbolism. “But she couldn’t resist. She chose experience instead of innocence, and now look at her, trying to get her two lovers to make out with each other.”
“Is that what she’s trying to do?” Karl-Heinz leaned further over Milan, his big hands clamped to the violinist’s shoulders. He bent and spoke straight into Milan’s ear. “Do you really think so?”
“I really do.”
Milan had turned his face towards Karl-Heinz. They were so close that Lydia could barely hear what they said now. She crouched forward, desperate for time to speed up and bring the conclusion she longed for.
“I think that makes her a very wicked young woman, don’t you?” murmured Karl-Heinz.
“You’re right, but that’s what I like about her,” said Milan.
“All the same, I think we should deal with her behaviour, don’t you?”
“Mmm. First things first.”
Oh, kiss him, please, kiss him, Lydia’s inner voice begged.
As if he had heard it, Milan puckered up his lips and planted the slightest whisper of a kiss on his male lover's mouth.
Karl-Heinz, still crouched low over Milan’s prone body, made no movement away.
Lydia bit her lip and almost swooned as Milan put his hand on the back of Karl-Heinz’s neck and moved in for a real, full-blooded, lip-smacking snog.
He broke it only to dislodge Karl-Heinz from straddling his hips and manoeuvre him onto his back on the bed—Milan shifting onto his side and taking the uppermost position before diving back in.
Lydia saw Karl-Heinz part his lips to allow Milan’s tongue to slide between them. Milan was like a long, writhing serpent, his naked body rippling over Karl-Heinz’s. Karl-Heinz held on to Milan for dear life, pulling him into his taut chest, deepening the kiss with wild abandon.
Before much longer, Milan had pulled Karl-Heinz’s shirt from his waistband and was running a feverish hand over the other man’s chest. They clashed and grabbed and bit each other’s lips, their pelvises grinding together, two erections fighting for dominance. Which one would win, Lydia wondered? Could there even be one winner?
She noticed, with a guilty shock, that tears were streaming from Karl-Heinz’s eyes and running down the side of his face into his hair.
Oh dear. Had this been a miscalculation after all?
“Milan,” she warned.
He broke off and gazed into Karl-Heinz’s glistening eyes, brushing away the tears.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Everything is all right. You want this, don’t you?”
Karl-Heinz nodded.
“I didn’t know,” he said, choking on the words. “I didn’t know how much…”