Ben had a habit of waking her up slowly, infiltrating her edge-of-sleep dreaming
by running his tongue lightly and gently around her pussy. She would be roused from filthy dreams to the reality of her lover’s mouth on her clit, his warm breath bringing her gently to wakefulness.
“Good morning, madam,” he would say, his voice buzzing tantalisingly against tender flesh. “I hope you’re enjoying the service.”
Her moans of sleepy delight were encouragement enough, leading to a more thorough version that ended in an arched back and bucking hips.
Gorgeous as it was, it made her want to go straight back to sleep again afterwards.
But that would be rude, so she repaid his hospitality by taking every inch of Ben’s morning glory into her mouth and drinking deep of his cream.
She washed it down with orange juice on those occasions. On others, she climbed on top of him and gave him a leisurely morning ride. She loved to watch his still-drowsy face and his awkward, messy hair while she ground herself down on him, nice and slow.
It was so much better than an alarm call.
“Do you want a drink from the machine?” she asked, blushing at these recent memories, sure that the brass players next to them would know what they had been up to. The brass players always seemed to assume everyone was shagging everybody else, though, so they might as well prove them right.
“Yeah, go on. Black coffee, ta.”
Vanessa sauntered out of the rehearsal hall into the lobby where the vending machines were stationed. Taking her time choosing between latte and cappuccino, she didn’t notice a group of people crossing the floor behind her until she sensed a presence hovering very close to her left shoulder.
“I thought you were a fruit tea kind of girl.”
She clenched her fist around the handful of coins she carried and she spun around, horrified.
“You! What are you doing here?”
“Fruit tea. Fruity. Actually, you were both.”
The man in front of her smiled, slowly and with a measure of gloating triumph.
“Long time no see, Ness,” he said.
“There’s a reason for that,” she replied tightly.
“Bygones, love,” he said, with a tut. “You’re going to have to let them be bygones. Because we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.” He extended his hand. “I’m the new Leader.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she blurted, stepping back so that her spine bumped the coffee machine.
“I don’t think I will, actually,” he said, his smile sharkier than ever. “But thanks for the suggestion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk contractual terms with Lord Bicester.”
Vanessa was too stunned to move—all she could do was stand there watching the man’s impressive frame swagger back across the hall.
Strange, she thought, how every man she had dated since him had been his physical opposite. Milan, slender and sinuous as a panther, and now Ben with his lanky limbs and sweet face. Yet her ex-husband was a powerhouse of a man, built like a rugby prop forward with huge shoulders and a barrel chest.
And his face, craggy and rough-hewn, wasn’t the kind of face she’d normally look twice at. Permanent stubble and small, hot, blue eyes—a bit like a less flabby Henry VIII—but the suggestion of sensuality he exuded was so strong that she had given into it easily. Yes, much too easily, without reflection or a pause for consideration. She had rushed headlong into marriage with Dafydd ap Hughes and she had certainly repented at leisure.
She shut her eyes and shook her head as he disappeared up the stairs.
This had to be a bad dream. She was going to wake up any minute.
Except von Ritter walked across the hall, shaking her out of her unpleasant trance and proving that everything was quite real.
“Vanessa? Come on, we must rehearse. I am unfortunately late.”
She followed him back into the rehearsal room and sat down beside Ben, avoiding his eye.
“Too late, eh?” he said. “Ah well, at least we can start playing now.”