Musical Beds by Justine Elyot Page A

darted her tongue over his sac, causing him to squirm delightfully, his hips shivering in her hands.
    “Oh, you…” he whispered.
    She nuzzled his crotch, nipping at his tender inner thighs, breathing warm air all over him until he was teased beyond endurance and he put his hand in her hair and pulled.
    “Do you want me to suck your cock?” she asked, looking up brazenly.
    “You little fucking minx.” She loved the glow of lustful mischief in his eyes, the look she hadn’t seen for a while now. It made her heart swell and her hopes enlarge. “You know it.”
    “I’m going to drink you down,” she promised him. “I’m going to swallow it all.”
    She enveloped him in her mouth and attempted to keep her word to the best of her ability, sucking and licking that smooth, sleek shaft until her jaw ached, but, just as she felt the end approach, he yanked her off by her hair and pushed her, panting hard, to the kitchen floor.
    He had her trousers off in seconds and pushed her knickers aside before entering her with one hard thrust. The tiles were unforgiving against her spine, but nothing could spoil her primal, selfish joy at having him inside her. It felt like a victory and she clenched him tight, grunting and urging him onward.
    He fucked her sincerely and without quarter, on his elbows on the kitchen floor. His hair whipped over her face and he tried to protect her back from the worst effects of the granite slabs by sliding an arm beneath her.
    All the same, the bumping and jolting was fierce and intense and Lydia was relieved when her orgasm unleashed itself, blanking out all other sensations.
    He poured into her on the kitchen floor, covering her, filling her.
    She felt a oneness with him that took away her breath.
    He shifted on top of her, lifting his head from her shoulder to look her in the eye.
    “You are okay?” he slurred, as if drunk, but it was simply the exertion that distorted his speech.
    “Oh, yes, Milan.” She raised her neck to kiss him on the cheek.
    “You don’t hurt your back?”
    “Well, probably. But nothing fatal. Does this feel like a new start to you, too?”
    “For us, you mean?”
    “Among other things.”
    “We should drink that champagne.”
    Lydia quelled the urge to nag. It just wasn’t the time.
    He eased himself out of her and crawled over to where the bottle stood. He picked it up and took a swig directly from it, gasping as the bubbles took effect.
    He sat down next to Lydia, who was gingerly pushing herself into a sitting position, and raised the bottle to her.
    “Here’s to music, love and laughter. And solo violins and virtuosi.”
    He took another mouthful of champagne and lowered his lips to hers with the fizz still held inside.
    When they kissed, he poured the stream of tingling liquid bubbles into Lydia’s mouth. She swallowed it down—most of the fizz had gone by then—spluttering slightly. He cleaned her mouth with a long, lavish lick of his tongue then broke the kiss, leaving her lips still stinging.
    “And here’s to playing more than violins. Here’s to you and me.”
    She sheltered herself in his arms, holding on to him, laying her head against his chest while he continued to drink from the champagne bottle.
    Later, as they lay in bed, champagne all gone—mostly into Milan—Lydia started wondering if that really could be his final fling. He had drunk it quickly—within an hour—and seemed hardly the worse for it. Over the past fortnight, she had seen him in full red-eyed slurring wreckage mode, but he had had to drink bottles and bottles to get that bad. He shouldn’t have such a high tolerance. It made her uneasy.
    At least tonight he was happy-drunk. She had endured so many miserable nights of anger and recrimination, repeated over and over again because he had forgotten what had already been said. It had been a relief of sorts when he’d lapsed into Czech and she hadn’t had to listen to the endless litany of self-loathing and universal