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What makes the Ice Queen so nasty?
She wears a deep green blouse, which makes the colour of her hair pop in a really sumptuous way and draws attention to her emerald eyes.Her waist is pinched in by a perfect pinstriped pencil skirt. The kind you spend hours shopping for, because it has to fit just so. I can't tell if she's wearing stockings or tights, but I know that I inexplicably want them to be stockings. Her feet are clad in surprisingly sensible black court shoes, but then, in killer heels she'd probably have to stoop to go through doorways.
I begin to gabble my goodbyes, pulling my sandals back on in a hurry.
"Oh no don't be silly Steph," Lilly chirps, "Stay for dinner, Mark always cooks enough to feed the five thousand, plus it's so strange for us not to really know each other," I look wildly to Mark for help, but he seems just as taken aback by this change of plans, looking from her, to me and back to her again.
"Sure!" he says finally, apparently deciding to be delighted with this plan, "Stay for dinner, it'll be great," They both beam at me. I have no idea what I'm saying yes to, but I know it probably isn't just dinner.
"Sounds good," I say, gingerly taking off the sandal that I had jammed hurriedly onto the wrong foot.
Dinner goes more smoothly than I imagined. Lilly is a great raconteur and tells lengthy yet engaging tales of her global travels and wealthy clients. She is captivating, swirling her red wine in her glass, and laughing musically. I can barely tear my eyes away from her. When I do manage, I realise Mark is equally rapt. He gazes at her with adoring puppy-dog eyes that I know for sure he has never given me. The eyes he gives me belong to wolves.
We sit with Lilly at the head of the table, Mark to her left and me to her right. They don't touch each other that I notice, although Mark squeezes my hand under the table once before we start to eat. He means it to make me feel better, but I feel uncomfortable, we haven't negotiated for anything like this and I don't know if it's ok to touch him in front of her. I find myself wanting them to touch though, willing them into an embrace. I flush. Even with my fraught envy, the idea of Mark being intimate with anyone is so sexy.
"Have you ever been to Madrid?" Lilly's question pierces my hazy thoughts.
"Oh, yes actually, when I was in university. I saw surprisingly little of the city, though, so I intend to go back one day."
"No time for sight-seeing?" she teased, dead right in her assessment of how I spent that particular trip.
"I er, was staying with a very handsome exchange student. He showed me lots of things but... none of them were on the guided tours." A languid memory of a coffee-flavoured late morning kiss, in a bed strewn with discarded clothes drifted through my mind. I was only nineteen then. So much had been new and thrilling. My clit pulsed unexpectedly, and I shuffled a little in my seat.
Lilly drained her glass and set it down with a knowing smile. Her green eyes were locked on mine.
"Mark, darling," she said without looking at him, "Would you be a dear and clear the table?"
Hearing someone talk to Mark like that was so confusing - Mark was a leader, a dominant. Mark made me call him 'Sir' and suck his cock. What was even more confusing was his compliant response.
"Of course," he smiled, gathered up the plates and exited to the kitchen, winking at me on his way out.
"Steph, remind me how long you and Mark have been seeing each other?" She has her elbow resting on the table and her chin resting in her hand.
"A little over a year," I stated, despite candle light and wine, this had a faint feeling of a job interview.
"Y'know, he rarely keeps any girl around for that long, you must be something pretty special." She gave me another of her charming smiles, "Obviously you're very beautiful, but that wouldn't be enough to win him on its own,"
"Th-thank you," I stammered, feeling my cheeks flood with colour.