Score: Poker Face - Lady Gaga

Lydia

"What is this place?" I gape at the high ceilings, the crystal chandelier in the hall, and the massive staircase, winding on both sides of a huge fireplace ahead of us. I have visited many of London's more opulent homes, but nothing that quite measures up to this. This would make the Casterlys' flat look like a stable.

"You'll see." Mark's smug smile appears next to me, as he glides in a dance-like stride alongside me.

Elegant ladies and gentlemen are trickling into the house through the massive front doors. A very pretty brunette, wearing a red suit and obscenely high heels walks by us, carrying a mini Pomeranian in her bag. Suddenly, my eyes catch a glimpse of red lips and a platinum bob.

"Mark!" The woman from earlier today squeals, wrapping her arms around him. I scoff with frustration, not completely sure why. "I'm so glad you are here! And, who's your lovely companion?"

"Martha, this is Lydia, Lydia - Martha." Mark introduces us briefly, extracting himself from Martha's arms. I don't know if I am imagining it, but I think his expression has changed. He looks agitated, and worried, almost?

I put on a fake smile and extend my hand, but Martha ignores it and pulls me into a tight embrace instead.

I don't like to hug strangers. No, I hate hugging strangers. It freaks me out, but I put my arms around her shoulders briefly and pull away as quickly as socially acceptable.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you, love!" Martha says. "I've heard so much about you!"

"I wish I could say the same." I retort coolly. Who is this woman and what does she know about me?

She laughs and swats her hand in the air.

"I'm just an old friend of Mark's. I'm not important. But, you..." Martha clicks her tongue.

"Are late," Mark says beside me, wrapping his arm around my waist. I lift my eyes to look at his face. He's frowning. Something's happening here...

"We don't have time for courtesies. Can you please point us to our room?"

Only now I notice the iPad in Martha's hands. She smiles at me again, and then looks at the screen.

"Your spot is in room six, table four. Are you playing, love?" Martha looks at me.

"No, not tonight," Mark says, squeezing my waist a little tighter.

"Alright, then, enjoy!" Martha winks at me, flashing her dashingly white smile once again.

Mark glides his hand from my waist to my lower back and gently pushes me forward.

"Where are we going?" I whisper-shout at him. "I hate surprises, you know that!"

"Yeah, you've always been a control freak."

"I'm not a control freak, I just like to be prepared."

"Just let go, baby. Have fun," he whispers in my ear. His words immediately trigger goosebumps rising on my skin. Bloody hell, that sounded so damn sexy...

"Here we are," he points at a doorway. A framed number six is hanging next to the doorframe. I lean forward and peek inside the room. There is a big, round, wooden table, surrounded with chairs in the center. Some of the chairs are already occupied. Servers in black and white uniforms are walking around the table, chatting with the seated people.

Mark pushes me further and leads me to a couple of chairs at the table, right across from an elderly man with white hair, wearing a purple velvet dressing jacket. He winks at Mark and lifts his hand, which is holding a whiskey glass.

"Alright, Carter?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Getting by. If I'm here, then I guess I'm not too bad, ah?"

"Are you ready to get your ass kicked again?" Mark asks. My eyes go wide and I look at the man across, embarrassed. He looks oddly familiar. But, who is he, if Mark is talking to him like that?

But, much to my surprise, the man just laughs.

"One of these days, you are going to run out of luck, you know." He looks at me and winks. "And then, I'm going to laugh my ass off, watching your downfall. I was scandalized, you know," he takes a sip from his whiskey. "When I saw you coming through the door. What is the chance of sitting at the same table with you for two weekends in a row?"

"I'm going to let you leave with at least some of your money on you," Mark says. He reaches for my hand, which is laying in my lap under the table, and squeezes it tightly. "If you are smart enough, that is."

"Who's the lovely lady?" The man asks, nodding at me, ignoring Mark's remark.

"This is my friend, Lydia," Mark says. I don't know why, but I suddenly feel annoyed.
I pull my hand away from his and put it back in my lap. "And this is Sir Thomas Beaten."

My eyebrows shoot up and I can't help the squeal, which escapes my mouth.

"Sir Thomas Beaten? The writer?"

"In flesh and bones." He winks at me again. "Though I'm sure young people like you these days despise me. My books can be a pain in the ass."

"Oh, I absolutely love your books! I am so glad they are a part of the school curriculum! But, honestly, I would have read them anyways."

"Well, I'm honored."

A server comes to ask us if we want anything to drink. Mark orders champagne for me and water for himself.

More people keep on coming in and taking their seats at the table. Apart from Sir Beaten, I recognize a reality TV star and the Chief Editor of a big lifestyle magazine. Where the fuck am I?

Within fifteen minutes, all but one seats are taken.

"Where's Greyson?" Mark nods in the direction of the empty chair.

"He's not coming." Sir Beaten replies. "He's been...less fortunate recently and has decided to take a break."

"Fair enough," the reality star says. "Better to know your limits. Know when enough is enough, right, Carter?" He lifts his eyebrows and shoots Mark an ambiguous glance.

Mark shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. A blush is spreading from his neck to his ears. He looks at me with an expression I can't read.

"Right. Of course." He says, without tearing his eyes from mine.

Movement to my left catches my eye and I turn to see a woman in a uniform, carrying a black briefcase, approaching the table. She stands at the opposite side to where we're sitting, opens the briefcase, and draws two sets of playing cards. I figure she must be a croupier of a sort. She hands the cards to the man, sitting on her right, and he starts flicking through them and turning them over in his hands with mind-blowing agility. When he's satisfied, he passes the cards on to the next person, who does the same, and so on. Then, the woman in the uniform takes out different coloured chips from the briefcase and arranges them in front of her. By the time she's finished, the cards have passed through the hands of everyone at the table and she takes them from the woman, sitting on her left.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, you know the rules. Ante's one hundred pounds. Buy-ins are limited. Good luck to everyone. Is the lady playing?" She looks at me with questioning eyes.

"No, not today." I shake my head, repeating Mark's words from earlier.

"Alright, then, sit a little more to the side, if you will."

Confused, I look at Mark. He nods briefly and I move my chair a little further from him.

"OK. Let's begin."

The room suddenly stirs with activity, as money is being passed down to the lady, who hands the players stacks of chips in return. When everyone's sorted, she passes a pair of dice to the player on her left and everyone at the table takes turns to roll them, to establish the first dealer. When the dice reach Mark, he hands them to me. I look at the dice in my hand, utterly confused, and then raise my eyes to Mark.

"Roll them." He says. "I told you, you're my Lucky tonight."

I can feel myself blushing and my heart pounds faster against my chest, but I lean forward and roll.

"Three and four." The woman announces to everyone.

I look back at Mark and he winks at me, smiling. "You did well."

The reality TV star ends up being the dealer. The croupier deals everyone their cards and the game is on.

From where I'm sitting, I cannot see anybody's cards. I guess that's why the woman made me sit further away. I'm not interested in the cards, anyway. It's the people's faces that fascinate me. As soon as the first hand is dealt, the players' faces turn into unreadable masks. No smiling, no brow-lifting, no fucking breathing. It's like they have been replaced with robots.

Yet, a tongue darts out to lick a pair of dry lips here, sweat beads on a forehead there. We are all human, after all, no matter how hard we try to hide it sometimes.

Hours pass and I sip on my champagne, watching people win money, lose money and buy more chips. When a player is out, they simply stand up, with the same strained, emotionless expression they had while they were still playing, wish everyone good evening, and leave the room. For the second time tonight, I'm not sure if I'm imagining things, but I definitely catch a couple of people shoot me a glance, as they leave. Weird, innit?

In the end, it is only Mark and Sir Beaten left. Their eyes have been interlocked in a lengthy stare-off, neither of their faces giving out even the slightest trace of emotion. Finally, both of them flip their cards over. Sir Beaten sucks in an audible breath, his face finally giving way to a painful grimace, as he looks at Mark's cards.

"Alright, Carter, you win again." He says, lifting his hands in front of his chest in a defensive gesture. "I told you, I'll be there the day you lose your luck, having a good laugh about it."

"And I told you, Tom," Mark says, leaning back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his full lips, "that I'd let you walk away with your money if you were smart enough. But you simply can't help yourself, can you, you old, greedy bastard?"

Beaten laughs and stands up.

"Good evening, Lydia." He says, nodding his head at me. "I'll see you soon, then." He nods at Mark.

"I don't know, Tom. I might be taking a break soon."

"I've heard that one before." Tom laughs, shaking his head.

"Let's see how it works out this time, shall we?" Mark says and rises to his feet. The croupier leans across the table, handing him an envelope. He takes it, then opens it, extracts two fifty quid notes from it, and hands them to her.

"Thank you so much, Madeline."

"Thank you, Mr. Carter," Madeline says, taking the notes and tucking them in the front pocket of the jacket of her uniform, before commencing to gather the chips from the table.

Mark's face is flushed, there's a smile on his face and there's a dark gleam in his eyes. He wraps his arm around my waist again and leads me out of the room. As we walk down the hallway, we pass by other rooms, just like ours, but most of them are vacant by now.

We walk by Martha again and she gives me a wicked grin before we head out of the house and into the warm, summer air, still and rich with the smell that I can only describe as London. They should put it in a bottle and put it up for sale, I'm sure it'll be a fucking success. 

Most of the cars in the driveway are now gone and not a living soul is to be seen around. We walk down the gravel to the street in silence, Mark squeezing my hip lightly, excitement radiating off his body.

"It was a good night." He finally says, releasing me from his embrace. "I made nine thousand pounds."

"What?" I turn to him. "Nine thousand? Just like that?"

"Yeah." His eyes are dark and sparkling under the street lights. "Just like that."

I shake my head and start walking a little faster, taking the lead. I am almost physically aware of Mark, walking behind me. I can feel his gaze on my back, I can hear his footsteps getting faster. I feel like my sensitivity for him has grown deeper, like touching a bare nerve.

Click click click, my heels click on the pavement. I walk to the car and reach for the door handle. 

And then, I hear Mark's breath in my ear, as he presses his body against my back, closing the distance between us. I gasp and turn my head to the side, my silent question lingering between us in the dark.

Mark puts his left hand on the window next to my face and grabs my hips with his right one, pulling me closer to him. He presses his hips to my ass, letting me feel him.

I suck in a sharp breath. A shudder passes down my spine.

"Mark..." I gasp, trying to turn my head further back so that I can look at him.

"Shhh," he says, slipping his hand up my thigh and under my dress. He slides his hand up until he reaches my ass. And then he squeezes. Hard.

I whimper at the painful sensation and instinctively try to pull away.

"What are you doing?" Mark whispers in my ear, and then he licks my earlobe. He squeezes my ass harder, keeping me in place. I register that my breaths are coming out in short, sharp huffs, betraying just how hot I think this is.

"You did well tonight. Brought me luck. Such a good girl..." Mark's lips are pressed to my ear, his hand reaching the hem of my underwear.

My whimpers grow louder and he places his other hand over my mouth, silencing me.

"Or maybe I'm wrong." He moves his head over to my other ear. "Tell me, Lydia, would a good girl be outraging public decency like that, on the street?"

I whimper again and shake my head.

"That's what I thought." Mark's finger hooks around the elastic of my underwear and he tugs at it only once. The silky fabric gives way too readily. Mark fists my panties and lifts his hand up to his nose, inhaling deeply, before he puts them in his pocket.

Shivers are shaking my body, despite the warm summer night and the warmth, coming from Mark's body, as he's caging me against the door.

"Do you promise to be quiet, Caramel?" Mark asks. I nod my head, completely lost in the moment and Mark removes his hand, which is covering my mouth.

He yanks my dress up to my waist with one hand and I can hear him unbuckling his belt with the other.

"This is going to be hard and fast, baby." He whispers in my ear and I quiver with anticipation.

The old Lydia, the Lydia I once thought I was, would never engage in such an outrageous act, even in the middle of the night, in a dead, dark street. But she is locked away now, giving way to this Lydia right here, who is all sensation and pure, unfiltered lust.

I mean, what can go wrong?

"Oi!" A shout tears through the night. "Stop right there!"

I freeze.

Oh. My. God!

Panic rushes through me and I yank my head in the direction of the voice. To my absolute horror, I see two police officers running in our direction.

Mark pulls away from me and runs for the driver's door.

"Get in the car, Lydia!" He yells at me. "Now!"