Fixed 01 - Fantasy Fix (20 page)

Yes
, milka. Sosi mne.
Suck me.

Reggie did, her head bobbing while she drew his cock deep into her mouth and released him, over and over, swirling her tongue around the head with each pass. Her eyes had drifted shut, but she felt his hands sink into her hair and cup the back of her head, holding her to him. The possessive gesture excited her.

Bystraye.
Faster
.

She worked faster, tightening her hand at the base of his shaft, massaging his balls with a firmer motion. He pressed against her tongue, his cock hardening even more, if that were possible. His hands clenched in her hair and even the small pain of it aroused her. She whimpered, the sound muffled around his cock, then hummed in the back of her throat so the vibrations traveled through her tongue and palate to provide another layer to the sensation that already threatened to send him over the edge.

Ah!
Bozhe moy, ya umirayu!
My God, I’m dying!

Even in his thoughts, Reggie sensed his urgency. A moment later, his cock heated and throbbed and suddenly he filled her mouth with sperm, the thick, milky liquid overwhelming her. She tried to pull back, but his hands remained fisted in her hair. She struggled, and he untangled one, sliding it around to cup her face.

Zagloti, dushka.
Swallow for me, baby. There’s a good girl.

Reggie obeyed. His hand on her skin and the tenderness in his tone soothed her, made the alien experience seem safer and less threatening. Though she’d never swallowed the results of any of her previous blowjobs, she swallowed this one, and felt somehow that the act brought her closer to her lover.

When she finished, he adjusted his clothing and pulled her back up to her seat to kiss her, his dark eyes glinting in reflected stage lights. “Thank you,
milaya
.”

Suddenly shy—which was ridiculous considering what she’d just been doing—Reggie smiled at him and snuggled against his side. He wrapped his strong arms around her and held her close, resting his chin on top of her head while Turandot wept with joy at Calaf’s kiss.

Reggie watched the scene on stage and smiled against Dmitri’s lapel. Turandot might think her prince was hot stuff, but she clearly didn’t know what she was missing.

Chapter Fourteen

Nerves attacked Reggie when she watched Dmitri unlock the door to his gorgeous, old brownstone townhouse. She’d spent the last few minutes at the opera and the entire cab ride here in a dazed sort of contentment, feeling so warm and foggy she’d never noticed when the taxi took them in the opposite direction from her apartment. It dropped them off in a hideously expensive, historic neighborhood on the Upper East Side in front of the building Misha now ushered her into.

The golden glow of the entry lights gleamed on the warm, hardwood floors and period wainscoted walls. Above the paneling, the walls were papered in the sort of embossed wall covering that had more in common with expensive fabric than generic wallpaper. She tore her eyes away from the artwork on the wall (which
really
looked like an original Degas charcoal sketch), and let Dmitri take her coat. He draped it along with his over a settee and took her arm.

“Welcome to my home,
dushka
,” he said formally. He stared down at her and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “You honor me with your presence.”

Reggie gulped and fidgeted, suddenly feeling unsure and out of place. “I think the Queen of England would have a hard time honoring this place. I think I’m just lucky the elegance police have given me a get out of jail free card.”

His lips quirked. “You have a very expansive sort of leeway in my home,
dushka
. You may do anything you wish here. Except, perhaps, to leave.”

He meant she couldn’t leave tonight.

Didn’t he?

“I would give you a tour,” he continued, guiding her inexorably toward the stairs, “but I am afraid it is not possible at the moment.”

“Your maid had the day off?”

“I cannot wait another five minutes to be inside you again.”

Oh. Right. Well, then.

She found herself up the stairs and down the hall before she could digest his comment, let alone decide what to do about it. He pushed open a heavy, paneled door, and she got a brief glimpse of a massive expanse of mattress edged with carved posts and dark, silken sheets before she found herself swept up into his arms and carried across the floor. She clung to his broad shoulders, her head whirling, until he laid her on her back atop the cool sheets and pressed her arms down beside her head. He loomed over her, a great, heated shadow that blocked her view of anything else, not that anything else mattered.

“Did you miss me,
milaya
?” he demanded, his voice a stir of gravel and sin. “While we were apart, did your body ache for me?”

His hand slid down to palm her breast for an instant before it continued over her stomach to cup her through the fabric of her dress. “Did you dream of me?”

His touch drove the breath from her lungs. She arched her body, pressing herself against his hand.

God, if he only knew what she had dreamed
.

“Tell me.”

She tried, she really did, but the only sound she could make was a whimpering sort of gasp when he touched her. Her eyes drifted shut, and her lids became a screen on which the film of her fantasies ran in all their Technicolor glory.

She heard Dmitri laugh, a low, rumbling sound. “Ah,
milaya
, you are a wonder to me. You have such passion behind your conventional little exterior.” His hand moved to the zipper at the back of her dress. “It pleases me.”

The material gave way beneath his hands, and he tugged the dress away from her and tossed it aside, leaving her sprawled out before him in lewd abandon. She’d gone naked beneath the dress, since the bodice had a built in bra, and he’d ordered her to forgo panties, so now all she wore was her pale skin, her white flesh a stark contrast to the darkness of the man looming over her. She opened her eyes and found him staring, his glance like a pair of hands running over her, raising gooseflesh on her skin.

“Lovely,” he murmured. He released her hands and sat back, resting against the carved headboard with indolent grace. “But I think I am intrigued by this dream you have had of me,
dushka
. I would like to make it come true for you. And for me.”

His eyes glinted with an intensity his lazy drawl had managed to conceal. Reggie twisted into a sitting position and faced him. He raised his eyebrow and remained still. A thrill of excitement ran through her. He expected to lay back and be pleasured, like some pasha with his slave girl, and Reggie’s normally independent nature remained cheerfully silent, offering not a single protest. It shocked her to realize these fantasies of hers—these submissive feelings she’d always felt were so antithetical to her real personality and beliefs—maybe they weren’t so foreign to her nature after all. They certainly felt completely natural in that moment.

Taking a deep breath, she scooted forward across the mattress until she knelt before him, perched hesitantly between his thighs. She reached up to his collar and tugged loose the knot in his tie. Silk whispered against silk when she drew the fabric free and tossed it on the floor beside the bed. Dmitri merely smiled.

Her fingers fumbled a little on his shirt studs, but eventually she got the tiny gold clasps unfastened. When she started to slide off the bed so she could set the studs down on the bedside table, Dmitri fastened his hands around her waist and stopped her.

You are not permitted to get up just now
.

Reggie read his challenge in his eyes. Once he knew she understood, he dropped his hands. Nibbling her lower lip, Reggie hesitated for a second. She braced one hand against the mattress and leaned across him. If she stretched as far as she could without tumbling over, she could just reach to drop the studs on the edge of the table. Stretching in that direction, though, meant she had to drape herself across Dmitri’s torso, bringing her breasts within an inch or two of his face.

He noticed. His lips latched onto her nipple and tugged in a sweet suckling motion. Reggie moaned, a shiver of pleasure shaking her. Blindly, she groped for the nightstand and dropped the studs onto the corner. She vaguely heard them make contact with the wooden surface and fall, scattering across the floor with tiny pinging noises. She couldn’t have cared less. She wrapped her arms around Dmitri’s head, pressing him closer to her. As soon as she did so, he pulled back.

“How clumsy of you, Regina,” he murmured, pushing her back to a kneeling position in front of him. “I expect you to take better care of my things. I trust you will not be so cavalier with my cufflinks.” He extended his arm to her, wrist turned to expose the decorative clasp.

Reggie hurried to unfasten it, repeating the operation with the other cuff. She leaned forward toward the nightstand, but this time she twisted her body so she presented Dmitri with her shoulder blade, rather than her breasts. If he went for her nipples again, she’d be totally useless.

She heard him chuckle, and his hand slid swiftly between her legs, penetrating her with two long fingers. She froze in place, dropping her head on a groan. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Only in the French sense of the word,
dushka. Seulement la petite morte.
”

“Oh. Only a little death,” she translated in her high school French, panting while she set the cufflinks carefully on the table. “I feel so much better now.”

Dmitri laughed, his lips brushing against her nipple as he brought his thumb into play, using it to draw tight little circles around her already aching clit.
No, no,
milaya. La petite morte
is…well, allow me to demonstrate
.

His free hand slid to her side, cupping one breast and shifting her to face him fully. He raked his thumbnail over the erect nipple even while his teeth nibbled delicately at the bud in his mouth. Reggie shuddered and tried to pull away, but succeeded only in pressing herself harder on the hand between her legs. His fingers sank deeper, and he curled the tips to caress the inner walls of her pussy. She felt trapped and overwhelmed and dizzy with the sensations pounding at her. She grabbed desperately at his shoulders, needing an anchor to hold her steady. The pressure inside her built with ridiculous speed, winding tighter and faster with each stroke of his fingers, each glide of his tongue. She became an extension of his touch, existing only for the fingers in her cunt and the mouth on her breast.

“Misha,” she whimpered, feeling him guide her inexorably to the edge of an enormous cliff. What would happen when he drove her over, she couldn’t imagine. “Please. I-I need…”

I know,
milaya.
I know.
His thumb pressed harder on her clit, and his fingers closed sharply around her nipple.
Come for me,
dushka.
Now
.

She obeyed, her body drawing tight while the tension inside her peaked and broke, flooding her with pleasure and flooding his hand with the evidence. She slid boneless against him, leaning her cheek against the front of his shirt while her hands still clutched at his shoulders.

She struggled to catch her breath, shuddering delicately with the aftershocks that still rippled through her. Dmitri comforted her, petting her back with soothing motions and brushing soft kisses against her hair. He gave her a few minutes to compose herself, but his hands soon moved to her hips and sat her back on her heels again.

“I do not believe you had yet finished your task, Regina,” he said, glancing down at his shirt, which hung open but still covered his arms and broad shoulders. “I would not want to think you neglect your chores.”

Because undressing him is such a chore,
she thought, biting her cheek to keep from rolling her eyes. She waited for one of his smart comments, but Dmitri remained silent. He was waiting.

Sliding her hands beneath the two, open shirt halves, Reggie took her time, savoring the warm weight of his muscular chest beneath her hands. She savored the feel of him, smooth and hard near his shoulders, rougher and somehow less civilized in the center of his chest where a blanket of masculine fur arrowed down toward his waistband. She leaned forward to strip the cloth from his shoulders and gave in to the temptation to rub her cheek against the sensual, contrasting textures. She felt the rippling of his muscles beneath her touch, but he kept his hands at his sides and let her continue.

She pushed the shirt down his arms and tugged it from under him, tossing it away near his tie. She sat back to survey what she’d uncovered.

Great googly-moogly
. Lord, but the man was gorgeous. He had the musculature of a Greek statue that had decided to take up bodybuilding. She could see the definition of his muscles when they flexed and shifted, and appreciated they stopped short of exaggeration. His shoulders looked impossibly broad while he lounged there in graceful splendor. His chest was wide and strong, his waist lean and stomach firm. And suddenly she couldn’t wait to see the rest of him again.

The fingers she lifted to his waistband trembled before she managed to force them into steadiness. Just to be sure they were prepared to obey her, she caressed them down his sides, her thumbs brushing over his nipples before gliding south to his tuxedo pants. She undid the top catch and gripped the zipper tab between her thumb and forefinger and slowly began inching the fastening open. Her eyes were glued to her task, her head bowed, the tension of a child on Christmas morning surrounding her. She felt his eyes on her while she pulled the zipper down the last few millimeters and spread open his fly.

He wore nothing beneath but his skin, a fact she’d appreciated at the opera and reveled in now. She tugged at the fabric, and he cooperated by lifting his hips so she could pull it down. She eased back toward the foot of the bed, stopped just past his feet and quickly stripped them as well. Grabbing hold of his slacks, she tugged them down and off of him, casting them aside behind her. She lowered her head, set her tongue against the hollow of his ankle and slowly dragged it upward along the inside of his leg.