One Bite with a Stranger

by Christine Warren

  Wanting nothing but him.

  He stared into her eyes, his thumb smoothing the skin of her vulnerable throat while his other hand began to rub the furrow between her thighs with firm, steady pressure. She felt like a toy, positioned for his pleasure, dominated and controlled beneath his hands and his eyes and his breathtaking presence.

  God. How could she be so excited?

  Why did she have to fight to keep from whimpering, to keep her eyes from drifting shut, to keep her thighs from parting wider to urge him closer? Should she really enjoy being treated like some sort of blow-up doll for a strange man to use?

  “You have nothing in common with such inanimate objects, milka. A doll does not enjoy her lover’s caress.” His fingers slid forward, pressing the rough leather seam against her tender flesh, until he nudged her clit. Reggie bit back a moan, but she couldn’t control the way her hips rolled into his touch. “Only a woman becomes so hot, so wet, so richly scented.”

  He inhaled deeply, breathing her in. Reggie saw the way his nostrils flared and the heat that burned in his eyes and wondered how she smelled to him.

  Then she wondered what the hell she was thinking. She tensed, and nerves overwhelmed her again, no matter how wet he made her.

  “That is very good, Regina,” he murmured, nuzzling the sensitive hollow behind her ear. He might as well have nuzzled her clit, because his touch made her gasp and shake. “I want to make you nervous. And I want to make you wet. Before the night is over, I want to make you do many, many things you’ve only imagined. And that is what you want as well.”

  She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he bored her and he should leave her alone. But his fingers slid forward and closed gently around her clit.

  When he squeezed, she came.

  Her body tensed and shuddered against the cold, wooden door. Her hips jerked hard against his hand, and she slicked the crotch of her leather pants with an embarrassing wetness. She stood there, dazed and breathless, held up not by her water-weak legs, but by his hand on her throat and his fingers on her spasming body.

  “Isn’t that what you want, Regina?”

  She thought about denying it. She longed to deny it, but she knew he could feel the way her body still fluttered beneath his hand. She couldn’t lie, but she didn’t want to admit it either, so she kept her mouth shut and glared at him instead.

  He smiled and twisted his hand until his knuckles dug into the soaking leather on either side of her sensitized clit. He flexed his fingers, and she whimpered.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “God, yes!”

  “Good girl.”

  All of a sudden his hands fell away from her, and she sagged boneless against the door. “What—?”

  She hadn’t had time to blink, but Dmitri stood several feet away, his lips curved in a hard, wicked smile. He looked so pleased with himself. If her pussy weren’t still throbbing, she’d be tempted to wipe the smirk off his face.

  “Patience, dushka,” he murmured, looking amused by her mutinous expression. “You shall have what you want.”

  His eyes gleamed, and she could have sworn she felt his hands on her again, rubbing slowly over her swollen breasts and simultaneously cupping between her thighs, circling her wrists, and kneading her ass. If he hadn’t been standing three feet away, she would have been tempted to believe he’d grown a hundred new hands. She could feel his touch everywhere. Sensory memory, she told herself. Never mind that he hadn’t held her by her wrists.

  “You shall have exactly what you crave, Regina, but only if you do as I say. Can you do that?”

  She hesitated, wanting to say no, to scream, to run for the hills. At least, that’s what her upbringing wanted to do. Her body wanted to wrap itself around him and not let go until she was too weak to move. She wasn’t inclined to give her naughty bits the deciding vote.

  But then her nipples chimed in, followed by her thighs, her arms, her ass, and, finally, her traitorous lips.

  “Yes. I can do that.”

  She thought she caught a warm flash of pride and pleasure before his expression firmed into a mask of impassive control.

  “Good girl. In that case, strip off the leather and get on the bed. But leave the corset where it is.”

  Chapter 5

  It took a minute for the command to sink in, but once it did, Reggie swallowed. Hard.

  Strip? Now? Here?

  “Strip,” he repeated. “Now. Here.”

  He leaned against the post at the foot of her bed and watched.

  Reggie bit her lip. Moment-of-truth time. Her body wanted the clothes off her back and Dmitri on her front. Her mind called her ten kinds of idiot. Her curiosity cast the deciding vote. When would she ever have this kind of opportunity again, especially with a man who made her this hot? And especially when she felt so dazed and disconnected from reality that she could say with a clear conscience that she just hadn’t been thinking straight.

  She couldn’t back out now.

  Her hands moved to the side zipper on her leather pants, but her eyes stayed on his face. Just looking at his firm, authoritative expression and his austere, compelling features sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn’t read his thoughts, but her body didn’t care. Her nipples tightened beneath their silk covering, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

  “You might want to take the boots off first,” Dmitri drawled, watching but not moving. “Unless you want to be stuck with your pants around your ankles and no place to go. Not that the image doesn’t have a certain naughty-schoolgirl appeal.” His eyes glinted, the only crack in his stoic demeanor. “But we’ll save that particular scene for another time. Boots first.”

  The images sprang into her mind like an ambush. She saw herself, bare-bottomed and draped over his knees to face the consequences of her disobedience. Dmitri would be stern and unyielding, and she would be shaking and repentant, with an ass that glowed pink and warm from her spanking. A shudder raced through her.

  Dmitri noticed. His eyes burned, and she felt the force of his satisfaction.

  Her cheeks flushed even hotter, and she hurried to obey him. She reached down to pull off her boots and realized she had a problem.

  Reggie bent to a thirty-five-degree angle before the confining corset jerked her to a halt. She was stuck, and all of a sudden she recalled a key detail of her wardrobe, like the fact that she’d put on the corset after the boots; and they could only come off in the opposite order.

  She straightened up and cleared her throat. “Um, I seem to have a small problem.”

  Dmitri quirked an eyebrow.

  “I can’t untie the boots while I’m wearing the corset.”

  He said nothing.

  Reggie suspected he knew exactly what her problem was, but she explained anyway. “I can’t bend over far enough. Unless I take off the corset.”

  At least that got him to speak.

  “Did I tell you to take off the corset?” he asked with the exaggerated patience of an adult to a slow-witted child.

  He made Reggie feel like that naughty schoolgirl, and she quickly blocked out that thought before it got her in any more trouble. She shrugged. “You said to leave the corset where it is.”

  “Precisely.”

  She shifted her weight and frowned. “But I told you, I can’t take the boots off while the corset is on. And I can’t take the pants off until the boots come off.”

  He just raised his other eyebrow and waited.

  “Fine then.” Reggie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “If I can’t take the boots off, you have to find some other way to get into my pants, buster.”

  Reggie savored her defiance for all of three milliseconds. Until she saw Dmitri’s eyes narrow. His jaw firmed, and he pushed away from the bedpost, taking one menacing step toward her.

  “I don’t believe I heard you properly, Regina,” he purred. This time the rasp sounded more like a threat than a rumble of pleasure. “Did you just talk back to me? Because if you d
id, I’m afraid you’ll have to be punished for it.”

  For a heartbeat, she contemplated sassing him again. Not only would it give her great emotional satisfaction, but it would be the tug on the tiger’s tail that likely would get her turned over his knee and spanked until she begged for mercy. And if she egged him on, she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for it. She could blame him.

  She quivered. Dmitri stepped in front of her until his chest pressed against her and his breath tickled her eyelashes. He clouded her mind with the feel of him. Her stomach did a back flip, and suddenly, defying him was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to please him, needed to win his approval. To earn his touch.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He gripped her chin in his hand, raising her eyes to meet his. “What did you say, Regina? I couldn’t hear you.”

  She licked her lips, fought back another shudder. Every time she drew breath, she smelled him, and the earthy, spicy scent of him made her stomach clench. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean t-to talk back to you like that.”

  Dmitri watched her, staring at her as if he were measuring her words and her sincerity and weighing them against her offense. His thumb stroked the tender underside of her jaw until her breath caught in her throat. He smiled.

  “Better,” he murmured, “but still not a proper apology. Who are you apologizing to? Me? Your bedroom? The universe?”

  She chewed on her lip and frowned. “To you.”

  “And so you should, but I could not tell that from your apology. When you tell someone you are sorry, you should address him properly.”

  The look in his eyes told her he wanted something, even though she didn’t know what. The feel of his hands on her, especially when one of them slid to the small of her back and pressed her hips firmly against the ridge of his erection, made her want to squirm. Her pussy ached and dripped, and her nipples hurt from beading so tightly. She needed relief, and she wondered what she would have to do to get it.

  A thought occurred to her.

  “Do you want me to—” She broke off and blushed. “I mean…are you asking me to…call you ‘master’?”

  What was the proper etiquette for this kind of situation? Emily Post needed to add a chapter or two.

  His mouth curved in a slow, hot smile, and his hand slid from her chin to the nape of her neck. His fingers tangled in her hair and began to massage the hollow at the base of her skull. The feeling traveled down her spine until her thighs pressed together.

  “I have already told you what I wish you to call me,” he whispered. “Do you not remember?”

  She nodded slowly and moistened her dry lips. “Misha.”

  “Yes. You will call me Misha, Regina, for you will not need so obvious a reminder of what I am to you.”

  Which meant he would be her master. Part of her rebelled, but other, more demanding parts rejoiced. Where had her parents gone wrong to turn her into such a pervert?

  Dmitri—Misha—leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Then he released her and resumed his position at the foot of her bed. “Now, I believe I told you to remove your boots.”

  Boots? What boots? Reggie looked down. Oh. Right.

  The man could put her in a daze faster than a two-by-four to the forebrain. She shook her head and reached for her feet. And found herself right back where she had started. She might be short, but in the confining corset, her boots were still a long way out of her reach.

  She straightened up and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, Misha, but I can’t reach my boots to unlace them.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, and then took the plunge. “Would you please help me take them off?”

  She saw his approval and felt absurdly proud of herself.

  “Since you asked so nicely, dushka, I would be happy to help you.” He beckoned her to him. “Come and put your foot up on the bedrail where I can reach it. You can still bend from the hips.”

  She obeyed, crossing to the bed and raising her left foot to the rail beside his thigh. The position spread her legs wide, and she caught a hint of her own fragrance. She saw Dmitri inhale deeply, and she quivered.

  He pushed her trouser cuff high enough to unlace her calf-length boots. His hands moved with brisk efficiency, and she couldn’t wait to feel them on her again. Her heart skipped a beat when the thought finally sank in that once he removed her boots and she dropped her pants, she would be able to feel his touch on her exposed flesh. Just the thought almost sent her back over the edge.

  She needed a quick distraction. “What does that word mean? The one you keep calling me.”

  He pulled her laces free and tapped her right thigh. She obediently switched legs, lowering the left and propping the right on the bedrail.

  “Dushka means ‘sweet’ or ‘sweetie.’ Milaya and milka mean ‘sweet little girl.’” He finished with her second boot and pushed it to the floor. His eyes met hers. “I have not yet tasted you, Regina, but already I know you will be very sweet on my tongue.”

  Oh, Lord. Her eyes all but rolled back in her head. The man talked a good game.

  He grinned. “Now get back where you were and do as you were told. And this time, no backtalk.”

  Reggie took a deep breath and nodded. Her knees wobbled like rubber, so she stepped carefully back into position. She was putting on a show for him, but the idea excited rather than offended her. She wanted him to be aroused by the sight of her. She wanted her body to incite his lust. She wanted to trip him and beat him to the floor.

  She toed her boots off, trying not to imagine the feel of his tongue against her overheated flesh. If her imagination didn’t cut it out, she wouldn’t even last until they got around to the actual sex. She’d burst into flame the moment he laid a hand on her.

  Even his gaze threatened to singe her. She felt it like a wave of heat traveling up the length of her legs and coming to rest at the curve of her hip, right at her zipper. Quickly, she slid the metal tab down and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her pants. She started to push the heavy material down, but a burst of nerves stopped her. She couldn’t believe she was really doing this, stripping herself naked for a man she’d just met. Maybe she should just—

  He growled.

  He didn’t speak, didn’t tsk his tongue, didn’t clear his throat. He growled like a predator, and she thought his lips curved in something just short of a snarl.

  Maybe she should just take off her pants.

  Squelching the nerves and the temptation to turn tail and run—mostly because she figured he’d just chase her—she slid the leather over her hips and down her thighs as far as she was able without bending over. Stepping out of the confining material with as much grace as she could muster, she kicked it aside and found herself all but naked in front of him.

  Unable to postpone it any longer, she lifted her gaze to his.

  If black could burn, his eyes burned in that moment. His gaze started at her toes and slid up along the length of her bare legs, tickling her skin like a caress. The heat made her shiver, and she imagined how her nerves would riot when he finally touched her.

  She watched his eyes, wanted his hands, but when his gaze reached the vee of her legs and the flare of her hip, it cooled and made her shiver.

  “Take off the panties,” he ordered, his voice rougher than before. Deeper. “And don’t wear them again. They get in my way, and I want you always available to me. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. She could hardly deny it when his words sent a rush of moisture flooding from her. She ignored the pounding of her heart and stripped off the damp, green thong.

  “Yes, Misha.”

  “Good. Now get on the bed. This is the second time I’ve had to tell you.”

  And don’t make me tell you again.

  His voice had been neutral, but Reggie caught the subtext. He wanted obedience. The weird thing was, she wanted to give it.

  Swiftly, though a little jerky with nerves, she crossed the few step
s to the bed and crawled onto the velvety chenille spread. She knelt there, perched awkwardly on her heels, unsure of what to do next. Her hands fluttered, wanting to cover her naked pubis, wanting to touch him. In the end, she forced them to her sides.

  Dmitri watched from the foot of the bed, his dark eyes glowing in the dim light, his expression bland. He was driving her crazy. His nonchalance had built the tension inside her to a breaking point. With every breath, her nipples ached and her pussy throbbed and her palms itched with the need to feel him against her.

  She wanted him to talk to her, to touch her, to take her. He needed to do something before she lost her mind, even if that meant throwing her down and screwing her senseless without an iota of foreplay. For God’s sake, the entire night with him had been foreplay. She wanted nowplay.

  He stepped around to the side of the bed and stood in front of her. “Face me,” he ordered, “and open your legs.”

  She bit her lip and obeyed, but there was no way she could meet his gaze while she did. She looked down instead, and her vision became filled with the sight of her own pale thighs and the dark valley between them. Her body leaked like a faucet, and she could see little drops of her juices beaded in the close-cropped curls between her legs.

  “Wider.”

  Trembling, her breath coming faster, she obeyed, shifting her weight to maintain her balance while she spread herself open before him.

  He extended his hand and laid one long finger against the skin at the inside of her knee. While she watched, he drew it slowly up the inside of her thigh until his fingers tangled in her damp curls. He rubbed, and she stopped breathing.

  One finger tapped firmly against her inner thigh.

  “Wider.”

  She opened wider, spreading inch by inch until he finally stopped tapping. She could have pressed the soles of her feet together, and the muscles in her groin and thighs trembled to hold the position.