One Bite with a Stranger

by Christine Warren

  In the flickering lights that flashed through the taxi windows, Reggie looked at the man she loved and saw him watching her with a light in his eyes that made her stomach flip and her heart melt. And all the sadness in the world dissipated.

  When she spoke, her voice sounded low and husky, and it made Dmitri focus all his attention on her. “So I guess that’s why you didn’t contact me again before tonight, huh?”

  He nodded and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. “It is, though I apologize if my silence upset you, dushka. I never meant for my lapse to make you uncertain of me. The only explanation I can offer is that my feelings for you are so strong, I took too easily for granted that you understood them.”

  Regina tilted her head back to meet his gaze shyly. “And what are your feelings, Misha?”

  “Ah, dushka, I suspect you know very well how I feel about you,” he murmured, unable to resist brushing her lips with his. Once. Twice. “I did not, however, plan to tell you of those feelings in the back of a taxicab on the side of a busy street.”

  She laughed softly and leaned into him. “Point taken.” Her arms twined about his neck. “So what do you say we skip the opera, go back to my apartment, and have a very private discussion?” She interspersed her suggestions with kisses, pressing her lips to every bit of available skin she could reach.

  “I think not.” He caught her lips in one brief, meltingly sensual kiss and broke away just as her knees began to turn to pudding. “I understand you have been looking forward to this evening for quite a long time, and I would hate to disappoint you.” He trailed a fingertip along her jaw, his smile turning wicked and his gaze capturing hers with an intensity that burned. “I want you to understand, dushka, that whatever you desire, I will provide. You will never need to turn to another while I live.”

  Reggie shivered and felt her throat tighten. The words sounded teasing, but they felt like a vow, one that bound him to her for eternity. Shakily, she nodded.

  “Good.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and his arms tightened briefly around her. “Then we should hurry before we miss the overture.”

  At a word from Dmitri, the cabbie put the taxi back into gear and steered them into traffic without a word. Settling back into her lover’s arms, Reggie watched the city pass by the windows and thought to herself that the most important overture had been conducted last Friday night. Now she just wanted to sit back and enjoy the story. She had a feeling it would be the most exciting spectacle of her life.

  Chapter 19

  Reggie had attended the opera as a young child—her mother had been a fan—but she’d never before sat in one of the newly built private boxes near the ceiling at the back of the auditorium. If she had realized that was where Dmitri meant to take her, she would have been even more careful in repairing her hair and makeup in the restroom off the lobby. As it was, she had said a prayer of thanks for waterproof mascara, reapplied her eyeliner, swiped on some lip gloss, and piled her hair loosely atop her head, fastening it with a set of carved ebony hairsticks she had tucked into her bag for emergencies.

  This definitely qualified.

  Looking around while the usher led them to their seats, Reggie reflected on how different this date would have been if she’d come here with Marc. He had been very sweet and remarkably easy to talk to, but it would have made her feel terrible to let him down about her supposed fantasy. At least in Dmitri’s company, she didn’t have to explain that she didn’t feel comfortable having sex with a relative stranger in a public place.

  She let Dmitri take her coat and seat her in one of the two luxurious armchairs that occupied the center of the box. When she looked around her, it almost seemed a shame they were there alone, considering that the dimensions of the box could easily have accommodated four or even six people, oversized chairs notwithstanding.

  She watched him hand their coats to the usher, who proceeded to move to each side of the box where it bordered their neighbors and release the heavy drapes from their swags. The material formed a visual barrier between the other boxes and made Reggie’s eyes widen. The public nature of the box had just been transformed into something else entirely. Something very private.

  Centering her attention on the darkened stage, Reggie shifted in her seat and smoothed the silky material of her dress over her thighs. Then she straightened the clasp on her silver and onyx necklace. Then she checked the clasp on her tiny evening bag, gave a tug to her bodice, and patted her hair. When she ran out of fidgets, she stared straight ahead and cursed herself for not wearing opera gloves. They would have provided one more step in her distraction techniques.

  The usher left their box, and Dmitri took his seat beside her. She started to tell him he was crowding her, but before she could speak, he slid his arm over the back of her chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. He didn’t even pretend the move had been casual. He meant it as a statement of possession, and that’s exactly what she took it for. The man was about as subtle as a jackhammer, but she pretended to ignore him and kept her eyes on the stage.

  She probably should have noticed it before, but she’d had other things on her mind. The man fairly reeked of privilege. His evening clothes had definitely been custom tailored; there was just no other way he could have gotten the fabric to hug his tall, well-muscled frame that lovingly. His shoes had the buttery soft look of Italian leather, and now that she studied them, she realized his shirt studs and cuff links shone with the rich, warm glow of solid gold. She’d bet twenty-four karat. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the stage and crossed her legs primly at the ankles.

  Just when the lights began to dim around them, she leaned the tiniest bit closer and, her eyes still fixed on the stage, murmured, “So then, you’re pretty much filthy rich, huh?”

  “Disgustingly so.” He, too, kept his attention on the proscenium below.

  “Hm. Isn’t that special.”

  Settling back into her seat, she crossed her hands primly in her lap and concentrated on presenting an utterly calm exterior—to contrast with the chaotic thoughts and emotions beneath the surface. Even before this late-breaking news, she’d had a few moments where she wondered exactly what she was doing with Dmitri. After all, the man was drop-dead gorgeous, sexy as sin, dynamite in bed, mysterious as the hero of a gothic romance, and one-hundred-percent alpha male. Now she learned he was also richer than Midas.

  So what the hell had he been doing hanging out at a run-of-the-mill dive like the Mausoleum that night? Why had he fixed his attention on her among all the beautiful women who had been there, available and most likely panting after him? Then she felt his thumb rub softly over the curve of her bare shoulder, and she shivered. Perhaps the why didn’t really matter so much, after all. What mattered was that they had found each other somehow.

  With the final light extinguished, the first notes of the overture flooded through the auditorium. All around them, attention shifted from conversations with companions and strangers to the action revealed on stage when the footlights went up. Everyone watched while the city of Peking came to life before them, and the Mandarin began to sing of the Princess Turandot and the impossible test her suitors must pass in order to win her hand.

  In their quiet box high above the stage, Dmitri didn’t bother to win Regina’s hand. He took it, by right of strength, twining his fingers with hers and resting their clasped hands together on her thigh, halfway between knee and hip.

  Oh, Lord.

  In her mind, she heard him chuckle.

  Titles are archaic, dushka. And unnecessary. You need not address me so formally. I have told you “Misha” will do.

  Though she didn’t look away from the stage, Reggie felt a rush of relief. He still didn’t seem mad at her. Maybe he was going to let the date with Marc go after all.

  As soon as she relaxed, she couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Despite his teasing, the autocratic tenor of his words suited him and rang with an underlying truth. He probably
did see himself as some sort of feudal lord, demanding tribute from the peasants while he sat in his castle and counted the spoils of war.

  I have always preferred the spoiling to the counting. Mathematics can be so tedious.

  Would you be quiet? And get out of my head. I’m trying to watch the opera. Barbarian.

  She felt his laughter along with her own sense of satisfaction when he finally deigned to actually look toward the stage.

  Of course, milaya. Because watching the performance was your only intent in coming here tonight.

  He just had to have the last word. She frowned, her attention straying from the touching reunion between the aged Timur and his son, Prince Calaf. Something in his tone made her a little uneasy, but he sat quietly enough beside her, and she soon found herself drawn into the world of the haughty Princess Turandot and her determined suitor, Calaf. The determined part sounded familiar; it was the suitor she was having trouble relating to.

  The image of Dmitri petitioning for her hand popped into her brain, and she had to stifle her laugh. Despite Marc calling her a princess, she didn’t really think she had much in common with Turandot, but she guaranteed that Dmitri was nothing like Calaf. He would never follow the dictates of a spoiled princess, never play along with her game. If he wanted her, he would take her, as he had taken Reggie.

  The memory of it made her squirm in her seat, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. In the dark, she saw the smile curve his gorgeous mouth. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction, but Misha simply raised their joined hands to his lips and brushed a whisper-soft kiss along her knuckles. He turned his attention back to the stage and watched while love battled with anger for the princess’s heart.

  In Reggie’s heart, relief battled with pique to make her decidedly uncomfortable. For some insane reason, she felt disappointed he paid more attention to the stage than to her. What was she thinking? She ought to be relieved the man had decided to behave himself for a change; she shouldn’t be brooding because he’d been with her for a good hour and hadn’t ravished her yet. Clearly, he had driven her over the edge. She could no longer claim to be sane. She needed to get her mind back on the opera and off the hunk at her side.

  Or did she?

  Casting Dmitri a sidelong glance, Reggie considered a few salient points. During the cab ride from the restaurant to the opera, her world had turned upside down. She had fallen in love, or at least realized that she’d been falling in love for the past week, and somehow the romantic tribulations of a spoiled brat in a fictionalized, medieval China couldn’t compare with the real-life adventures of her experiences with Dmitri.

  Now, an opera about the two of them… That might just be able to keep her attention.

  “I believe it would be illegal to perform in most countries,” he murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle the hollow beneath her ear. She could feel his smile against her skin. “Such things are still generally considered ill-suited for public consumption.” She blushed hot enough to burn, and he drew back to grin down at her. “Though the audience would surely fall in love with whatever actress portrayed you, dushka, especially if she blushed as prettily as you do when she came.”

  Embarrassed to her pink-polished toes, Reggie decided Misha had spent a bit too much time during their brief relationship playing the role of charming, self-controlled rogue. He definitely needed to learn that some of the time, the submissive partner was the one with all the power.

  She took a moment to check on the action on stage and threw a glance at her watch, thankful there was enough light to see. It looked like they had about forty minutes left until the intermission, which should be just enough time for a little judicious lesson-teaching. Her lips curved in anticipation.

  For the next several moments she pretended to be absorbed by the story on stage. In reality, she was waiting for Dmitri to relax and shift his own attention off her even briefly. It took a few minutes, but finally he seemed to content himself with holding her hand in his, and he watched while lack of sleep began to wear on the fictional people of Peking.

  She started by leaning closer to him, snuggling against his side and laying her cheek on the warm silk of his lapel. She shifted their clasped hands from her thigh to his, then stilled and waited. His arm slipped around her shoulder to cradle her to him, and she thought she felt his lips brush over her hair, but he continued to watch the stage.

  After a few more minutes, she cast a furtive glance around to be sure no one could see into their little boxed-in cocoon and took a deep breath. Time to make her move.

  With a feather-light touch, Reggie slipped one of her hands free and sent it gliding up Dmitri’s inner thigh. Unfortunately, due to the nature of men’s fashions, cloth muffled her touch, but she could still feel his muscles bunch and tighten beneath her hand. When she reached the vee of his legs, she skirted her fingers around the very interesting bulge behind his fly and headed straight up to the hook at the top. Slipping it free of its catch, she grasped the zipper between her fingers and waited. She felt his anticipation as keenly as his heartbeat pulsing against the back of her hand. When the secondary soprano hit an extended high note, Reggie tugged and lowered the zipper. Her hand slid under the straining cloth and found him, warm and hard and heavy beneath. Her murmur expressed her approval, and her fingers gladly curled around his length, feeling him thick and smooth and eager for her touch.

  Leisurely, she began to stroke him, scraping her fingernails delicately against the skin at the base of the shaft and squeezing lightly when she moved toward the tip. She tortured him with a few of the teasing strokes, or at least, she meant them to be teasing, but a quick glance at his face revealed no particular strain. He looked way too calm for her taste. Eyes narrowing, she continued to watch him while she tightened her grip, pumping her small fist and using her index finger to rub circles around the sensitive head. His erection twitched, but his face remained impassive. This meant war.

  In a flash of movement she slid off her seat and onto her knees to take him between her lips in one smooth movement. That at least made him draw in a deep breath, but when he let it out, he wore the same polite expression he would use during a stockholders’ meeting.

  Well, since they were here to enjoy the performances, Reggie decided she might as well show him what being a virtuoso was all about.

  Freeing her left hand from Dmitri’s grip, she spread open his evening trousers. One hand closed around the base of his cock, while the other lifted the heavy pouch below from confinement, cuddling him tenderly in her palm. Watching his face from beneath her eyelashes, she leaned forward and delicately nibbled the skin of his glans.

  Dmitri shuddered.

  Reggie smiled. The man just might not be made of stone after all, she mused, though you’d never know it from this angle. He felt hard as granite, but infinitely warmer. His pulse throbbed against her lips, and she parted them to take the first few inches into her mouth, closing around him like a moist heaven. One hand continued to cradle and massage his sensitive skin, and the other wrapped around the base of his shaft, stroking what she couldn’t fit in her mouth.

  Dmitri watched the stage.

  Acknowledging the challenge, Reggie applied herself to her task, and a very pleasant one she found it. He filled her mouth, his thickness stretching her jaw just enough to make her acutely aware of what she was doing. He pressed against her tongue, filling her with his salty, earthy, intensely masculine flavor. He smelled the same, fresh and clean and earthy, the essence of a man, like forests after spring showers. Humming her approval, she suckled at him like a tasty treat, and he rewarded her with a hiss of indrawn breath.

  Yes, milka. Sosi mne. Suck me.

  Ah-ha. Now she had him. Reggie complied, her head bobbing while she drew him 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 reach out to cup the back of her head, holding her to him. The possessive gesture excited
her.

  Bystraye. Faster.

  Oh, no, she thought. This time, she was the one calling the shots.

  Deliberately, Reggie slowed, drawing back until just the tip of his erection remained in her mouth so she could lash the sensitive underside of the head with her tongue. Just let him try to give her orders now.

  Dushka! he panted.

  She removed her hands from between his legs and braced her palms on his thighs, depriving him of her massage. She wanted all his attention focused on her mouth, on the way she could make him feel. On the way she held his very life inside of her.

  Pazhalsta!

  Please!

  His thoughts flooded her, a tangled mass of need, lust, affection, understanding. She felt him reach out, felt his urgency in the way his fingers tightened at the back of her head, and she knew she could deny him nothing.

  She worked faster, tightening her hand at the base of his shaft, massaging with a firmer motion. He pressed against her tongue, 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, he stilled, every muscle in his body tensing as he hissed out a cry and exploded inside her. She tried to pull back, but his grip held her close, his free hand sliding 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, brought her somehow closer to her lover.