Fixed 01 - Fantasy Fix (12 page)

“Boring. Boring. Seen it. Ugh.” Mumbling a running commentary on her rejections, Reggie finally reached the end of the closet. She’d left herself with only one choice.

“Damn it.” Frowning, she perched on the end of the bed and glowered at the open closet door, as if she could intimidate it into creating new and exciting outfits for her to wear. It didn’t happen. She ran her gaze down the entire closet rod one more time, trying to see if she’d missed anything, or if any ideas popped into her head for new ways to combine garments into breathtakingly sexy outfits. No luck. The only things she saw were her own boring old clothes and the red velvet dress that could make a porn star proud. Her salvation had yet to appear.

Reggie drained her glass of wine in disgust and set it aside. Fate decreed she should wear the red dress, and she knew how to give in gracefully. Sort of.

She pulled the dress out of the closet and hooked its hanger over the back of the door. When she stripped away the plastic, the rich sheen of silk velvet caught the light and seemed to breathe. Her hand went out to touch it, drawn by the luxurious promise of the fabric. She’d paid a fortune for the thing, more than she wanted to remember, but in that moment, she decided it had been worth every penny.

Her skin looked pearly-pale where it touched the material, set off against the backdrop of crimson velvet. Instead of washing her out, the color refined her skin to a shade of rich, warm cream that looked smooth enough to spread on a scone…or a set of silk sheets. No wonder Dmitri wanted her to wear it.

Of course, he also might have been influenced by the fact that the garment just missed being a size too small. If the saleswoman hadn’t assured Reggie that the designer intended a snug fit, she’d have tried on a larger size. As it was, she remembered the material fitting her almost as closely as her skin, where it covered her skin, anyway. The abbreviated bodice sat off the shoulder and drew the eye to her breasts while the hemline fought for an equal share of attention by falling somewhere just long of indecent exposure.

Carrying it with her to the full-length mirror on the door, Reggie held it up against her body, smoothing a hand across the luxurious cloth. She had to give the man credit; he had fabulous taste. Stripping out of her robe, she pulled on her bra and thigh high stockings before she gave in and pulled on the dress.

She sighed at the feel of the heavy velvet against her skin when she finally wrapped the gorgeous garment around her. She struggled for a minute with the zipper until it slid up its full height to just below her shoulder blades, and she surveyed the results in the full-length mirror.

“Damn. It’s perfect.”

* * * * *

At precisely six thirty-five, Reggie stepped through the door of Captain Jack’s Nightclub and took a deep breath. Well, as deep as she could without tumbling out of the low cut dress and giving the inhabitants of the bar a better show than the strip club down the street. She felt the weight of appreciative male glances sliding over her, even though she normally remained oblivious to that kind of attention. Tonight, she felt it, and it felt fabulous.

She knew she looked better than she had in a long time, maybe better than she ever had. The dress presented her lush curves like an offering, pushing her generous breasts together and raising them until they looked in danger of spilling from the neckline. The snug fit accentuated the smallness of her waist and hugged the curve of her hip until all eyes were drawn by the contrast. Her skin seemed to glow against the crimson velvet and the auburn silk of her hair, which she’d allowed to tumble in unruly waves down her back. Her legs were encased in the sheer, black, thigh-highs whose tops just barely managed to stay hidden under her hem, and her dainty feet disappeared into a pair of black stiletto heels.

All in all, Reggie looked like sex on a stick, and she wasn’t the only person in the bar who thought so. Too bad Dmitri wasn’t early enough to see her grand entrance.

 
“Reggie! What are you doing here?”

She automatically turned at the sound of her name, but when she saw who had called it, she swore quietly and creatively. Missy and Corinne sat at one of the small, round tables near the edge of the bar, and they waved her over with enthusiasm. Of all the rotten luck!

“Girl, after those messages Ava left you, I thought you’d be avoiding all of us like the plague. But look at you!” Corinne pulled back and gave her friend a comprehensive going over. “You are hot!”

“Absolutely. What inspired you?” Missy’s eyes widened. “Are you meeting the guy from last night again? Where is he? Can we meet him?”

Reggie shifted.

 
“Tell us every dirty little detail,” Corinne demanded. “I never even got a look at the lucky man, but I heard a rumor he makes gorgeous sound like an insult.”

Reggie struggled for some way to weasel out of answering questions and was preparing to yell, “Fire!” at the top of her lungs when a hand fell on her shoulder.

“Reggie, thanks so much for agreeing to meet me.” All three women turned at the sound of Greg’s voice. He ignored Reggie’s friends and took her by the elbow. “I got us a quiet table by the wall where we can talk.”

Reggie froze and wondered which higher power she could have offended enough to land her in this situation.
Of all the bars in all the clubs in all the world, my friends just had to walk into this one.
The situation achieved an extra level of ironic pain due to the fact that the women seated beside her hated Greg with a passion, even more than Reggie had ever been able to bring herself to hate him. It spoke for their loyalty, but not for a pleasant meeting.

“Oh, have you learned to keep it in your pants long enough to have conversations these days, Gregory?” Corinne smirked, not even attempting to hide her contempt.

“Gregory has always been good at talking, Corinne,” Missy said. Around Greg, even sweet little Missy turned brittle and cutting. “It was telling the truth that he had a problem with.”

Greg glared at Reggie’s friends, but for once, he kept his mouth shut and didn’t let them drag him into a fight. Instead, he focused on Reggie and gestured to a table at the back of the bar. “Shall we?”

Reggie risked a quick look at her friends and registered their “Lucy, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!” expressions. They’d just have to wait until later, because she was not about to pass up the opportunity to have Gregory Martin groveling at her feet in a public place. There were some things to which a girl simply did
not
say “no.”

She murmured her agreement, cast her friends an “I’ll tell you later” glance, and let Greg guide her to their table. She kept her head high and her shoulders back and added an extra swing to her hips when their path through the crowd forced her to walk in front of him. Let the twit salivate, because he was never going to lay a finger on her again.

The funny thing was she didn’t feel Greg’s eyes on her. Instead she felt the almost tactile sensation of someone else’s gaze. Reggie looked around, expecting to see Dmitri poised somewhere in the shadows. He wasn’t there, but she still could have sworn his fingers slipped beneath her hair and caressed the back of her neck.

She brushed the sensation off as imagination, at least until she felt the distinct pressure of a hand pat her ass and squeeze the cheek affectionately. She jumped about eight inches and looked around, but no one was remotely close enough to have touched her. She scowled, and a shiver raced through her.

Gregory noticed her tremble when he pulled out her chair, and he frowned. “Are you cold?”

“Not at all,” she said. She looked warily around her again before slipping into the chair and pulling her attention back to the man in front of her. She smiled coyly and fluttered her lashes at him. “In fact, it’s kind of hot in here. Don’t you agree?”

Greg frowned. “Actually, I think it’s pretty comfortable. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you were freezing in that thing.”

That thing?
She hadn’t expected Greg to refer to the sexiest garment she’d ever worn as a thing. He should have been having a completely different reaction, one that involved a loss of fine muscle control. And maybe panting.

She saw no panting, but she did feel someone’s breath stir her ear and a warm, rough tongue reach out to toy with her earlobe. She spun around so fast she almost fell off her chair.

Careful,
dushka.
You would not want to injure yourself by being careless.

Damn it, Dmitri
, she fumed.
You can’t just sneak up on people like that. It’s rude!

Oh, is it?
he purred.
As rude as exciting your lover and then leaving him unfulfilled while you sleep off your orgasm?
She felt his hand slide up her thigh and force itself between her legs, cupping over her bare pussy, and yet the only man close enough to touch her was Gregory, who nervously shredded a cocktail napkin in his two, very visible, as in not touching her, hands.
Is it as rude as that, Regina?

Dmitri, not now
. She shifted, figuring if his hands weren’t really there, they couldn’t affect her unless she allowed it. She would just pretend she didn’t feel a thing.

“Are you all right, Reg?” Greg frowned, looking at her oddly. “Maybe that thing you’re wearing really is too tight.”

“It’s called a dress, Gregory, and it’s hardly indecent.” She ignored the way the imaginary fingers between her thighs had begun to twine through her pubic hair, and focused her attention on Greg. The tips of her fingers trailed along the top of the bodice, calling attention to the way it cupped her breasts and emphasized her generous curves. “Some men think I’m very sexy in it.”

She left her hand at the level of her shoulder and brushed her fingers back and forth over her bare skin. The sensation felt pleasurably stimulating, but not as stimulating as the fingers that clamped around her nipples.

Misha!
she thought, her eyes going wide while her thighs clamped around the hand that slid from her damp curls to the tightly furled petals of her cunt.
Not here!

“Kinky would be a better word.” Greg frowned, his voice yanking her mind away from Dmitri’s phantom touch and back to reality. “I never thought you were into that exhibitionist kind of thing, Reg.”

She heard Misha chuckle.

“And I didn’t know you were into your secretary, especially not so literally,” Reggie snapped, cursing her overactive imagination and her oversexed psychic lover. She swept another look around the room, sure Dmitri must be lurking somewhere close by, but she still couldn’t see him.

Frowning, she turned and caught a waiter’s eye (which wasn’t hard, since it was glued to her chest) and pointed at the beer bottle on the next table. If this was how the evening was going to go, she damn well needed a drink, even if she turned into an alky. “I guess we both needed to learn a little more about the other.”

I know many things about you,
dushka.
Shall I list them?

Reggie heard the silky menace in those words and made a last ditch effort to focus her attention on Gregory. The slime ball didn’t even have the grace to look uncomfortable at her comment. Instead, he shrugged and fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. Reggie had always hated that he smoked, so it made her feel better he kept such a repulsive little habit. It made her feel superior. And less likely to do something stupid, like be nice to him.

I think I can guarantee that you will be too busy to pay much attention to that boy, Regina. Shall I demonstrate?

Before her mind could form a coherent reply, his fingers shifted from between her legs. She had time for one relieved exhalation of breath before her thighs were uncrossed and opened wide beneath the table and the phantom fingers were replaced with an equally invisible tongue.

Unseen teeth nibbled at her engorged clitoris, and Dmitri’s voice rasped sensuously inside her mind.
You aren’t thinking about him now, are you, Regina?

Who?

Dmitri chuckled in her mind even as his tongue stroked avidly between her legs, slicking her juices along the length of her slit and greedily lapping up the excess.

Reggie’s hands clamped on the edge of the table, and she gritted her teeth to keep her eyes from crossing. Only the sheer force of will and the fear of humiliating herself in public kept her from voicing the moans building steadily up in her throat.

 
“Well, the thing is, Reg,” Greg continued, oblivious to the strain on her face and her white-knuckled grip on the edge of their table. “I feel…I’ve felt…ever since I left the apartment, I’ve felt like…like something was missing. Like I left part of me behind.”

Reggie didn’t hear a bloody word he said. Instead, she heard Dmitri’s wicked voice whispering through her mind, telling her all the things he wanted to do to her body, with her body, inside her body. She heard the ragged sound of his breathing and the unsteady thud of her own heartbeat. And above it all, her mind heard the wet, hungry sound of Dmitri’s tongue and lips slurping at her streaming cunt.

Misha!
she pleaded.
You can’t. Oh, God, you can’t do this here!

His tongue worked harder against her flesh, circling her clit and tugging on the throbbing nub. His teeth scraped her swollen labia, and she felt his fingers press against her opening, demanding surrender.

“It finally dawned on me,” Gregory continued, “just the other day, that I had done something really stupid. In fact, I think I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

The biggest mistake of Reggie’s life had been taunting Dmitri. She knew that now, knew it in every tensed muscle in her body while she waged a desperate and silent war to keep her pleasure from showing on her face or in her voice. If she let her self-control slip even a little, she would be writhing on the floor and begging to be fucked until she ended up the victim of a gang rape or a brand new patient at Bellevue.

Misha, I can’t! Don’t do this, please.

She lowered her head, squeezing her eyes shut while his ghost fingers tunneled deep into her cunt, curling forward to rake hard against the tender spot at the front of her pussy. She continued until she broke down and begged. “Stop!”