Fixed 01 - Fantasy Fix (6 page)

Dmitri watched her, staring at her as if he measured her words and her sincerity and weighed 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 the other 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, should…should I…should I call you…Master?”

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

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 clenched.

“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.

He 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? Oh, yeah
. 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, showcasing her pussy beneath the damp leather, and she caught a hint of her own fragrance. She saw Dmitri inhale deeply, and she quivered.

He pushed her 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 pussy. 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 he got around to fucking her. 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 could 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 pussy. 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.

Swift and a little jerky with nerves, she crossed the few steps 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 thing meant throwing her down and fucking her senseless without an iota of foreplay. For God’s sake, the entire night with him had been foreplay. She wanted
now
play.

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, but her vision became filled with the sight of her own pale thighs and the dark valley between them. Her pussy 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.

God, she felt so exposed. Her shiver had nothing to do with cold.

She couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t look away from the sight of her own body, spread lewdly wide and naked for his pleasure. She felt the cool air against her hot flesh, saw the deep red of her labia and the dark, fiery brown of her curls.

And she saw his hand, large and strong and possessive upon her.

“Very nice,” he murmured while his fingertips twirled and tangled in her curls. “I am pleased to see you know how to behave yourself,
dushka
.”

His fingers flexed, pulling the short strands of hair and tugging little pinpricks of pain from her skin. The sweet, sharp sensations made her pussy clench and forced a moan from her throat.

Her eyes drifted shut until his free hand raised her chin and he ordered her to look at him.

“You look very pretty like this, Regina.” His hand left her chin and smoothed over her until skin faded to silk and his palm rested in the valley of her tightly corseted waist. “But do you know why a woman in a corset is really so appealing to a man?”

His voice sounded casual, even indifferent, but the feel of his lean fingers petting her mound made Reggie quiver. She couldn’t concentrate. She could barely remember the question, but he clearly waited for an answer.

“Because—“ It came out as a squeak, and she cleared her throat to start again. “Because it exaggerates her figure?”

Her hips rocked forward, trying to force his fingers lower. They were so close to her clit, but she didn’t want them
close
. She wanted them
on
.

He evaded her.

“Not really,” he murmured. “Yes, the corset enhances her figure, but no more than a good bra and a tight pair of jeans. No, there are other reasons. Deeper reasons.”

Reggie bit back a moan. The only deeper she cared about in that moment was the deeper caress of his fingers. If he expected her to be able to follow his conversation when his fingertips rested less than two inches from her swollen and needy clit, he was insane.

His fingers began to wander, bypassing her clit and sinking down the curve of her pubis to brush delicately over her slick, flushed lips, and she knew she was insane. The man was driving her crazy. She sucked in her breath with a hiss and canted her hips higher. He only lightened his touch.

“A man sees two irresistible things in a corseted woman.” His fingers teased her sensitive tissues while his tone sounded like a professor at the lectern. She wanted to kill him.

Right after she tossed him down and raped him.

“First, the restriction on her movement makes it impossible to run from him,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to her violent thoughts. “It places her at his mercy, appeals to his primitive instincts. It makes him feel powerful in comparison.”

How Dmitri could not feel powerful when his tormenting fingers decided whether she would live or die, Reggie couldn’t understand. If he gained more control over her, he would have to force the breath in and out of her lungs. The man was killing her.

A split second later, his hand shifted, and Reggie knew she’d been right. He killed her. His exploring fingers halted and withdrew. She whimpered a protest, but her whimper became a scream when his finger returned, parting her wet folds and plunging deep inside her aching pussy.

Dmitri was a large man with large hands, and the extent of her arousal combined with the swelling of her inner tissue to make that one finger feel as large as a cock. Her pussy felt stretched and full.

“And second…”

He’s still talking. How the hell can he talk? Oh, God!

His free hand slid around to her ass, pushing her hips forward and rocking her pelvis against his hand. Her clit bumped his wrist, and she gasped.

Her breathing grew harsh, and he leaned forward, speaking into her ear until she felt his words as much as heard them.

“Second, it reminds him that a woman’s body is at its most beautiful when it is bound and shaped by his hands.”

She couldn’t help herself. She shuddered, her entire body wracked by it, and her pussy flooded Dmitri’s hand with moisture. She came on a long, high whimper, her body clenching around his invading finger. She couldn’t believe it—one finger and she came like a porn star. What would happen when he actually took off his clothes and got around to fucking her?

Her hands released their death grip on the bedspread and reached up to touch his broad, muscular chest.

“Please, Misha,” she whispered. “Won’t you take your clothes off? I want to see you. I want to touch you.”

“Maybe later, if you continue to be a good girl,” he dismissed, removing her hands and placing them flat against the bed beside her hips. “For now, we will continue as I wish. Stay still, and close your eyes.”

She closed her eyes and tried not to move, but when his hand slid from between her legs and he stepped away, she whimpered and reached for him. She felt bereft without his touch and his overwhelming presence beside her. The air felt empty where he had stood.

“Hush,
dushka
.”

Easy for him to say
.

She drew in shallow, shaky breaths and listened hard. She wanted to know what he was doing. Her mind swam with the possibilities, but he moved silently, giving her no clues.

He seemed gone for hours while she knelt there on the bed, panting and exposed like some lewd offering to a pagan god.