He answered as he chewed. “I was…developing business contacts, you could say.”
“That’s vague.”
“On purpose. Perhaps eventually I’ll tell you more about what I do, how I made my fortune. But not now. It’s not relevant at this time.”
I had kept my hand on my glass the entire time, so I wouldn’t have to find it again, or have him give it to me every time. I took a drink, sniffing past the bite of the spice. We talked more as we ate, again the conversation staying light. It was the kind of thing I usually hated, but it was also exactly what I needed, the appearance of normality to offset the oddity of being blindfolded. There were several courses to the meal, each better than the last, and almost all of them spicier than I usually liked. By the time the meal ended, my tongue was tingling.
“Not so much spicy food next time, huh?” I said, taking a sip of my second glass of wine.
Roth laughed. “Sure. For you, anything. But here, that’s just the way Kim cooks. He’s a master with la jiao.”
“La what?”
“La jiao,” he repeated. “The chili peppers that made the food spicy. It’s Kim’s signature.”
“You mean Kim was the chef?”
“This is his restaurant. I provided the capital and some of the direction, but he runs it and does the cooking. It’s very exclusive, very expensive. Normally, you wouldn’t be able to get a table here unless you had reservations six months out.”
“But for you….” I insinuated.
“I get my way.”
“Clearly.”
I heard his chair scrape, felt his fingers trail over my shoulders and back. “Would you care for dessert? Or would you like to proceed to the show?”
“I’m full,” I said. “We can go if you’re ready.”
“Good answer.” He took my hand and led me back the way we came.
I heard the heavy doors open, and then the sounds of the kitchen and the low chatter of voices receded. I heard the elevator whirring. A short ride later, we were moving across what sounded like a large foyer with marble floors, my heels echoing with sharp clicks. Another door opened, and Roth’s hand on my lower back urged me through and outside. The sounds of New York assaulted me, horns honking, voices, shoes, rushing vehicles, sirens. It was a warm evening, in contrast to the cool of the restaurant and the lobby we’d just left.
I heard voices nearby. “Look…she’s blindfolded. I wonder why?”
“Look at that dress!”
“Did you see her necklace?”
“That’s a Maybach, I think….”
“Holy shit, he’s gorgeous….”
And then I heard a car door open and Roth helped me into the car, gently nudging my head to make me duck. I slid in and across, feeling leather underneath my hands. The door closed and I felt Roth beside me, and then the engine purred and we were moving.
Tension rolled off Roth. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I would have preferred a private entrance, but that wasn’t possible, unfortunately.” He took my hand, and I found myself naturally threading my fingers through his. “We have a private entrance at the Met, thankfully.”
“What are we seeing?” I asked, ignoring my own embarrassment over the things I’d overheard, and the fact that I wouldn’t be really seeing anything.
“La Bohème. A very enjoyable presentation. The bel cantos performing this are wonderful, and really, you won’t be missing much being blindfolded. The music is the thing.”
I’d heard of it, but knew nothing about it. The rest of the ride was quiet, but Roth’s tension was still palpable.
“You really don’t like being around people, do you?” I couldn’t help asking.
“What makes you ask that?” His voice was thin and razor sharp.
I shrugged. “I can just feel how tense you are. That whole scene back there really upset you.”
“You can feel all that?”
I nodded with another small lift of one shoulder. “Yeah. It’s coming off you in waves.”
I heard him suck in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “You are very perceptive, Kyrie. Especially considering you don’t have the use of visual cues.” His fingers squeezed mine.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing. I heard car horns, and the sense of motion ceased, indicating we were stopped at a traffic light or were stuck in a traffic jam.
“You are correct, of course,” Roth said, after a few minutes of silence. “I dislike crowds. It’s not that I don’t like people, per se. I merely prefer my interactions to be…one-to-one, on my terms. There is so much one cannot control in a public, crowded setting. And my life experience has taught me to…shun…such situations whenever possible.”
The vehicle moved again, and we rode in companionable silence. After twenty minutes in the car, which was punctuated with sporadic conversation, Harris stopped the car, and I heard him get out and come around to open our door. Roth slid out, and I extended my hand. He pulled me, helping me out of the car. A wash of overlapping voices hit me from my left, cameras clicking, questions being shouted.
I heard another door open, this one right in front of us, and Roth’s hand on my lower back urged me forward. I moved as quickly as I could in my three-inch heels and tight dress, knowing Roth would want to get inside before the photographers caught sight of us. After a dozen steps, the door closed behind us, shutting off the babble of noise from the street.
“This way please, Mr. Roth,” I heard a soft, awed female voice say.
Following the usher, I assumed, Roth guided me onto an elevator, down what I guessed was a hallway and into—I assumed—a private box. I could hear the orchestra warming up, the jarring cacophony of instruments. Now more than ever I hated the blindfold. I wanted to see. My first time at the New York Met, and I was blindfolded. I couldn’t see the stage, the architecture of the theater, the seats; I couldn’t watch the people filing in and taking their seats, adjusting wraps and suit coats. I couldn’t look for famous faces.
Roth helped me find my seat, and then I felt him settle in beside me. “The show should begin shortly. Would you care for a drink?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you feel like is fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve never been to the opera, never been to the Met, and I…I just want to see everything. This blindfold is frustrating.”
His thumb skated over my shoulder, and I felt him lean in close to me. “I know, Kyrie. I know. I’ve got a phone call to make. You can look around while I’m gone.” His lips touched my shoulder, my neck. I shivered, felt my skin pebble, my blood race. “I’ll be back soon. I’ll send someone in with a glass of wine.”
“Okay. Thank you, Roth.”
“Of course.” I heard him leave, and I was alone.
I reached up behind my head and untied the blindfold, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light. Oh…oh, my god. I’d seen pictures of the Met, of course, so I sort of knew what to expect, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality. It was huge. The box I sat in was directly opposite the stage, at the very top, so the entire theater was on display for me. Of course Roth would have the best seat in the house. The seats were filling quickly, the stage curtain was pulled closed, and couples filed down the aisles, led by ushers, to find their seats. A pair of opera glasses sat on the seat beside me, recently vacated by Roth. I used them to get a closer look at the people in the audience, scanning for familiar faces. The door to the box opened and a server came in, carrying a tray bearing a single glass of white wine.
“Anything else I can get for you, ma’am?” he asked.
“No, I’m good. Thanks.” I expected him to leave, but he didn’t. He shrugged and gave me an apologetic smile. “I’ve been given instructions to wait here with you until Mr. Roth returns.”
I frowned. “Well, whatever makes you happy.” I went back to scanning the crowds and sipping my wine, making the most of my time without the blindfold.
“I’m supposed to…errrr, tie a blindfold on you…now. Ma’am. I’m sorry, but those are my instructions.” The server was a very young man, barely out of his teens, acne-scarred and awkward.
He took a step toward me, and I handed him the blindfold. “Ah, that explains why you had to wait here.” I closed my eyes as he placed the cloth around my head and tied it. It was way too tight, but I could feel his hands shaking, feel the awkward nerves billowing off him, so I took pity on him. “That’s fine, thanks.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault.”
“Can I…can I ask why…? Why the blindfold?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “I—um. It’s kind of a long story, actually. It’s…a game my boyfriend and I are playing.”
The door opened, and I heard Roth’s tread behind me. “And it’s none of your business, Michael. More wine for the lady, and your best single-malt Scotch for me, please. Thank you.”
“Right away, sir.” Michael sounded relieved to have something to do that would take him away from me, from the blindfold, and from Roth.
I heard a chuckle from beside me. “Poor kid was about to wet himself, I think.”
“He did seem a bit nervous. Especially when he had to tie the blindfold on me.” I touched the knot. “Speaking of which, I think I’m losing circulation, he tied it so tight. Can you loosen it for me?”
Strong fingers worked at the knot, loosened the blindfold, and then retied it. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you,” Roth said as he fussed with my hair, feathering his fingers through the ends. “I don’t blame him, but he was…rather openly ogling you.”
“Ogling? I don’t think he was ogling.”
“He was ogling. Staring down your front, actually.” He traced the line of my clavicle, and then down, down, closer and closer to the opening of my cleavage. “It’s not his fault, though. Not entirely. You are…impossible to look away from. You aren’t his to look at, however.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then whose am I?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear his reaction.
“Mine, Kyrie. You are mine. You belong to me. To me alone. I won’t share you, not even with harmless children like our friend Michael the server.” At that moment Michael returned, and Roth replaced my empty glass with a full one. “Thank you, Michael. Now, that will be all until intermission. Here you are.”
“Th-thank you sir. That’s…very generous of you, sir.” Michael’s voice was awed, stunned, and I imagined Roth had given him a massive tip. A hundred-dollar bill, maybe.
The door closed, and the orchestra began playing.
Within the first five minutes, I was hooked. I couldn’t understand anything, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t see anything, but I didn’t care. The music, the singing, it was rapturous, hypnotic, needing nothing else to be magical. For a while, Roth and I sat side by side, merely listening, and then I felt his hand on my knee. I tensed, but allowed his hand to remain. And then…his hand slid upward. Just an inch, but enough to make my heart rate increase. Another inch, and now I knew he was playing a game. How far would I let him go? Every nerve ending in my body was on fire, and his fingers were barely at my thigh. I swallowed and tried to tune out the feel of his palm on my quad. Tried to listen to the singing, to the orchestra, but it was in vain.
I felt his breath on my neck. I forced myself to keep my head upright, even though every instinct was telling me to tilt my head aside, to offer him my throat. His mouth was hot and moist on my neck, kissing just beneath my ear. I could barely hear past the thunder of my heartbeat in my ears. His hand was sliding higher now, and it was becoming intimate, becoming dangerous. I was trembling now. Unable to move, frozen stiff. The music faded to the background.
A warm palm cupped my cheek, turned my head to the side. “A kiss, Kyrie.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and leaned in. I knew better than to deny him a kiss; I knew better than to deny myself a kiss. He tasted of Scotch, smoky and fiery, and his breath was slightly cold from the ice, his lips soft and damp on mine, moving with strength and confidence. His hand was at my hip now. His tongue ran along the seam of my lips, once, twice. Tasting, inviting. A third time, demanding now. I opened my lips and felt his tongue graze my teeth, and then my own tongue flicked out to touch his, and that was when I knew I was lost. The kisses we’d shared before were delicate, exploratory. They had been introductions. Slow, and soft, and easy.
This one was not. It was hot, hungry. It demanded my attention, demanded that I give in, that I give back. I kissed him back, and I did so because I wanted to. I wanted his kiss.
But…his hand. It was resting on my hip, fingers pressing into my flesh through the fabric of my dress. Bunching, gripping. Our kiss continued unbroken, and I had to turn toward him, to pivot my body to face him. I reached out and clutched at him, tangled my fingers in the material of his coat and shirt, pulling him closer. He moaned, a vibration in his chest, an approval.
The heel of his palm slid low, over my hip, over my belly. I pinched my thighs together, breaking the kiss. I wanted to ask what he was doing, but I was afraid of the answer.
His fingers crawled over my thighs, fingertips brushing the material of my dress, a feather-light touch. I was shaking, my forehead against his, breathing raggedly, my hands fisted in his dress shirt.
“Roth?” It was all the question I could manage.
“Kyrie. Don’t make a sound. Okay? Keep quiet for me.”
“Keep—keep quiet?”
“Yes. I’m going to make you come.”
“You’re…you are?”
He didn’t answer. At least, not with words. His mouth found mine, and I was taken away again, transported by the skilled power of his kiss. His hand rested on the space between my thighs, over my dress, an inch from my core. I felt his fingers curl against my thighs, slide upward. My legs were pressed together, and my dress was tight. But yet, when his fingertips grazed over my core, even through the dress I felt it, and I shuddered. Another brush over the apex of my thighs, and I felt my legs fall apart, just slightly. His lips on mine were demanding, unrelenting, stealing my breath, his tongue swiping over my teeth and tangling with my tongue, tasting my lips.
His fingers pressed in, and I gasped into his mouth.
“Oh, Kyrie. So beautiful. And I haven’t even really touched you yet.” His voice was a low murmur, his breath hot on my lips. “You want me to touch you?”
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know how. I did, yet I was afraid to let him. I knew if I did, if I let him touch me, let him make me come, that I’d be even more lost to him, to his game. But I already was, wasn’t I? I’d given in to him. I’d let him blindfold me. Let him kiss me. He’d seen me braless, in a T-shirt and underwear. I was already aching for his touch.
“I asked you a question, Kyrie.” His fingers slid down my thigh, toward my knee. I felt him lean down, grasp my ankle and lift my foot. He grasped the hem of my dress. He pulled, gently and implacably sliding the fabric up, up, baring my calves, my knees, and now my thighs. “Do you…want me…to touch you? It’s a simple question. Yes or no will do. Do you want to orgasm? Right here, right now? In this theater? Surrounded by thousands of people? You’re probably already wet for me, aren’t you? A few strokes with my finger, and you’ll come apart, I bet. I’d just have to slide my finger inside you, and you’d be whimpering. I bet your clit would be so sensitive, so tender. You’d be tight, too. So tight. When you came, you’d clench around my fingers, and you’d have to bite down to keep from screaming. You want that, don’t you, Kyrie?”
I let out a shuddering breath, let my head thump back on the seat. “Y—yes. Yes. I do. I want that.”
My dress was bunched beneath my thighs now,
and his hand was curled over my thigh, caressing the round muscle and sliding up, up. “Say it. Tell me what you want me to do. I need to hear you say it, Kyrie. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
“Unh…” I couldn’t make words form in my head, or on my lips. All I could do was gasp and breathe as his fingers drifted between my thighs—still closed together—and grazed the scrap of silk over my folds. “I—Roth…I want you to—to touch me.”
“I am touching you. You’ll have to be more specific.” His lips nibbled on my earlobe, over the shell of my ear, kissed behind it, down and around beneath it, kiss, kiss, kiss, to my throat.
I wiggled my bottom on the seat, wanting to open my thighs but still afraid to totally give in. “Oh, god…I want—I can’t say it….”
“Then you don’t get it.” His touch moved away, back to the top of my thigh.
He traced the length of my leg from knee to hip with one finger, back down. Moved in slightly, traced the same path from knee to apex along the inside of my thigh.
I moaned in frustration, trapped between desire and fear. “God, Roth.”
“In your life, at this time, those two words could be considered synonymous.” He nipped at my throat, kissed up to beneath my chin, and then his tongue flicked out and tasted the corner of my mouth. “You know what you want. Don’t be afraid, Kyrie. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to make you feel good. I’m going to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt in your life. All you have to do is tell me what you want me to do. Whisper it, as soft as you please. I’ll hear you.”
I felt his finger slide in and rest on the seam of my thong, at the very edge of my core. His touch moved down, lower, and then traced back up. I shivered from head to toe, shaking, still not really breathing.
“Touch me. Touch me there.”
“Where?”
I hesitated. “My pussy.” The words were barely audible, but I knew he heard them. “Put your fingers inside me. Make me come. Please, Roth.”