Beauty from Pain(94)
“I am.”
We arrive at the Sydney Opera House and Lachlan has made arrangements to park in the concourse section near the entrance since there is no valet. My feet thank him. Otherwise, we’d be doing some trekking from the public parking area.
We’re walking toward the entrance when a man with a huge camera steps in front of us and begins to snap pictures. The flash of light is almost blinding as I feel Lachlan’s hand at the small of my back, urging me to move along.
When we are in the building, I look at Lachlan and he doesn’t seem fazed by the bizarre incident at all. “That was strange. What do you think that was all about?”
“I’m sure it was a photographer assigned to cover opening night.”
“The newspaper should teach their staff to be courteous when photographing patrons. That was rude. And ridiculous. He acted like he had to snap as many pictures as possible before you punched him out—like a paparazzi going after a celebrity.”
“We should probably find our seats so I can speak with Mr. Brees, if he’s here.”
In our private balcony section, we’re on the second of two rows. Lachlan leans over once we’re seated and whispers, “That’s not Mr. Brees sitting in front of us. You want to leave?”
Is he serious? “No. We’re here. We’re dressed up. Let’s act like we know something about opera.”
“Oh, I know all about opera. I’m just not a fan. My mother loves it, so I grew up hearing it. Madama Butterfly is her favorite, so I know it inside and out. We can blow this off and go do something else if you want.”
“No. I want to stay, especially since I didn’t know I was with an opera expert. You can explain it to me.”
He laughs. “Awesome. That’s just what I wanted to do.”
The curtain goes up, and after just a few moments, I’m lost. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Okay. It’s 1904 and the man, Pinkerton, is a US Naval officer. He’s about to marry a fifteen-year-old Japanese girl they call Butterfly, but he knows he’s going to divorce her when he finds a proper American wife.”
“Well, that’s pretty shitty.”
“Don’t blame me. I didn’t write it. Anyway, Butterfly loves Pinkerton so much, she converts from her Japanese religion to Christianity. Her uncle finds out she converted and comes to the house where they are being wed. He shows his ass, curses Butterfly, and renounces her. The end of this act is them preparing for their wedding night.”
“So this is like bow-chicka-wow-wow, only opera style?”
He starts laughing and earns several shushes from the row of people in front of us. He leans closer and I feel a warm rush of breath against my ear as he whispers. “No, Madama Butterfly isn’t bow-chicka-wow-wow by any means, but I’ll sure show you some when we get back to the hotel.”
His promise sends a flood of need between my legs and I become restless in my seat. Lachlan watches me and smiles. “Everything okay over there?”
“I’m good.”
“Are you really not wearing panties?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” There was no way I was ruining this great dress with a panty line.
He’s trying to read my face, but he can’t tell. He pulls the stole from around my shoulders and spreads it across my lap. “I think your legs are cold.”
No, sir, I’m anything but cold right now.
“My hand is cold too. I need you to warm it up,” he whispers as he slides it under the fabric across my thighs.
No way. He is not about to do that here … oh, oh, yes, he is.
I feel his fingers spidering between my legs, scaling up my thighs to where I ache for his touch. “Hmm, someone isn’t wearing panties. Shameless.”
I shift back in my seat and he strokes his fingers up and down, spreading the moisture from my center. “I love how you are always so wet.”
Lucky for me, it’s dark inside the theatre, but I still glance around to make sure no one is watching us. With what he’s doing, I’m not sure I’d care if they were.
His fingers are frustrating, but amazing. I want to buck hard and ride his hand until I come into a million shards, but I can’t without drawing attention. It’s slow torture. “I’m going to give you more, but you have to behave yourself. Can you do that for me?”