Sergei shuts his eyes tightly, breathing harshly but quietly. I gather my courage while I glance around the theater, making sure we wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention in the next sixty seconds. If it occurred to me that what we—well, what I—was about to do bordered on illegal, it didn’t register in my conscious brain.

I shift in my seat and Sergei looks over at me. I lick my lips, very slowly, and feel the grin spread across my face. Sergei’s beginning to look a tiny bit worried now. It only makes me grin more.

“Just… try and keep quiet,” I whisper to him and then slide down, out of my seat, and crouch on the floor.

It dawns on Sergei then what I have in mind. I watch the expressions race across his face: desire, horror, disbelief... He shakes his head vehemently and mouths, “No, I can’t!” at me.

Can’t what, I don’t know. Can’t keep quiet, can’t let me go through with this in public, can’t hold back.

But I don’t listen to him. He should know that by now, anyway. The look on his face is so priceless; he wants this more than anything, and he doesn’t want this at all. I shift his pants around and then drop my head, taking his cock into my mouth, running my tongue across the head. He takes a sharp breath and then stops breathing entirely, his whole body going rigid.

I wrap my right hand around him, guiding him in and out of my mouth, and I feel him begin to tremble violently. When I glance up, he’s biting his lip so hard that I’m sure it’ll leave marks for the rest of the night. His eyes are shut tightly and little drops of sweat roll down his temples.

I quit moving, wanting him to look at me. In fact, I want him to watch me while I do this.

He looks down at me, wide-eyed, the moment I stop moving. I smile around him and watch him hold back a groan as I slide my tongue across his slit. Without taking my eyes off his, I wrap my fingers around him again and begin to stroke, too, slowly but firmly. His hips are twitching and he’s trying desperately to thrust without making too much of a scene.

He’s so close. I can see it, but more than that, I can feel it. With one last firm stroke and a final swipe of my tongue, I pull away from him, resituating his boxers and slacks, and I’m positive it takes all his self-control not to scream.

I slip back into my seat and watch him writhe in his chair, admirably trying to keep himself from drawing attention. He shoots me a look so filled with desperation that I can’t help but try and push him further. I put my lips to his ear and whisper, “God, you taste so good.”

He drops his chin to his chest, panting softly. “Maggie, please,” he manages to get out.

“Please what?”

He chokes back a frustrated sob. “Finish this!” he grits out between clenched teeth.

“Not a chance, baby.”

Sergei looks like he could cry. I suppose it’s either cry or physically force me to finish him off. Neither choice, however, would be unnoticeable in a theater. I figure maybe I ought to give him a little hope.

“At least, not here.”

Sergei whips his head up and meets my eyes with a pathetically eager and wonderfully desperate gaze. Then I see him frown, just slightly, and I realize he’s trying to think of how he can get out of the movie theater without having anybody notice him. It would be impossible not to notice him even if he wasn’t a famous hockey player. He looked like he’d just spent an hour on the ice, his face flushed, his breathing a little ragged. And that wasn’t even considering what he looked like below his belt.

“What do you say?” I whisper, rubbing the back of his neck. “You wanna risk it and leave? Or should we wait here for you to get yourself under control?”

Sergei whimpers, a sound that nobody but me ever hears, and I shiver before I speak again. “You could always walk out with your coat in front of you, I guess. Pretty obvious though.” I rest my hand on his thigh and rub lightly. He tips his head back against the chair and whines, obviously torn.

“Well? What’ll it be, baby?”

Sergei starts to stand. I chuckle to myself; there’s no way in hell he’s gonna walk out of here and not have anybody notice. Enormous hard-on notwithstanding, there’s a damp spot on the front of his slacks the size of a half-dollar. How the hell he’s planning on leaving is beyond me.

He glances down at me and I raise my eyebrows, looking pointedly at his crotch. He quickly peeks at the front of his khakis and I hear him curse in Russian under his breath as he reluctantly sits back down. Nothing like taking advantage of the situation, right?

I sigh and cross my legs, inching the hem of my skirt up. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here and fuck you blind,” I murmur, sliding my hand under the bottom of my skirt. “How does that sound... or maybe I’ll tie you up for awhile and tease you some more. Then I can hear you beg me out loud.”

I can almost see the frantic firing of synapses in Sergei’s brain as he tries to figure out a way to leave without reading about how Sergei Fedorov walked out of a movie theater in Bloomfield Hills with a hard-on the size of a cucumber.

“Mmm, Sergei,” I whisper, resting my head on his shoulder, “I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

The look he gives me is amazing. And what he does next is the last thing I expected. For a split-second, I think he’s going to grab me and fuck me right here, media and public be damned. But instead of grabbing me, he grabs the huge cup of pop he bought on our way in. There’s probably about a third of it left, I’m imagine. With an unsteady hand, Sergei peels the top off, gives me one last glance and grins. He actually grins.

“What are—“

I don’t get a chance to finish my question. Sergei suddenly tips the cup over and dumps the remaining pop and ice squarely onto his lap. My jaw drops and for a moment, it just hangs there. Then I find my voice.

“Bravo!” I say with feeling. He’s solved most of his problems and done it in a way that nobody would ever question. As long as they don’t notice him panting, I think, he’s home free.

Sergei stands and I giggle as I hear the ice clatter to the floor. Taking my hand, he leans down, eye to eye with me. “Home,” he says, “now.”

He practically drags me through the theater lobby at warp speed, stopping for nothing and making eye contact with no one. I hear some whispers ("Fedorov!") and giggles ("did he pee his pants?"), but Sergei resolutely plows through the crowd as fast as he can, ignoring everything.

I’m tempted to make sure my arm is still in its socket when we get to the car. Sergei almost falls over himself getting in the car. It’s cold outside, but I hesitate, just to drive him that much more insane.

“Maggie!” I hear him yelp from inside the car. He rolls the window down and I lean down.

“Ever think about doing it in a parking lot?” I stick my head through the open window and grin.

Sergei shuts his eyes for a moment. “Maggie, if you get in this car, I will do anything to you.”

I blink. Sometimes he still screws up his prepositions. “To me or for me?” I ask.

“Either... both... anything!” is his final desperate answer.

I open the car door and slide inside, and before I can even get the door shut, Sergei’s pulling me toward him and frankly, I don’t feel like stopping him just yet. His hands are in my hair, his lips on my neck, and I close my eyes, letting my own hands drift over his shoulders and down his back. I can’t stop the laughter, though, when I reach between his thighs.

I can feel Sergei chuckling against my skin, too. I tilt my head further back as he runs his tongue along my throat and smile through a sigh. “How’d you ever come up with that?” I ask him.

He pauses long enough to say, “Ice. You use ice a lot. Seemed like a good idea.”

“Ah. See, everything happens for a reason,” I say.

"You read too many philosophy books."

"You know, we'll never know how the movie ends," I remark. "That might have a severe detrimental effect on my role as the art film connoisseur at work."

"'Connoisseur?!'" Sergei snorts.

"My opinions on film are highly regarded," I tell him, running my fingers through his hair.

"Highly doubtful."

I tighten my grip. "Are you sure you really want to go pissing me off right now?" I raise my eyebrows and smile sweetly.

Sergei flinches and then meets my gaze, grinning. "But you always make it so worthwhile," he replies as if the answer was obvious, and I can't tell if he's kidding or not. "Besides," he adds, "You don't have that look."

I can feel my forehead crease. "What look?"

"That... that..." He searches for the word. "That crazy look."

"Crazy! Are you calling me crazy?" I laugh.

"Only in a good way," he says quickly but still with the grin on his face.

I grin back. "You'll pay for that," I tell him playfully.

Sergei licks his lips and gives me his best seductive gaze. "Promise?"

I lean close to him, noses almost touching. "If I didn't know better, Sergei, I'd think you were trying to encourage me."

Sergei moves even closer, brushing my lips with his as he speaks. "And if I was?"

I close my eyes. "Then I'd be torn."

"Between?"

"Between giving you what you want and teasing you all night long..."

"And...?" he prods.

I chuckle. "And not giving you what you want just because you want it."

"Then let's just go home and go to sleep."

I open my eyes and laugh. "Reverse psychology? Impressive. But it's not nearly as effective when your subject is already aware of your motives and intentions."

Sergei blinks at me innocently. "Not even if I beg?"

"Which buttons are you trying to push!"

"All of them?"

"Drive us home then," I tell him with a smile, "And I'll see what I can do."

With a mischievous grin, Sergei starts the car and pulls out of the parking space just as I rest my hand lightly on his thigh. He jumps and the car jerks as his foot reflexively hits the brake. I smile innocently.

We pull out of the parking lot and into traffic, and it’s strangely quiet in the car. The radio isn’t on and there’s very little traffic. There’s always very little traffic at ten thirty on a Wednesday night.

Sergei is concentrating on the road and he doesn’t really notice me move until my hand is already down the front of his pants. He yelps, surprised. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing!” I reply with mock incredulity.

Sergei shoots me a sideways glance and raises his eyebrows. “You’re never doing what I think you’re doing.”

“You’re right about that. I’m just warming my hand up.”

The yelp that comes from him when my hand touches his bare skin is twice as loud as the first one. I wasn’t kidding. My hand really is cold. But when I close my fingers around him, the yelp fades into a long, low moan.

"Maggie!" he gasps.

The car swerves alarmingly and I involuntarily squeeze with one hand while grabbing the dash with the other.

"Ahhhh! Maggie!"

The car swerves again and I snatch my hand out of his pants as fast as I can while screaming, "Stay on the road!"

"It is your fault I am not on the road!"

"You're going to get pulled over!"

"It is your fault I am going to get pulled over!"

"Sergei!" I scream again, and the ride smooths out some. At least he's in his own lane now.

For a few moments there is nothing but our haggard, adrenaline-induced panting. We both stare straight ahead as we calm our racing hearts. I let go of my white-knuckled grip on the dash and look over at Sergei. He looks back, and after a long moment we both burst out laughing.

"We look like hell," I announce.

"Maggie?"

"Yes?"

"Zip me back up, please."

Once again, I burst into giggles, but comply with his request. Unsurprisingly, he's gone soft during our little death-defying adventure and I tuck his cock down the right side of his thigh, pointed at his feet.

"Maaaagggie," he complains.

I just smile because I know he likes to point it up. He finds it more comfortable. But I zip up before he can do anything about it.

"Do you think I'm finished with you?"

He emits what I can only describe as a “snerk” and replies, “I know better. You aren’t even started.”

(Once again, a bad place to stop. Our apologies. *giggle giggle snerk*)

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