Sela chuckles with amusement and her eyes shine even brighter. “Hated it that much, did you?”

“Not at all,” I tell her smoothly. “When I was bored, I just stared at your ass the entire time. So that means I very much enjoyed the tour today.”

“Pervert,” she says affectionately, and pulls back from the balcony. It causes my hand to fall away from her, but I still take a moment to let my fingers travel over her bare shoulder. It also fills me with no small measure of pride when she shivers from that touch.

The lights start to dim, and from the orchestra pit just in front of the stage, a long low note from a cello sounds. Looks like the show is getting ready to start.

My chair sits beside Sela’s so closely it’s an easy reach for me to grab her hand and pull it over onto my lap to hold. She gives me an acknowledging squeeze but sits up straighter in her chair, eager for the performance to start.

I lean casually to the right, into her space, and put my lips near her ear. “I think I forgot to tell you…but you look stunning tonight.”

Without taking her eyes off the stage, she whispers out of the side of her mouth. “You didn’t forget. You told me once at the hotel and once in the car on the way here.”

“Huh,” I whisper back. “Well, I’m telling you again.”

“Shhh,” she admonishes me as the music starts…a slow build of violins, cellos, and flutes. “It’s starting.”

I don’t move back over, but lean just a tad closer until my lips brush her ears. “You know…it’s so dark in here now, no one could see into this box. We could do all sorts of naughty things in here.”

I expect her to chastise me again, maybe even push me away in exasperation so I don’t ruin this experience for her. Instead, her head swivels and I can see the flickering of the stage lights in her blue eyes as she stares at me intently.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, twisting her hand from mine and placing her palm at the top of my thigh. Her fingers press in and she stares at me just a moment longer before turning her gaze back to the stage. “There are indeed all kinds of naughty things we can do in here.”

—

Turns out, the most naughty of things that Sela had envisioned included us fucking in that box. After the second intermission and after she shooed away the waiter who had come to check on us for a third time, and after the lights dimmed once again, Sela made her move.

Tugged me right up from my chair by a sure but delicate grip on my hand, and led me into the shadows of the back corner of the box, right where the door hinges meet the wall. As Cavaradossi sang “E Lucevan le Stelle,” I could only truly concentrate on the fact that Sela had dropped to her knees and was licking all around my cock. It wasn’t just naughty…it was exquisitely sinful that we’d degrade the luxury of the Staatsoper in that way. My ears completely tuned out Puccini when Sela somehow managed to climb my body and sank her gloriously wet, tight pussy onto me. I merely made a quarter turn, which placed her back against the wall, put my hands under her ass, and proceeded to fuck her as hard as I could. Thank God the music was bold and the venue perfectly arranged so it infiltrated every nook and cranny of the place, because at one point Sela shouted out as she started to come. I had to slap a hand quickly over her mouth, but I was so goddamned turned on it wasn’t long before I was groaning loudly with my face pressed into her throat as I unloaded within her.

Now that is the type of opera I could get behind seeing more often.

We had a nightcap in the hotel lobby after we returned, and while I couldn’t imagine a night passing when I wouldn’t be sunk deep inside of Sela’s body, we actually both fell asleep almost immediately when we crawled under the covers. Not sure if it was the nonstop sightseeing we’ve done the last four days, the amazing food, or maybe just the adrenaline high of the fantastic fucking we did at the opera, but we both conked out quickly.

I know I slept deeply because I was fairly groggy when I woke up at almost four A.M. needing to take a piss. I did my business, washed my hands, and swished some mouthwash around my tongue and teeth, then gargling before spitting it out. I was tired and could easily fall back asleep, but I also felt awake enough that I could spend some quality time with Sela’s body. We’re on vacation; tomorrow is our last day before we leave for the States, and if I wake Sela and keep us both up for a few hours, there’s nothing preventing us from going right back to sleep after.

Before heading back to bed, I grab my phone charging on the desk in our suite and quickly check my messages. JT has been texting me almost every day, demanding I respond to him.

The first one came the evening we left for Vienna. “Dude…Linda said you’re going to Vienna? That’s a surprise. What’s up with that?”

I ignored it, afraid my response would be something along the lines of, “I know what you did you low-life piece of shit and I’m going to make it my mission to ruin you.”

He sent follow-up texts periodically over the next four days that got increasingly more angry.

“Hope your vacation is going well. Call me. Need to discuss some business.

Beck…I need to talk to you. I’ve got to give a thumbs-up or thumbs-down on the Nicholson-Meyers project. Call me.

Will you fucking call me? I need to talk to you asap.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’ve about had it. Call me.”

I ignored every single one of these, as well as the few times he actually tried to call me. I merely instructed Linda to pass along to JT that I was in full-vacation mode and was not accepting any business calls or texts until I returned stateside. That must have done the trick, because it’s going on almost forty-eight hours and I haven’t heard anything from him.

I’m absolutely dreading my first day back in the office and I haven’t a clue as to how to handle him. At this point, I’m thinking of working from home indefinitely to avoid him until I can figure a way to bring him down.

Tapping on my email icon, I scroll through the messages. All those from Linda I’ll read tomorrow. One from JT looks like he just forwarded an article from Investor’s Weekly, and although it probably has some helpful information, I delete the fucking thing so I don’t have to even look at JT’s name.

Sliding my finger down the screen, I stop on an email from Dennis Flaherty sent a little over an hour ago.