Page 20 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
Andrej livesin a condo tower somewhere in the city.
I don’t pay attention. I’m too far down the rabbit hole of pleasure that he started when he unzipped my pants to remind myself that he could be a serial killer who lures his victims back to his apartment by licking them half to death.
That’s for horror movies. At least, that’s what my pussy is telling me as the car pulls into a reserved bay inside an underground parking lot.
He holds my hand as we enter the private elevator.
The instant the door closes behind us, shutting us in with the smooth motion and the numbers climbing up the digital display, and the stark lights, he starts undressing me. My sweater comesoff first, closely followed by my bra. I step out of my boots and pants, feeling small suddenly.
But Andrej’s mouth closing around my nipple shatters any fear that had accompanied me in the backseat of the chauffeur-driven vehicle.
The door slides open behind him, and he pulls me with him into a foyer that is bigger than the entire apartment that I share with Mika. I spot the wall of windows, the twinkling Chicago lights in the background, before he unzips his pants and drops them.
His cock springs free, and I blink it into focus.
That’s never going to fit inside me.
“It’s all yours, Cartier.”
That’s what worries me.
He places his hand on the top of my head like I’m the criminal and he’s the cop helping me into the police vehicle and pushes me onto my knees in front of him.
He wipes the slick end of his cock across my lips. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you.”
“I…” I curl my fingers around his erection and peer up at him. “I’ve never done this before.” Only in my dreams, but I’m not about to admit that.
His eyes twitch. I half expect him to laugh and say, “Very funny,” but then he unfurls my fingers from around him and leads me down the steps and into the living room. Three huge squashy sofas are placed around a heavy marble coffee table facing the spectacular view of the city.
I sit down, feeling vulnerable now that I’m completely naked in a stranger’s penthouse apartment.He already fucked you with his tongue outside a warehouse by the river, the voice of reason says inside my head.
But that was different. This is way more intimate. I’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours, and he has already seen every part of me.
“Lay down, Cartier.” His voice is thick with emotion.
I do as I’m told and recline on the nearest sofa. I’m unsure what to do with my hands, so I leave them by my sides.
Andrej removes his clothes and stretches out beside me, sliding one hand underneath my shoulders. With his other hand, he strokes my breasts, circling my nipples with his fingertips, studying my body’s reaction to his touch, his expression unreadable. His fingers trail down to the mound of my pussy, stroking gently, before dipping between my legs and out again.
“Did no one ever tell you how fucking sexy you are?” His gaze is so intense that heat rushes to my cheeks.
“No.” If they had, I wouldn’t have believed them.
“Their loss. You believe me, don’t you?” he asks as if he read my mind.
“I guess.”
His eyes flash. “There’s no fucking guessing about it. You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.” He nods to reiterate the point, and I smile. “Tell me, baby. Tell me that you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”
“I’m the sexiest woman you’ve ever met.”
“Now, you’d better start believing it.” He kisses me, his tongue flicking in and out of my mouth. “Have you ever been fucked?”
I’ve often thought about how my first experience would go. I imagined it would happen in a gigantic bed surrounded by sheer voile drapes billowing in the breeze from the open patio doors overlooking the azure sea. Or there were other settings inside my head depending on the time of day I finished reading a novel and my mental exhaustion levels. In a water hut in the Maldives, the ocean lapping at the wooden steps. Nesting in a pile of furry blankets while the world outside turned white. In a luxury hotel room overlooking the Seine in Paris with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on the nightstand.
Romantic. Special. None of my dreams ever featured a penthouse apartment in Chicago. And never once did I consider that I’d experience a moment of excruciating embarrassment at being a twenty-three-year-old virgin.
Winging it went out the window the moment I saw his erection.
