Page 21 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
I swallow hard. “No.”
This is it, I think. This is the moment when Andrej Ivanov, professional playboy and ultimate bad boy with the scar to prove it, tells me that he didn’t sign up to teach me the ropes. No matter how enjoyable they might be.
Frown lines appear between his eyebrows. “What were you waiting for?”
I’ve been asking myself the same question.
But when I peer into his amber eyes with the delicate strands of black like a web of darkness woven through the color, I realize that the answer is staring me right in the face.
The views might’ve varied, but the common denominator throughout my dreams and fantasies was that I would know the right man when I met him.
“You.”
I cup his face with my hands and kiss him.
“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, Cartier,” Andrej murmurs, his breath hot against my lips, “but you’re mine now.”
He takes my hand and places it over my sex.
“Make yourself come for me.”
“I…”
“Don’t go shy on me now, baby. I bet you’ve done it a thousand times alone in your bed while you manifested me into your life.”
Am I that transparent?
I flop my knees apart and slide a finger inside me. My clit is swollen and tender from when he sucked it behind the warehouse, but I hear the squelch of slick as I slide my finger all the way.
“What do you feel?”
“It’s wet. And warm. And tight.” To answer the question, I find myself exploring my sex in a way that I’ve never thought about before.
“Put another finger in.”
I do as I’m told.
“Keep going.”
I add a third finger, but the angle is awkward, so I try sitting up a little. Andrej sits behind me, his cock nudging the bottom of my spine, and slides his left leg around me so that I’m sitting between his legs.
“You can get your fist in there, baby, I know you can.”
I spread my legs wider and squash my fingers together. “There’s no way my thumb is going in there.”
“If you don’t do it, I will.” He pulls my shoulders back against him, tilts my face to meet his, and kisses me long and slow, stroking my neck with his hand. “Do it, Cartier. Stretch yourself for me, baby. Use your other hand.”
Andrej grips my neck a little tighter and fills my mouth with his tongue. I slide the middle finger of my left hand in, aware of his steady heartbeat against my back.
“Now make yourself come.” He gives orders like a man who is accustomed to being obeyed, and I don’t even question it.
I slide my fingers in and out and rub my tender clit with my thumb. My earlier orgasm hasn’t gone anywhere; it’s been loitering underneath the surface, waiting for a chance to perform again.
Andrej’s free hand crushes my breasts. He pinches my nipples, teasing them into hot, hard points. “What do you think about when you make yourself come, baby?”
“I…” Jeez, this isn’t something I’ve ever told anyone before. Not even Mika, and she is so demanding that she could get information out of a shriveled prune.
“Tell me, or I’ll flip you over and fuck your ass before you can blink.”
