Page 36 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
“It’s … beautiful.” Her voice is little more than a whisper. Perhaps that’s because all I can hear is the thump-thump-thump of my own heartbeat.
I don’t speak. I lost my words when she got angry with me outside the nightclub.
What the fuck was I thinking, forcing her to live out her fantasies? She was right when she said that they’re not real; the only place for them is inside the head. Because like a fucking idiot, rather than giving her an experience to remember, I set a bomb underneath it and pressed the detonator.
And now I have a shitload of groveling to do.
We bypass the bed for the ensuite shower room. I need to cleanse us both of what happened in the nightclub, scrub away the memory of the paisley slimeball, and start over.
The shower room is tiled in the same gleaming midnight blue as the bedroom. The walk-in shower is large enough to hold a small party in, and the mirror spans an entire wall. It’s been a while since I’ve taken notice of my personal space, since I’ve opened my eyes and looked at it as anything other than somewhere to sleep and wash, and I feel like a kid again, staring out the window at the night sky and wondering how it would feel to catch a star in my hands.
I set Cartier down on the floor and turn on the rainfall shower, setting it to rainforest temperature.
Then I raise her arms above her head and slide the dress up over her hips and her naked breasts and toss it onto the floor. She watches me, wide-eyed, her expression unfathomable as I slide her feet out of the cowboy boots, resisting the urge to kiss her legs all the way up to her sexy pussy.
I remove my own clothes and discard them in a heap beside the flimsy dress, aware that I forced her to enter a nightclub virtually naked. I wasn’t helping her to live out her fantasy. I did it to satisfy my own selfish fucking needs.
Taking her hand, I lead her into the steaming shower.
My cock is already like a metal rod knocking against her belly and begging to come inside.
Cartier stands with her arms by her sides, water dripping down her face and onto her beautiful body. Her nipples are hard. Her lips are parted, moist, a glimpse of perfect white teeth so irresistible that I dip my head and kiss her gently, no tongues.
I pour lavender-scented bodywash onto a sponge and lather her neck, turning her around, covering her back and shoulders in foamy white bubbles. Under her arms, back around to her breasts, my cock twitching at the vision of her erect nipples peeking out at me from the foam. I crouch in front of her and soap her legs, easing them gently apart, and avoiding her sex.
For now.
I wash her feet, lifting them one at a time, resting them on my thigh so that I can get the sponge between her toes.
When I stand, my blood is pumping around my veins, and my balls are throbbing. I soap myself until our bodies are slippery.
Then I crush her against my chest and kiss her directly beneath the rainfall.
She stands on tiptoes and wraps her arms around the back of my neck, pulling me to her. Her kisses are fierce and demanding. My intention to take this slowly, to woo Cartier the old-fashionedway, dissolves along with the soap being washed from our bodies.
I can’t be restrained where Cartier is concerned.
I can’t be this close to her without wanting to fuck her till she begs me to stop.
“Cartier,” I pull away long enough to murmur against her lips, “you have every part of me.”
“Every part?” She presses her hips into mine, my erection trapped between us.
“You have no fucking clue what you do to me.”
“Why don’t you show me?” She lowers her arms and stands back so that I can see every beautiful inch of her.
I drop to my knees in front of her, water spilling over my head and shoulders, and spread her legs a little wider. I peer up at her. “I wish you could see what I see.”
She smiles, and something flutters inside my closed-off heart.
I lick her sex, gently at first, sliding the tip of my tongue between her folds and grazing her clit. “You taste like fucking honey.”
Cartier twirls my hair around her fingers and pulls my face into her sex. “I want you, Andrej.”
The sound of my name rolling off her tongue sets my balls on fire. “You’re gonna get me, baby. You’re gonna get me until you beg me to stop.”
I open her sex and her clit winks at me. Holding her hips still, I start licking, flicking it with my tongue, back and forth, listening to Cartier’s breathing growing shallow. When she grips my hair,and her legs are trembling, I slide two fingers inside her and suck on her clit while I work her inside.
