Page 44 of Bratva Queen

“Of course I am, honey,” she said, rolling her hips and smiling. She repositioned herself to sit on my right thigh with her arm around my shoulders, pausing the dance for a moment. “This big boy over here,” she lifted her knee up my crotch, just brushing against my hard-on that was caught down my thigh, “tells me that you really need some kind of release.” She looked away, brushing her fingers through her hair thoughtfully. “And since you’re not only a bratva man, but the bratva king’s guard,” she must have heard from Nikolai at the door, “you have access to a little room in the back there.” She pointed to the door behind the bar. “Where we can be alone.”

I shook my head. “I’m not looking to fuck, sweetheart.”

“Even though I’d be game for that,” she said, biting her lip, “what I mean is you could pull him out while I dance for you, and touch yourself, instead of me.”

I paused, lifting my eyebrow.Well shit; that could work. “Okay then.”

In the backroom, I dropped down onto the wide sofa and leaned far back while she closed the door. I was finally able to push my hand into my pants and pull my dick up straight, under my belt.

She understood exactly what to do. Her body flowed between my knees, rolling her ass up and shaking it a little to get the cheeks wobbling.

Oh fuck. Isabel used to do that.

Anytime she turned around to face me, she would allow her long hair to drape across her face, turning to the side so her identity was entirely blurred with that of Isabel’s. My breathing deepened, and I rubbed my dick slowly over my pants.

She gradually stepped her knees onto the sofa and straddled me, while giving me space to do my thing. She then dropped her head back until I couldn’t see her face, arching and rolling her body. Slowly, she removed her bra and I saw her thick, rounded tits with her dark, tight, and hardened nipples.

“Fuck,” I couldn’t help but breathe out.

She sat back up but dropped her head down and watched as she caressed her own tits, pinching the nipples and pulling at them playfully while her hair brushed over them, covering her face.

Jesus, Isabel… yes…

I unfastened my belt, unzipped my pants, and slowly, with my hand cupping my balls, pulled it all out. My pants only needed to be pulled down a little, but finally, I had my dick reaching for the ceiling and my balls resting on the seam of my underwear.

She didn’t say anything—she knew my fantasy would be spoiled by hearing another woman’s voice—but allowed herself a little peek and bit her lip again, sighing deeply.

Oh, God, Isa, baby…

I knew Isabel had never seen it. We’d stopped just before I’d pulled my dick out for her, but imagining that would be her reaction, that she might bite her lip in need and be unable to remove her eyes from the sight of it, got me fucking excited.

I wrapped my fingers around the girth of my shaft and slowly pulled up, squeezed the head lightly, then pulled back down, splaying my fingers across my balls.

I heard her small gasp. It didn’t break the spell; I still heard and saw Isabel watching me.

She continued to dance, letting her body move sensually and slowly, but when she saw me picking up the speed of my movements, she held onto the back of the sofa behind me with one hand, pulled her hair slightly forward to just blur her identity enough, and began to bounce.

It was as though Isabel was sitting in my lap, on my dick, and her sweet pale body was bouncing on it, fucking me. I squeezed my forefinger and thumb up my shaft, finding a rhythm, and felt my balls tense up.

“Oh, fuck… yes, baby…” I groaned, watching her tits bounce and her mouth fall open.

I climaxed, lifting my hips, shoving my spurting dick up into my hand, and saw her breathing deeply, moving her hips gradually as though she needed release as well. I guessed this was the other side of the stripper job, huh? Sometimes they’d need to touch a man that physically repulsed them, and other times, they needed to stop themselves from touching a man they really wanted to.

Because yes, this was hot. And I would have torn those panties apart and lifted her to sit on my dick, but she wasn’t Isabel. She wasn’t what I wanted. As usual, the same as most other times in my life, I had to control myself and know my boundaries. If I’d fucked this dancer tonight, I wouldn’t have felt good about myself in the morning. That’s just how it was. I knew Isabel was marrying Stepan, but I couldn’t move on, not yet. I was still holding onto the hope of her.

Chapter17

Isabel

Istood facing the full-length mirror and smoothed my wedding dress over my baby bump. It was small; I was only three months along, and not many people knew yet. Stepan didn’t want his more conservative associates to think this was a shotgun wedding. Beyond that, he was overjoyed to hear that his first heir was on the way.

I twisted to the side and looked in the mirror. It looked kind of sweet if you knew there was a baby in there. I had a healthy glow to my skin and true happiness in my heart, which had nothing to do with getting married and everything to do with becoming a mother. It wasn’t something I’d envisioned happening so soon, especially not with Stepan, but since my fate with him was sealed—through the threat of his wrath and now, with carrying his child—I found the situation tolerable.

And the wedding itself was certainly something to feel happy about. It was at the nearest, most gorgeous Orthodox church I’d ever been to. It looked like a castle with all of its steeples as golden crosses.

I walked down the aisle holding Mama at my side, wearing the dress she’d initially been against—after some convincing, she’d agreed that it was actually a classy, sophisticated style. No frills, no lace, just soft, flowing satin. Appropriate for a bratva queen, actually. I couldn’t lower myself to wear the kinds of dresses worn by all the other brides of the time—fun and pretty and festive. No, my wedding was respectful and near to royalty. I liked it. It helped me keep my head up high.

The long trail swept around my feet when I turned to face Stepan. I handed my flowers to Inessa—flown in from Belarus to be my maid of honor—and flashed my eyes over Aleksei before landing back on Stepan. He lifted the soft veil over my head, revealing my flawless makeup done to accentuate my dark brown eyes. I hardened myself, refusing to let my eyes flicker over Stepan’s shoulder to Aleksei again.

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