Page 26 of Sexting the Bratva Beast
“The gossip mill must’ve been working overtime.”
It’s what happens when you label a bunch of people ‘very important’ and stick them in a room with the press and free champagne.
“I heard that you saved a woman from being sexually assaulted.”
“You heard that, huh?” I mentally scan the faces I recall from the grand opening and draw a blank. I don’t remember seeing anyone who would’ve known about the incident.
“I also heard that you took the woman to ER, stuck around until you knew that she was okay, and that you’ve stayed in touch with her ever since.”
I shrug. Sip my champagne. “Which rumor do you believe?”
Cartier removes the glass from my hand and rests her chin on my shoulder. “You haven’t denied either of them, but I see how much the second one affects you.” She licks my ear, sending tingles straight through to my cock. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
I have the urge to do something that I don’t recall ever doing before. Or at least, it’s something that I don’t believe I’ve ever instigated. I want to throw my arms around her and hold her close, protect her like a child, like the beautiful, naïve, compassionate soul that she is. The sensation, if I leave it unchecked, will blossom like an ache inside my chest, an ache that I don’t have the space for.
“Stay right there.”
I leave our nest and locate the sound system remote on the coffee table. Choosing a country channel, I hit ‘play’ and offer Cartier my hand. A Johnny Cash song is playing. ‘Jackson’.
“Dance with me.”
Her face breaks into a smile that gives her a golden glow, and the ache inside my chest swells in an altogether different way.
She places her hand in mine, and I pull her into my arms right there in front of the panoramic view of Chicago. We’re bothnaked. Cartier’s cheeks are flushed from the champagne and the afterglow of multiple orgasms, but she tips her head back and laughs when I grip her right hand and twirl her around, pulling her back against my chest when she reaches three-sixty.
“Where did you learn to dance?”
“My mom taught me when I was a kid.” I spin her around again and catch the beat with my bare feet, throwing in a few moves of my own. “She said, and I quote: ‘It’s a gentlemanly skill that’s dying out. If you want to impress a woman, show her that you can dance.’ So, I learned the basics and realized that I enjoyed it.”
Cartier leans against my chest and peers up at me as we sway along to our own rhythm. “How many women have you impressed with your dancing skills? A ballpark figure will do.”
I smile. “Plenty, but not in the way you’re thinking. The skill comes in useful with the wives of business associates.”
“The wives? So, men only give the impression that they’re in control, huh?”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly, my erection like a metal rod between our naked bodies. “It dates to cavemen times when we had to catch the food and protect our families. Nowadays, a lot of men want the glory without the effort.”
She licks her lips. “Perhaps they should all learn to dance.”
Better than learning how to handle a firearm. Or set up an incendiary device. Or reciting the motto ‘kill or be killed’ as soon as they can read.
I check out our hazy reflection in the window. Our bodies melded together like we were always meant to find one anotherthis way. I think about Cartier’s fantasy of dancing naked on a raised podium in a busy nightclub. Instead, I’ve given her Chicago.
“All that’s missing is the cowboy boots.” I incline my head towards our reflection.
Cartier scrunches up her nose. “I hoped that you weren't paying attention when I told you about that.”
“Baby, I always pay attention, especially where it concerns you.”
A Lainey Wilson ballad plays through the speakers, and I turn Cartier around so that she’s squarely facing the window. Then I drop to my knees in front of her and spread her legs wide.
“Everyone in Chicago can see you right now if they look up.”
I part her folds and drag my tongue between them, slowly, lingering over her clit, and she leans forward, hands on the window, panting at my touch.
“How does it make you feel?” I glance up at her breasts swinging above my head, and my cock automatically bobs towards them.
“Turned on.”
