Page 33 of Sexting the Bratva Beast

I slip my tongue out slowly, and suck on her throbbing nub. “Are you going to come for me?”

“Yes.” She gasps as I nibble it between my front teeth.

“Hold it, baby.”

“I … can’t.”

“Hold it or I’ll stop.”

I suck harder. I don’t stop until her body goes limp underneath me, and that’s when I ram my cock inside her. All the way. My balls slapping her pussy.

Then I lean over her, still working her clit with my hand while I fill my mouth with her tongue.

“Now, baby. Come for me now.”

And she does. Her body shudders beneath me while I fill her with my cum, and she whimpers into my mouth.

We collapse onto the seat, my thumb still rubbing her twitching clit, and my erection still hard inside her. “You’re going to fucking kill me, Cartier.” The words spill out before the thought fully materializes.

I rest my cheek against hers, inhaling her oxygen, our bodies molded together.

“Please don’t die,” she whispers.

And it’s the most beautiful fucking thing anyone has ever said to me.

I almost changemy mind about the nightclub.

I want to keep her all to myself. I’ve never met anyone else I wanted to lock inside my apartment and throw away thekey. The thought of Cartier, dressed in a skimpy, black PVC outfit, waiting for me to come home with a whip in her hands, unleashes something primeval inside me. My hands instinctively slide inside my pockets as we descend the stairs down towards the heavy bass, feeling for the weapons that I left behind.

Shit!Bad feeling taking over now. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea I ever had.

The place is busy with people still chasing the alcohol downer before they let themselves loose upon the dance floor.

Eyes follow Cartier as we make our way to the bar. Too many eyes. This is a fucking terrible idea, but I remind myself that this is her fantasy. Not mine. Not that I have any intention of fucking her while all these perverts get a ringside view.

It’s the thought that counts.

She’s naked beneath the dress, and we both know it. It doesn’t matter that every other fucker here is oblivious.

At the bar, I order two tequila shots and urge Cartier to down it in one.

She does. Because she’s my obedient baby, and she knows she’ll be rewarded with multiple orgasms later.

Four shots later, we’ve somehow made our way onto a podium, and she’s rubbing her ass up against the bulge in my pants while I knock back another tequila and suck on a lime wedge.

Cartier sways in front of me and flicks her hair in my face. She’s mellow from the booze. She’s having a good time.

But all I can see are the men tracking her movements with their eyes.

Predators.

They’re picturing what’s beneath the dress while testosterone pumps up their dicks and plays porn movies behind their eyes, showing them all the things that they’d like to do to my woman.

My woman!

With her back to me, Cartier sways her hips and pulls my face down over her shoulder to kiss me. I stick my tongue in her mouth with one eye on the wolves circling the podium. I must growl, because one guy flinches when he gets too close, backing away and joining his friends back at their booth.

I place my hand on her stomach, marking my territory. I swear I can smell our combined cum oozing out from between her legs, and if I can smell it, everyone else must too.