Chapter 8 Andrej
ANDREJ
She has no idea what she does to me.
She has no idea how fucking mind-blowingly sexy she is.
Cartier doesn’t need a sheer dress and tasseled cowboy boots to give me an erection that would chop through bricks.
She doesn’t need to do anything apart from flash that gorgeous wet pussy at me, and I’m hers.
A slave. Bring on the studded leather collar and leash, and I’ll wag my ass around the city for her, I don’t give a fuck who knows it.
“How do I look?” She flutters those eyelashes at me, and the smile that follows means that she’s already figured out my answer.
“Like every fucking fantasy I ever had, and all the ones I didn’t think of yet.”
Chewing the corner of her bottom lip, she kneels on the seat and prowls towards me, all feline curves and a fucking purr that sets my dick on fire.
Still on her hands and knees, she licks my face, starting at my chin and dragging her tongue all the way to my hairline. I slide my hand underneath the dress and find her pussy.
“You’re fucking dripping, Cartier.”
“It’s the boots.” Her eyes sparkle as she straddles my lap and wraps her arms around my neck. “And the dress.”
I slide a finger inside her, and it’s instantly coated in her juices. “I hoped it was me.”
She smiles. “It’s a little bit to do with you too.”
I push two more fingers inside her and spread my knuckles against her walls. “Only a little bit?” I bite her bottom lip and lick it better.
Cartier’s breathing is already growing shallow.
Her body responds to my touch the way a musical instrument responds to the musician. Right now, she’s a blank canvas, and I’m the artist adding splashes of color to the portrait: layers, textures, emotion, bringing her body to life as if she never realized her true potential before.
“Maybe more than a little bit,” she breathes against my lips.
“Fuck my fingers, Cartier.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. Fisting my hair, she spreads her legs wide and rides my hand, her slick trickling down my wrist. I raise the hem of the dress so that I can watch her sexy fucking pussy sliding on and off my hand, and my cock fills my pants to bursting.
I can’t control it.
I have to have her now.
Sliding myself out from underneath her, I unzip my pants and give my erection the freedom it’s been aching for since she took her clothes off and tossed them onto the floor.
Cartier is still on all fours. From behind, I press her shoulders into the back seat of the car and slap her naked ass with my shaft.
She twists her head to peer at me, her cheek pressed against the cushion.
But the dress has slid forward with her body bent in two, and her glistening sex is begging to be sucked. It’s the sexiest invitation I’ve ever had.
“Have you been saving it up for me all day, baby?”
“Yes.” Her lips part. She moistens them with her tongue, and a groan escapes me before I can stop it.
“Such a good girl.” I slap her inner thighs with my dick. “Spread them wider for me.”
Cartier drags her knees towards her, the tassels on the cowboy boots swinging with the motion. Then she holds herself open for me, and her pussy is in my face. “Is that what you wanted?”
“You’re everything I ever want, baby.” Gripping her thighs, I go in deep with my tongue. No messing around.
Her legs tremble in my grip, and I lick until my tongue is coated with her essence. My thumb finds her clit and circles it, slathering it in her slick that keeps right on coming.
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 change my 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 the key.
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.
Cartier covers my hand with hers and moves it lower.
I freeze. “Not here. Not like this.”
She stops swaying to the music and peers at me over her shoulder. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know, baby.” Every muscle in my body is tense. “It isn’t you. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
It’s every other fucking asshole in the place.
Like the one that has joined us on the podium while I was distracted.
The guy is either on crack, or he has the biggest fucking death wish in the history of time.
Cartier is sandwiched between us, barely moving to the music now that the creep has invaded her space.
Uninvited. And his eyes are on her breasts like she gave him permission to ogle her in the middle of a fucking nightclub, while she’s dancing with her man.
“Fuck off, dude.” My voice carries above the music.
Cartier’s body goes rigid against me. She’s trying to put as much distance between her and the loser in the pink paisley shirt without telling him to beat it herself.
She doesn’t want any trouble.
I get it.
But unfortunately, my reputation hasn’t reached paisley-dude, and I’ve never been the kind of guy who avoids trouble when I feel it’s due.
Right now, it’s about as overdue as a credit card bill flashing red warning signs in his face while the debt collectors knock on the front door.
“Back the fuck off, asshole.” I position myself between him and Cartier.
I can’t be much clearer than that.
And the stupid fucker tries to shimmy around me, a goofy doped-up grin on his face. “No harm in looking, is there?”
My fist collides with his jaw. I watch his lower face violently swing sideways in slow motion, the shock registering in his eyes around the same time that my knuckles crack bone.
He flies backwards off the podium like a starfish.
The dancers part company to avoid being body-slammed, and he hits the floor with a dull thud.
Cartier screams.
I turn around and find her staring at the unconscious guy on the floor, her hands covering her face.
“We should go.”
I don’t even recognize the emotion in my own voice, but when I reach for her hand, she backs away from me. She would stumble off the other side of the podium if I didn’t catch her. But she shoves my hands from her waist and jumps down to check that the guy’s alright.
Security guards in black suits come over to assess the situation, and the crowd backs away further, giving them space. The biggest bodyguard takes one look at me and hoists paisley-dude over his shoulder. “Time for you to leave,” he says as they carry him away.
I reach for Cartier’s hand, but she snatches it away and marches towards the exit without a backward glance.
I walk with her, matching her stride. I can feel white-hot waves of anger rolling off her shoulders and slapping me in the face.
It’s more sobering than an ice-cold dip in the Baltic Sea.
I don’t want Cartier to waste her anger on me.
I’ll always do fucking stupid things, but I need her to understand that I will never hurt her.
Ever.
I would rather die than hurt her.
Outside, the cool night air chills my face; it does nothing for my throbbing knuckles.