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She might be a virgin but I am sure she masturbates. How do I know? There are cameras in her bedroom, and she plays with herself most nights before she goes to sleep.
God love her.
With her gaze locked to mine, she teasingly slides a finger between her bare lips, reaching all the way to her ass cheeks, then brings it back to her clit, which she circles with two fingers.
I stand between her parted legs and reach to open my trousers. With the weight of my belt, they clatter to my ankles, and I lower my boxers enough to free my aching cock.
She stops her little circles when she sees it, not sure what’s next, and looks up at me, her eyes hooded, her mouth full and wet.
She’s not afraid. Just curious.
“Keep going,” I say, stroking my length from root to tip.
I slide my hand over my hard-on, up and down, while she looks, and I watch her play with her pussy.
She twitches, and her hand speeds up. Her mouth opens slightly, but she keeps her eyes on my dick. Fuck all, I could come right here all over her. But she needs to come first.
Then I’ll spill my seed.
“C’mon, baby,” I whisper, “stroke that clit. Make yourself come.”
As if my demanding words push her to the edge, her hand moves faster. A second later she’s shaking, strange, guttural sounds flying out of her mouth. Her hips buck off the sofa to push harder into her fingers.
That’s all I need. I lean over her and spurt my cum right onto her pussy, watching it run off her hand and between her slightly-parted lips.
“Oh fuck, yeah,” I growl, emptying the last of my load.
With one arm, I lean onto the sofa and attempt to catch my breath. As I do, she brings her hand up to her mouth and licks the mixture of our juices off one finger and then another.
Holy fuck, I am in trouble.
* * *
CHAPTERFIFTY-TWO
Charleigh
Vadik closes up his trousers and brings me a towel from his bar cart. I wipe my hands and everything he got all over me and catch him staring like he’s never seen a woman.
What a strange man. So gruff and cold, and yet craving connection like a lost child. It’s maddening. And kind of tragic.
“Hi,” I say, and we both laugh.
He breaks his awkward stare and points toward the corner of his office. “There’s a bathroom over there.”
I kick off the panties around my ankle and ease down my skirt—at least as far as I can, since it’s so damn short. It’s funny, just a few days ago I wanted to die of embarrassment to be dressed so immodestly, and now I don’t even notice anymore. As if I’ve been wearing clothes like this all my life.
In all the excitement, my shoes came off, so I pad across Vadik’s plush carpeting in my stockinged feet to the bathroom, moving silently. Maybe I should just go back to my own room and get cleaned up, but I want to at least be somewhat presentable before I leave his office. I guess it will come as no surprise to anyone, given the nature of the club and my role here, but I still default toward being somewhat private. I imagine at some point, I won’t care about that anymore, just like I don’t care that I’m walking around half-naked. Who knows.
I shut myself into Vadik’s bathroom and grab a thick towel, the same kind someone keeps replacing in my own bathroom, and splash water on my face. I finger-comb my hair and pull my panties back on after cleaning up down there. Keeping the water running at a trickle, I put down the toilet lid and take a seat to catch my breath and clear my head.
How I feel close to someone who is about to ruin my life is beyond me. It’s fucked up on so many levels. And yet when we were coming together, we wereconnected. Like really connected. I could feel his orgasm, and I swear he could feel mine.
Elbows on my knees, I put my head in my hands and force a couple deep breaths. The confusion and conflicting thoughts bouncing around my mind are horrendous, and the grief I want to give myself for being intimate with such a man—his brothers included—is crushing.
If I come out of this alive, will I end up hating myself?
And wouldn’t that be the worst thing of all? To lose my self-respect? To loathe nobody more than myself?
