“Would you like a whole piece?” I ask.
She nods eagerly, so I hold the cake in front of her until she opens her mouth, then I shove a large portion in. She giggles, her mouth spraying crumbs everywhere, before she swallows the rest of the large slice. Laughing out loud, she picks up the piece she cut for me and shoves it in my mouth. Crumbs scatter and icing smears my upper lip, but it’s worth it to see her eyes light up and hear that musical giggle. The crowd laughs at our antics, but when I turn to take Caroline with me back to our table, or preferably my room, I see Lev raise his hand and signal to me. I look up at him. Four fingers are raised in the air, his thumb tucked beneath them.
It’s our sign for danger.
Fuck.
He’s telling me she’s in danger but doesn’t want to risk rousing suspicion from the crowd.
It’s then that I realize my guards are on the move, and several have weapons drawn. Lev reaches me first.
“Get her back to your room,” he says, “Go!”
A few people around us notice the tension and whispers begin hushing through the crowd. When he reaches me he comes straight to me. “One of our guards is missing,” he says.
“Impossible. We’ve just counted them not a minute ago.”
“Very possible,” he says. “Think about it. But we don’t want to be overheard.” He looks at me and shakes his head.
“Who?”
“Ilya.”
I don’t know each man by name, but I know Ilya is young and fairly new to the brotherhood.
I’m not going to fuck around with this. He’s right, I need to get her out of here, though I hate leaving my men unprotected.
“Time to go,” I tell her, taking her hand and leading her to the exit. Immediately, a dozen uniformed guards flank my side, but it doesn’t bring me the security it once did. If one of our guards may have been killed, one of them could be an infiltrator.
I march her quickly to my room, my gun already drawn. I’m prepared. Whoever it is, I’m ready to defend my wife. I’m ready to fucking kill.
Is she the reason they’re even here?
I imagine I hear someone in the hall, and I swivel around with my gun drawn. Caroline shrieks and sobers when she sees me holding my gun, prepared to fight.
“You do what I tell you,” I say.
“You’ve mentioned that once or twice,” she quips. “It’s kind of like your motto.”
“I’ll give you motto,” I mutter, tugging her into the bedroom. “Go sit on the bed.”
“Oh, wow, this is weird,” she says, walking toward the bed but wobbling around the room as if we’re at sea.
“It’s what happens when you drink too much,” I tell her.
“Right,” she says, before she faceplants on the bed. “That’s better,” she mumbles into the blanket, still face down. “Am I getting my spanking now?”
I’ll give her a spanking alright. She might regret taking this so lightly.
Kneeling on the bed beside her, I unfasten the buttons on her beautiful dress. She shivers when I lift her out of the dress, one arm at a time.
“Cold?” I ask her, my mind elsewhere, on what is happening with my men.
“No,” she says. “You’re sexy.”
I place my gun on the bedside table, and she doesn’t even flinch this time but opens her arms. Welcoming me.
“Come here, husband,” she whispers. “Was I a good girl tonight?”
I shake my head. “No, detka. You were very, very naughty.”
“Oh, right,” she says with a pout. “And I earned a spanking?” Biting her lip, she’s absolutely adorable.
“Yes,” I say, my voice husky. “Now lie over my lap.”
She captures her lip between her teeth and sashays over to me, holding my gaze the whole time.
I sit on the edge of the bed and pat my lap.
“Naughty little girl,” I say, dragging this out. I like watching the way her eyes go half-lidded and she moans when I run my hand over the fullest curve of her ass. “Such a naughty little girl.”
Without warning, I slam my palm against her full, beautiful backside. She gasps and moans, and I’m already hard as a rock. I give her a second smack, then a third, before I start fingering her between strokes.
“Oh, God,” she moans, squirming over my knee. “Does alcohol turn you on?”
“It can,” I say, slapping the underside of her curvy ass.
“You’ve earned this,” I tell her. “Haven’t you?”
“I think so,” she groans. With slow, deliberate strokes of my palm, I take her just to the edge of climax, until she’s panting and squirming over my knee. I part her legs and gently stroke her swollen, slick folds.
“You need to come, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Mmmmm,” she moans, pushing herself on my hand.
“On the bed,” I tell her, lifting her off my knee and placing her on her back. “Stroke yourself,” I order. Her eyes are half-lidded when she parts her knees and gingerly places her fingers on her pussy. She bites her lip but doesn’t look away. I watch her stroke harder and faster, until she’s right on the cusp of release.