He reached out and cupped my cheek, smoothing a thumb along the skin right below my eye. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly, so I knew no one around would hear the sentiment but me. “You love the monster that I am and accept me for all my faults.”

Before I could correct him on calling himself a monster, he leaned in and pressed his soft, full lips to mine. Instantly, my body reacted, lighting up with the flames of my dormant arousal that was always at the surface, waiting at the borders like an aching wound that only healed with the touch of this man.

I opened my mouth and let him slide his tongue inside, already feeling wetness spill from my pussy and coat my inner thighs. I was sore between my legs, Arlo having fucked me right before we left the house for the gala, a brutal almost primal quality in the way he held my hips and slammed his cock into me. And when we both climaxed and he pulled out, he spread his cum all along my exposed, swollen folds, murmuring that he loved seeing his mark on me.

Just thinking about how he claimed me like a beast marking his territory had a small moan spilling from me.

And Arlo ate it instantly before breaking the kiss and moving his mouth to my ear to whisper, “Would you let me fuck you here, at the gala, baby?”

I closed my eyes and shivered.

“Would you let me take you to a darkened corner, where anyone could walk by and see me pressing you against the wall, tipping your hips up, and plunging into your sweet cunt?”

“Oh God. Arlo,” I breathed.

“Tell me,” he groaned softly and slid a hand along the edge of the table to rest on my lap, gathering up my dress so it was bunched on my upper thighs.

“Yes,” I gasped when he slid his hand between the crease of my thighs, so close to where I needed him the most.

“Do you still feel me in your pussy, Galina?”

I was about to answer, to beg Arlo to take me somewhere semi-private where we could still see the party and know anyone could catch us fucking, when a deeply Russian-accented voice broke up the intimate moment.

I blinked back into focus and gasped as I straightened, staring at the two large men standing on the other side of the table. I knew them, recognized them instantly. One smirked, clearly able to tell what had been going on, while the other held his stoic composure.

Arlo’s grip tightened almost painfully against my inner thigh before he slid his hand out, smoothed my dress back in place, and rested his arms back on the table as he stared at the men.