The Kitten Club - Part #04

Brett picks Ryan like a lock but the man just won't crack. He watches the three of them dance around him, skirt hems riding high, smiles turning venom-sweet, and still he keeps his hands to himself. Charlotte feels the whole night going south, so she pulls the last card from her sleeve. She walks straight to Aidra, grabs a fistful of that dark hair, and kisses her so hard the corner lamps rattle. Aidra answers with both hands under Charlotte's dress, shoving it up, finding wet skin, not caring who sees. They drop right there on the divan—Charlotte flat on her back, Aidra straddling her face, hips rolling slow and filthy, loud enough that every creak of leather punctures the quiet. Charlotte's tongue works relentless; Aidra’s breath hitches, breaks into low curse after low curse, until she shakes, thighs locked, knuckles white on the carved wood behind the couch. Ryan’s breathing stays razor-sharp, pupils blown. No words, just the blunt stare of a man who now knows exactly what he stands to gain—or to lose.