Page 53 of Baby for the Bratva King

“Hell yes,” I say before inverting into a shoulder mount. I work my muscles, tensing my core as I slowly lower myself back down.

“You get to have sex with Felix Pozharsky, and your shoulder mounts look so effortless. Not fair.”

“Practice makes perfect.” I wink, landing back down on the floor.

I change the music, letting my body swing around the pole as I experiment with some different techniques.

“I woke up this morning and felt like a new woman,” I tell Fleur while watching myself in the studio mirrors. “The first time I lost my virginity, it felt like a mistake.”

“You fell under his spell.”

“It’s more than that.” I study my form in the mirror, my top hand in a twisted grip as I extend both legs into a front split on the floor. “He’s a broken man.”

“And you’ll be a broken woman soon if you keep doing floorwork without any kneepads.” Fleur glides down from the pole, watching me closely. “You’ve always had a soft spot for broken things. Remember the creepy doll at the thrift store?”

“The one with the missing eye?”

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “That thing looked cursed, but you wanted to take it home because you felt bad.”

“I didn’t want it to rot on the shelf.”

“Yeah,” says Fleur, contemplating something. “You have a big heart. But does Felix?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” I cringe.

“Be careful,” says Fleur, returning to her pole. “I would hate for you to break your own heart in the process of trying to figure out his.”

Valid point—that is something to consider. But I’m not thinking about the end result. We came together last night like we were riding through the turmoil together, living in dance, and right now, that feels good enough for me.

For the next half hour, I slip into my heels and let the music do the talking, working on floorwork and heel technique. Felix drifts through my mind. I envision us together, making love in his bed, his rough tongue brushing against mine; the heat radiating from his cock as he slides into me and makes me feel like I’m worth something.

My body wants to do aerial. I invert, working through some flow. I contract my shoulder muscles, throwing myself around the pole. I trust my grip more than I trust those around me. Falling from this height could be catastrophic. I could end up with a broken hip, a broken arm; some girls have ended up in wheelchairs.

But the trust I have in myself is unshakable.

I cool down when our studio hire time is over, tugging on a thick sweatshirt, lacing up my sneakers.

My phone pings with a text message. I glance over at the screen, expecting a message from the owner as she sends us a polite reminder that our hour is up.

FELIX POZHARSKY: How would you like to come with me to London?

“Tell Lauren we’re heading out now.”

“It’s Felix.”

“Oh?” chirps Fleur, leaning over. “What does he want?”

“London,” I spit out, my head scrambled. “Take a look at this.” I pass her the phone. “Please tell me I’m not going crazy.”

Fleur reads the message, pupils flicking back and forth as she examines the message. “Not yet, but London might change things.”

“Why would he want me to accompany him?” I tuck the phone back into my pocket, grabbing my stuff. “I’m his maid, not his assistance.”

Fleur shrugs, walking alongside me. “Maybe he likes the company, or maybe the sex is too good to pass on.”

“Or maybe he wants to create a narrative.”

“Either way, I think you should go,” suggests Fleur as we lock up. “It might be fun to experience Halloween in a different country.”