Page 190 of The Lazarov Bratva

I want him. I always want him, but ever since I became pregnant, the desire has ramped up to a thousand. I’d read that it was natural and consider myself lucky I have a man who needs only the slightest hint before his hands are on me.

“Are you sure you want this?” Kristof asks, and one hand caresses from my waist to my belly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” I assure him breathlessly, pulling him in for another kiss and tugging slightly on his hair.

Kristof’s other hand grabs at my skirt, bunching it up until skin meets skin, and he seeks out the hem of my panties, then pauses and smirks against my neck.

“No panties?”

“Maybe I thought ahead,” I tease.

He lifts his head, his eyes dark, and I fall into them, like swimming in a pool of ink. He kisses me deeply, pushing me into the tree before he steps back and releases me.

“Doggy?”

As positions go, it’s probably the safest. “Yes, please.”

“Good girl.”

It’s a stroke of luck that we sink to the ground next because my legs wouldn’t have been able to support me for long after that praise. Nothing makes my heart beat faster or my legs feel weaker except maybe his tongue.

He kisses me continuously as he lays me on my back, keeping himself hovering above my torso so as not to press on my belly. Shrugging off his shirt, he nips gently at my lips while I caress and stroke every inch of tight muscle that I can see. My mouth waters while I dig my nails in slightly over the ink of his tattoos.

“God, I love this,” I moan, tracing the tiger. “I want a tattoo.”

“Oh?” He hums softly, helping me out of my blouse and grasping a handful of one breast. “I’d love to see you naked and writhing, painted in ink.”

“Mmm.” The image flashes in my mind as the rest of our clothes are discarded onto the grass. By this point, I’m past caring about the guards who follow us like shadows. I’m certain they’ve seen every inch of us by now.

“All pretty painted,” he moans, claiming my mouth in a deeply heated kiss while groaning. “Fuck.”

His hard cock grazes my thigh, and a shiver steals down my spine. Rolling over, I quickly rise onto my hands and knees, then Kristof drapes over me, kissing my spine.

“To think you got this turned on learning about guard routes and the drug trade. Just wait until I let you in on how we run our nightclubs.”

Soft laughter bubbles in my chest, melting into a satisfied moan as Kristof’s thick, perfect cock slides inside me and fills me right to the brim. We slot together so perfectly, made for one another in all the right ways. I rock back onto his cock while he covers my bare shoulders in kisses and massages my breast and nipple with one hand. The other braces on the grass next to me, so I move my own hand and lace our fingers together.

When he grips my hand back, my heart skips a beat.

It’s the little things.

He begins to fuck me, and while the pace is slower than usual, each stroke of his cock inside me elicits the most intense flurry of pleasure weaving through my core. Out here with the leaves rustling above us and a gentle, cool breeze dusting over my overheated skin, I’m raw and exposed yet protected all at the same time. Grass tickles my palms and my knees as I rock back to meet his thrusts while Kristof pants gently in my ear.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans softly. “Think I can pump another baby into you? Fuck you until you’re double swollen and your tits drip like a fountain?”

“Fuck,” escapes me in a gasp. “I know you would if you could.” There’s no doubt in my heart there.

Pleasure builds steadily with each thrust, and the closer we both fall toward climax, the more powerful Kristof’s thrusts become. He starts to chant gently with each one as his moans deepen.

“You’re perfect, so fucking perfect. The way your pussy hugs me like it’s hungry for me. Shit. I love you, Alena, I love you.”

“I know,” comes my moaning reply. “I love you too!”

Words fail us, and we fall into loud, desperate moaning. Kristof’s teeth graze my shoulder, locking on with a bite, and he arches up with both hands on my swinging breasts. My core throbs, building heat with each thrust, and I’m closer faster than I’d like. Soft sex, rough sex, it doesn’t matter. Kristof plays me like a fiddle.

We come together, and our moans rise together like the chorus of a light song, then my arms weaken from the waves of pleasure and I sink down onto the grass with a whimper. Kristof’s already one step ahead of me and makes sure I roll onto my side, then rolls me onto my back as his softening cock slips from my pussy.

“Kristof,” I whimper when our joined hands break apart, but then all thought leaves me as Kristof’s tongue laps through my pussy in one swift, flat press.

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