Page 43 of Nanny for the Bratva Daddies

Nothing else matters.

I don’t want to think. I don’t want to dwell on my mother or the fact that I’m giving in to a secret desire to avoid questioning.

I just want to feel.

Zasha takes a step backward and I move with him. Our lips dance together, weaving repeatedly over one another with scarcely any gaps for air until Zasha pulls away. Gasping, his warm breath ghosts over my damp lips and when I open my eyes, his stunning eyes reflect the low light like flames.

“Are you sure?” His smooth voice is like velvet, deep and enticing.

“Honestly?” Running my fingertips over the soft fuzz at his jaw, I press my palm flat to his cheek. “I’ve fantasized about it ever since you pinned me to the floor when we first met properly.”

Zasha growls and his mouth locks back onto mine. My shoes’ grip on the floor vanishes as Zasha pulls me backward through a door and darkness closes over us. I glimpse a few stars and the moon through one distant window, bringing us the only light in the form of a moonlight slant that slices across the room.

Zasha’s working hand roams over my body, pulling and tugging at my clothes. Since he has the cast, I take over. In between biting kisses that leave my lips tingling, I unbutton his black silk shirt as quickly as my fingers will let me. Shoving the material back from his shoulders, Zasha stumbles back, and suddenly a cacophony of musical notes clashes through the air.

We both freeze, holding one another's gaze, then laughter bubbles forth at the noisy interruption. Behind Zasha sits a large piano that I accidentally shoved him back into and sadly his ass lacks the musical talent to perform.

“Shit,” I giggle, kissing his jaw. “I didn’t even know that was there.”

“I’d fuck you on it if I was certain the guards would ignore the music.” Zasha kisses me again, then snakes his arm back around my waist.

In one swift movement, I’m weightless, and my stomach lurches when my feet lose all contact with the floor. How Zasha picks me up so smoothly is a mystery, but in a blink, he’s lowering me down onto the ground with one arm and not even breaking a sweat.

His time in torture certainly did little to deplete his strength.

My fingers dance over his bare shoulders, mapping the smooth lines of muscle and occasional rise of scarring. Soft hair coats his chest, and in the moonlight it looks almost silver.

Then he’s on top of me with one leg cocked up against the floor, forcing my thighs wide. His mouth collides with mine and his unbroken arm makes quick work of my shirt and bra.

My body singes hot, my temperature rises, and the firmness of the floor doesn’t fully register. Not with this sexy plane of hard muscle above me. He kisses me deeply, weaves his tongue delicately into my mouth, and then breaks away to kiss a wet path down my body. Clothes fall away, melting into the darkness around us.

Each press of his lips stokes the fire in my core and I struggle to settle on where I want to caress. His body is warm under my fingertips as I graze my nails across his shoulders while his long hair flows like silk between my fingers. Before I can grip on and pull, Zasha kisses over the swell of my breasts, down my abdomen, and makes quick work of my skirt and panties.

Naked, we writhe together with skin on skin, and my core clenches. Desire pours through me while dampness beads my thighs and moans escape me in hoarse, harsh gasps.

“Please,” I moan, cupping his jaw and bringing his handsome face into the slant of moonlight above me. “I need you.”

“You want me to fuck you?” He asks and his eyes are so dark that only a sliver of color remains visible.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll fuck you like I own you.” Vibration deepens his voice and my pussy throbs sharply. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t even remember your own name.”

“Please.”

That’s the last word that escapes me. With one grip, Zasha rolls me onto my stomach. I bring my hands near my body, ready to push up onto my hands and knees but he doesn’t give me the chance. His muscular body drapes over me like a heated blanket, pressing me firmly into the floor and breath catches in my throat. His strong knees push between my legs, then spread and force my thighs to part around his bulk. When I whimper, he kisses the back of my shoulder. His thick, muscular arm winds around my neck and shoulders to cushion my chin against him instead of the floor.

I’m utterly pinned, unable to do anything but scratch at the floor and pant raggedly. It’s more erotic than I ever could have imagined.

“Remember,” Zasha growls low in my ear and his long hair falls across my face like a thousand kisses. “You asked for this.”

I did.

The moment his impossible thick cock enters me from behind, an ache stabs through me at the sudden stretch and intrusion but he doesn’t give me any time to settle. There’s no pause for my body to adjust, no encouragement to relax, or soft caution of what’s to come next.

Zasha braces against the floor and he starts to fuck me with such power that a cut-off scream rips from my throat, loud in my mind. Thanks to the arm around my neck and shoulders keeping my head elevated, nothing but a hoarse whine makes it past my lips.

Holy fucking shit.

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