Page 58 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

“Show me.”

I drop my hand down to her side, taking her hand in mine and leading her through to the bathroom. I sit on the edge of the bath. “In that cabinet,” I say, gesturing towards the cupboard beneath the basin.

She kneels down and reaches inside it, pulling out a black canvas bag with a red cross on to the top.

“Take off your shirt,” she demands, taking control of the situation.

I chuckle and start undoing my buttons, but wince as the pain shoots up my side and pulls at the gash.

“No, stop, let me do it.” She stands between my legs, with me sitting on the edge of the bath and her looking down at me.

I want to reach out and wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me.

She unbuttons my shirt slowly and gently, then brushes it off my shoulders, down my arms, and carefully pulls the sleeves off my wrists.

She is focused on what she is doing, so she doesn’t notice me staring at her.

Then she kneels between my legs and my mind starts to wander to other places. I have to focus to keep the sly grin off my face. Resting one hand on my inner thigh to balance herself, she leans over and grabs the first aid kit, then pulls out some disinfectant, pouring it onto a cotton swab.

“This is going to sting.”

“Go ahead.” It’s not like I haven’t experienced the burn of antiseptic before. I’ve just never had it administered by such a beautiful girl.

I take a sharp breath through my teeth as the alcohol soaks into the wound.

Her hand is on my inner thigh again while she gently cleans the wound with her other hand. I am staring at her long, elegant fingers and how close they are to my crotch.

Absentmindedly, I reach out and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She looks up at me, and my heart hammers in my chest.

The things I want to do to her right now. She is kneeling in the perfect position.

A mischievous grin splashes across her lips as she realizes what’s going through my mind.

“I guess the pain isn’t as bad as I thought it was?” she giggles, then looks down and realizes how close her hand is to my cock, which is beginning to respond to her touch and that look on her face.

She doesn’t move her hand away, though. Instead, she rubs it back and forth, the corner of her mouth curling higher.

And just when I am deeply distracted, she pours more disinfectant onto the wound and I cry out with shock. She laughs, a beautiful, musical sound.

I can’t help but laugh as well.

“I’ll put a bandage over it. It’s not too deep, you should be fine. But a normal person would go to the hospital and get stitches.”

“I’m not that normal,” I shrug.

“I know.” Her fingers trace over an old bullet wound higher up on my chest. She is quiet for a moment, then her hands trail down my chest, sending shivers through my body as they move back to the fresh wound on my side.

She pulls a bandage out of the med kit, and after smearing Betadine over the wound she sticks the bandage over it.

Still kneeling between my legs, she looks up at me again. Now both of her hands are resting on my inner thighs as her bright green eyes lock with mine.

“How does it feel? Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” I ask as I cup her face in my hands and pull her lips towards mine.

I press my mouth over hers and kiss her deeply.

The moment seems to last forever, and the feeling that runs through me is deeper than just some physical connection.

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