Page 43 of Knocked-Up Bratva Prisoner

He did.

Shit.

The expression on his face tells me he is on to me. One brow raised, one corner of his lip curled into a grin. Everything in the way he is looking at me saysoh, really, is that what you’re up to?

But he doesn’t say anything at all. He just presses his expert hands into the soles of my feet, sending delightful shivers through my body.

I lean back on the sofa, getting more comfortable, not taking my eyes off him because now I want to know what he is going to do after catching me out.

He pulls at one of my feet, dragging me a little closer to him.

Pressing his fingers beneath the seam of my oversized sweatpants, his hand travels up the inside of the fabric, along my calf.

I gasp a little. I wasn’t expecting that.

A low, rumbling chuckle rolls from his lips and his eyes are suddenly filled with mischief.

“Take these off. I’ll give you a proper massage. I am sure you were very stressed all morning and your muscles must be tense.”

My eyes shoot wide with shock and I grab the top elastic of the sweat pants as he tugs them down beneath the blanket still wrapped around me.

“Relax, Clara, no one can see anything. And the blanket will keep you warm.”

My heart is racing wildly as I let him take my pants off, wondering what the hell I am doing.

His hands move beneath the blanket, pressing into the muscles of my calves, up the outsides of my thighs, doing an incredible job of massaging my legs but also sending my thoughts in too many different directions while I try to convince my body to calm down.

But there is no use.

Everywhere he touches feels electric. My body is alive and buzzing. Alert. Excited. Heated.

The blanket is even starting to feel too hot over me, but I wouldn’t dare take it off.

He is watching me closely. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

I wish I could control my reaction.

I bite my lower lip and his eyes burn into me.

It’s no good.

I can’t stop myself.

His hand travels up the inside of my thigh and my pussy begins to throb as heat pools between my legs.

He pulls me a little closer to him and I accidentally moan as his hand slides right up my thigh and brushes over my panties.

The sound that escapes my lips makes him grin—a naughty, teasing grin that grabs my attention.

My lips part and my breathing becomes heavier as he very gently, very slowly brushes his fingers over my panties, right across my clit.

I can’t look away from him.

He shifts himself so that he is practically lying over me on the couch, then starts very purposefully rubbing his fingers in small circles over my panties. I can feel how wet I am.

With his other hand, he starts slowly pulling the blanket off me, watching, his eyes on me constantly. I don’t tell him tostop. I don’t even try and hold on to the blanket. It’s too late for that.

I am entirely putty in his hands. He could literally do whatever he wants to me at this moment, and I would be begging him not to stop.

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