Page 12 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

They didn’t.

Emory was all I could see behind my lids as I pinched them closed. And it wasn’t in that office of hers either. It was last night at the safe house, the way she’d been so beautifully submissive to me and let me lead.

I needed that. I needed to lead the situation because…well, because fucking trust issues, that’s why.

The feeling of her body, the way her pussy squeezed around my cock flooded my mind, and at once, I was harder than a damn diamond. My head fell back against the wall with a solidthunk, and I groaned low as I dragged my hand off the floor and up onto my leg.

You can stop this. Come on, Vlad.

But I really couldn’t, and before I could try for another pep talk about getting soft, my grip had found my cock over my boxers. I squeezed tight enough to make it hurt, just keeping the pressure turned up in some vain attempt to end things here.

Yet again, it didn’t work. In the quiet of the bathroom, I reached inside the opening of my boxers and freed my erection. The tip was already moist with precum, the liquid smearing across my palm as I rolled my hand over the head.

I wouldn’t open my eyes, still lifting my chin toward the ceiling and imagining Emory. And I just squeezed. I gripped so fucking hard, remembering that sinful beauty’s pussy and how fucking tight it had been.

I had the sneaking suspicion that she hadn’t been big on sex and that I may have been her first in quite some time. I’d gone slow, letting her adjust to my size as I sheathed my cock inside her up to the hilt. Her smooth skin had felt like heaven beneath my palms, and I’d taken my fill of gripping her round ass.

God damn, and the way she tasted.

Warming up Emory with my tongue had been beyond entertaining, her sweet cries of pleasure echoing around us in the minimally furnished room. She’d been dripping when I’d licked my tongue through her slit, gathering up that delicious slick and swallowing it down.

I’d heard plenty of nonsense from other guys in the field that they hated going down on a woman—probably because they were lazy fucks all about their own pleasure. Me? I fucking adored it.

Licking up all that goodness was a pastime I could spend hours doing, and it was all the better for the way Emory’s nails had dug into my scalp as the pleasure boiled over.

Fuuuck.

I dragged out the word in my thoughts, unable to stop myself from fucking into my fist.

I didn’t relax my grip. I forced my cock through the tight opening I’d created, relishing the way it eased the burn and made it ache all the more. I wasn’t looking for soft or easy. I wanted that hungry part of me that wouldn’t let go of Emory to have to earn every second of pleasure it got.

Still, that needy throb in my shaft pulsed harder, begging for me to speed up, to squeeze tighter, to deliver whatever it needed to finally come.

My brain filled with more images of Emory, more memories of watching her through my lashes as I speared my tongue deeper into her pussy. She’d fluttered against my lips, that tasty arousal pouring from her. It had been a damn treat to slide my fingers inside her and find her G-spot because she’d come right then and there, flooding my mouth with her taste.

Dammit. God fucking dammit.

Groaning as I turned my face to the side and buried it down into my shoulder, I pummeled into my fist harder, shoving myself to the brink before backing off. I was keeping myself right on the edge of release, and every second I dragged it on—stopping to grip the base of my erection hard enough to turn my knuckles white—the impending climax reached higher.

Usually, if I was going to do this, I watched porn. But the movie in my head was better than anything I’d watched, but I did take a few hints from what I’d seen in some of the clips.

As I gripped the base, I smacked my cock down against my leg, making the head burn with each impact. The pain was delicious, ramping up the need to come. After a few seconds of it, I switched things up, rolling my hand over the head in quick circles that made my oversensitive nerves flare.

The effort to keep myself from coming is so damn much, and every bit of my body is aching for that release. I stroke slowly up my shaft, imagining Emory taking me down her throat. She’d also clearly not done much of that, and it had been a damn delight to watch her struggle to take me.

You’re doing so well, gorgeous. Taking me so well, like my good, good girl.

I’d wanted to say the words so desperately that I’d almost broken down and screamed them out. Almost. As it was, the need to make Emory feel wanted—like she’d done a good job—had been nearly paramount, and I’d stroked her pretty cheek as she’d bobbed her head up and down my shaft.

“Ugh,” the low groan was the only sound, and I finally gave in and stroked my erection hard and fast.

The sensations were intoxicating, and my head kicked back with a hard slam on the wall as I brought myself right to the edge of an orgasm. I squeezed the base again, the pressure blindingly intense.

As I pictured Emory’s sweet pussy wrapped around my cock, I stroked forward just once. It was more than enough to have me coming all over my damn hand and legs. Hell, even the floor. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever come that much.

Ragged breaths rocked through me as I tried to blink my vision back into working order. The world was a hazy mess as I came back to myself, and I was even shaking.

Christ, you’re sitting on the damn bathroom floor with a mess all over the fucking place. Ugh.

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