Page 52 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

Yelping, my eyes flared, but before I could get another word in, he dipped his fingers into my folds, sliding them inside me. I moaned low, squeezing my thighs around his hand. He was starting up a torturous rhythm when Vlad chuckled.

“I love seeing you like this.”

“Ugh,” I eked out. “You need to take me home. I want to be loud.”

“Come for me,” Vlad whispered into my ear, pumping his fingers, “and then I’ll take you back and make you do it again.”

And I did.

Chapter 22 - Vlad

I had Emory in my bed as fast as humanly possible, and not for the first time, I wished that I could have just teleported back her. Every second with my lips not touching her felt too long, too far away.

I needed her. I needed Emory all around me, a part of me.

Kissing her again, I hovered over her as I started unbuttoning her shirt, the damn thing not cooperating nearly as much as it should. I was about halfway through when I just tore the damn thing off and started working on her skirt. Emory’s panties were useless now, and I slid them off with her skirt, chucking both somewhere in my room.

She followed me up as I knelt on the bed, her hands going to the hem of my shirt and helping to pull it over my head. I ate up her skin's gorgeous, warm color, raking my eyes over her curves as she practically glowed in the dim lighting.

Emory’s flesh was smooth and perfect beneath my hands, and I lowered down to her chest, kissing her deep tan skin everywhere I could. A low, throaty moan escaped her, and I loved the way she reeled, arching up as I teased her nipples.

“Vlad!”

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you.”

I would never get enough of the hard little buds. As I hovered over her, Emory’s stare scanned over me appreciatively.

“What?” I cocked a brow as she looked me over.

“Umm,” Emory laughed. “I’m just looking at your tattoos. They’re so…beautiful. I’ve been curious about them.”

Smiling, I looked down at myself. I often forgot that tattoos like this weren’t the norm. Ivan and Abe were covered, too, and most people in the “business” were covered as well.

“Oh. Well, I mean, they’re pretty self-explanatory.”

Emory squinted at me, grinning. “Well, what about this?”

As I looked down where she was pointing at my chest, Emory’s fingers smoothed over the intricate lines of the tattoo, tickling but igniting my nerves as well.

“Weeping angles done in black-and-gray in the positions of ‘hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.’”

She laughed again as I gave her the cut-and-dry of it, and then her fingers walked up my stomach to my chest and then to my right arm.

“And here?”

“A black-and-gray chimera coat of arms. For my family.”

Emory continued to grin, dusting her fingers over my chest to my opposite shoulder. “And this?”

“A bleeding rose, with the blood-colored red and decorations that go down to my hand. Kind of what you’d expect. Violence and mafia shit.”

Laughing, Emory pointed to my other hand, lifted it to her mouth, and kissed the woman.

“My gun hand. My mother.”

Her eyes widened, and she kissed the spot again before turning it over and presenting my forearm.

“And these?”

---