Page 63 of Married to the Bratva

"On your face," he orders, his voice harsh and urgent. "Show me how much you belong to me."

He stands and strokes himself furiously, his eyes never leaving mine. When he comes, it's with a roar, his cum shooting onto my face in thick, hot spurts.

I close my eyes, feeling the warmth spread across my cheeks and forehead as he empties himself onto me, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"That's right," he whispers, his voice a rough caress as he wipes the last of his cum from the tip of his cock with a finger and brings it to my lips. "Open up."

I do, tasting him again as he pushes his finger inside my mouth, his eyes burning with possession as he gazes down at me.

He steps back, his dark eyes still locked on mine, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Stay there," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. I obey, my body trembling with a mix of embarrassment and arousal as he reaches for a cloth from the bathroom counter.

He approaches me slowly, his movements deliberate, each step a silent reminder of his dominance.

He wipes the cum from my face with meticulous care, his fingertips grazing my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine.

He finishes cleaning me up and steps back, his gaze never leaving mine. "Let's go," he says, offering me his hand. I take it, feeling a surge of both fear and excitement as he leads me out of the bathroom.

45

MAXIM

Iguide her through the dining area with steady, deliberate steps, aware of the eyes following us but ignoring them completely.

Let them look. Sophie walks beside me, her head held high, though I catch the slight flush in her cheeks. It’s a blend of emotions—humiliation and pride, likely—but she carries it well.

We reach our table, where the remnants of our dinner await. I pull out her chair before taking my own, gesturing for her to sit.

She lowers herself into the seat with an almost imperceptible tremble in her legs.

“You look a little flushed,” Andrei remarks, his tone laced with mild curiosity. “Are you unwell?”

“Perhaps,” she replies smoothly, though I can see the tension in her shoulders. “Something I ate, I’m guessing.”

The corner of my mouth twitches, and I have to stifle a laugh behind my hand.

She’s quick on her feet, I’ll give her that. I pick up my glass, watching her as she moves mechanically through the motions of eating, her mind clearly elsewhere.

I know exactly where—replaying what just happened in the bathroom.

Her eyes dart to me, curiosity flaring in their depths. I keep my face unreadable, focusing instead on my conversation with Andrei. Business as usual, though I feel her gaze linger. She’s trying to figure me out, piece together the edges of a puzzle I’m not ready to reveal.

“I’m sorry,” she says, pushing her plate away. “I’m not feeling too good.”

I stand and extend my hand to her. “I’ll take you home. Andrei, excuse us.”

“Of course,” he says, getting to his feet. “Get well soon, my dear.”

“Thank you,” she says, letting me lead her outside.

The crisp night air greets us, a stark contrast to the warmth of the restaurant. I lead her to the car—a sleek black machine that reflects the streetlights like a polished blade.

Opening the door for her, I watch as she slides into the passenger seat, graceful despite her obvious nerves.

I circle the car, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. The quiet purr fills the space between us, heavy with unspoken words.

“I’m sorry” she says finally, sounding worried. “I ruined it.”

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