Page 38 of Married to the Bratva

I smirk, a thrill of power surging through me. Gripping him firmly, I angle my head and take him into my mouth.

The taste of him is intoxicating, a potent blend of musk and urgency that sets my senses ablaze. I swirl my tongue around the tip, tasting the precome that has already begun to form, before sliding him deeper into my mouth.

He groans, his hands fisting in my hair as he tries to maintain some semblance of control.

I move faster, using my tongue and lips to drive him wild, sucking and licking with precision. Each stroke brings him closer to the edge, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"Fuck, Sophie," he grunts, his voice strained. "You’re killing me."

I hum contentedly around him, my fingers playing with the base of his shaft as I continue to work him with my mouth. I can feel his thighs trembling, the evidence of his mounting pleasure.

Reaching up, I cup his balls, massaging them gently as I increase the pace, pushing him ever closer to the brink. His head falls back, exposing his throat to my hungry gaze. I nip at the sensitive skin, drawing another sharp intake of breath from him.

"God, I’m going to come," he warns, his voice barely audible. "If you keep doing that, I’m going to?—"

I silence him with a final, deep thrust of my mouth, swallowing around him as I feel his climax building. Moments later, he shudders, his seed filling my mouth as he comes undone with a guttural cry.

“Finish your dinner,” he says.

I lick my lips before replying, “I thought I just did.”

27

SOPHIE

The first thing I pull out of the suitcase is my favorite hoodie, soft and worn, the fabric frayed at the edges.

I finished dinner and got back to my bedroom to find my cases here. Everything that was at my Grandma’s is now here. It’s not much, but at least it makes me feel a little more at home.

It doesn’t square with the coldhearted Maxim I think I know. He arranged this without telling me. Didn’t even mention it during dinner.

I pull out a photo frame wrapped in an old scarf for protection. It’s of me and Grandma at Coney Island, her arm slung over my shoulder as we grin like idiots at the camera. Taken three months after mom died.

An attempt to get me smiling again. It worked. The memory makes my chest tighten. I set the frame on the nightstand, next to a silver lamp shaped like a swan.

I move to my laptop on the ornate desk by the window. When I open the screen, the countdown timer flashes back at me, stark and unforgiving.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I start working on the file. For hours, I lose myself in the work, the familiar rhythmof problem-solving calming my nerves. But my concentration snaps when my cell rings.

“Hi, Gran,” I say as I press it to my ear. “How’s Rook’s Hollow treating you?”

“Oh, it’s lovely to be back, dear,” Amber replies, her voice warm and familiar. “The air is so fresh, and the nurses are absolute angels. But how are you? You sound different.”

“Different how?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.

“I don’t know. Tired, maybe. Stressed.” There’s a pause, and I can picture her narrowing her eyes in that way she does when she knows I’m hiding something. “Is everything all right, Sophie?”

“Of course,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Just busy with work. You know how demanding these corporate gigs can be.”

“Mmm,” she says, clearly not convinced. “And this ‘work’ you’re doing… it’s all above board, right? Nothing shady?”

“Shady?” I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to me. “Gran, come on. You know me. I’m the most boring person you know.”

“Boring isn’t the word I’d use for someone who suddenly moved out of the city and took a secret job for a month,” she says, her tone sharp but loving. “The place he’s put me in must be expensive. Sophie, if there’s something going on, it’s not like it was with Evan is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not using you, is he?”

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