Page 33 of His Hold

Katya’s taunt—“Sweet? It’s wet and tight, Nikolai, but you’ll spill about her first, or I’ll ride your face and leave you dry”—lands like a match in gasoline, her words searing through me as she leans forward by the cabin’s fire, her shirt slipped low, tits half exposed, nipples stiff and begging for my mouth.

Her ankle’s wrapped, pain etched in her wince, but her eyes burn fiercely, fearless despite the snowstorm raging outside, locking us in this wooden cage. My cock’s rock hard, straining against my jeans, her challenge stoking a hunger I can’t tame, but I lean back against the table, shirtless, water drying on my tattooed chest, keeping my cool.

We’re enemies—she’s hunting me over Irina’sdisappearance, convinced I’m the key, and I’m still gauging how deep her threat runs—but this lust, this game, it’s a blade we both sharpen, cutting closer with every glance.

“Ride my face, malyshka?” I say, my tone thick with amusement, eyes locked on her cleavage, imagining her pussy grinding my lips, drowning me in her cum. “You’d be screaming my name before you got a single truth, and I’d keep every Bratva secret locked tight.”

She laughs, a sultry sound that hits like vodka straight from the bottle, and shifts, her shirt slipping further, flashing the curve of her breast, teasing me to the edge.

“Screaming? Nikolai, I’d have your cock in my mouth, sucking you dry before you could blink, and you’d spill everything—Irina, the Bratva, all of it.”

My dick twitches, her boldness a hook sinking deep, and I step closer, the fire’s heat paling next to her pull, her scent—sweat and desire—driving me wild. “Suck me off, printsessa? You’d choke on my cum, begging for more, and I’d still know nothing about your sister. Why is Irina worth all this? She is most likely dead by now.”

Her eyes narrow, but her lips curve, a wicked tease as she leans back, shirt riding up to reveal her flat stomach, a sliver of skin I want to lick. “She’s my sister, volchok, not some pawn in your filthy deals. You want my pussy on your tongue? Tell me—does the Bratva have her, or are you just jerking me around like you’re dying to jerk off to me?”

I cross my arms, tattoos flexing under the firelight, knowing her eyes are eating me up. “Jerk off? I’d rather fuck that tight pussy you’re bragging about, Katya, make you cum till you forget Irina’s name. Bratva’s got no claim on her, but you—why tail me? Think I’m hiding her under my bed, waiting for you to join?”

She stands, wincing on her bad ankle but closing the gap, her tits brushing my chest through her shirt, sending a jolt straight to my cock. “Your bed? Tempting, Nikolai, but I’d rather ride your dick for answers, leave you panting. What’s the Bratva’s game? Smuggling, debts—give me names, or I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll sing their secrets.”

Her nerve pulls me in, and I grab her waist, fingers digging into her curves, stopping short of ripping her shirt off, my dick screaming for release. “Names? I’d give you my tongue in that pussy first, malyshka, lick you till you’re screaming.”

She presses against me, her nipple grazing my arm through the fabric, her voice a taunt that makes my balls ache. “I’d let you eat my pussy all night if it meant the truth, volchok. Was Irina tangled with your crew? Drugs, deals—what’d she touch?”

I grin, teeth bared, sliding my hand to her ass, squeezing hard, feeling her heat through her pants. “Eat you? I’d make you cum till you’re begging, printsessa, but Irina’s no dealer. I already told you everything I know.”

She pushes into my grip, her pussy radiating warmth, soaking through to tease my palm. “Bratva’s got eyes everywhere. What did they do to her? Names, Nikolai, or my mouth’s on your cock, draining you dry.”

My cock throbs, her threat a promise I crave, and I pull her closer, lips brushing her ear, her scent dizzying. “Drain me? I’d paint your face with cum, Katya, and you’d lick it up, loving every drop. Irina crossed no one I know. If she’s gone, it’s for another reason. Now tell me, are you hiding something yourself?”

She pulls back, eyes flashing, and tugs her shirt off, tossing it to the floor, her breasts bare, perfect, pink nipples hard, begging for my tongue. “Hiding? I’m wide open, volchok, pussy wet for answers. Bratva’s got blood on its hands—Irina’s? Give me a name, or I’ll suck you off till you’re pleading for mercy.”

I groan, my dick leaking in my jeans, her tits a vision I can’t shake, and I step back, control fraying like cheap rope. “Bratva does have it’s hands stained with blood, but not that of your sister.”

She laughs, bold and teasing, and limps closer, her ankle slowing her but not her fire, her hands grazing my chest, nails scraping my tattoos. “Tell me about Bratva whispers. Did Irina’s name ever surface? Deals, enemies—talk.”

I grab her wrists, gentle but firm, pulling her flush against me, her breasts pressing against my skin, my cock pulsing against her belly. “Whispers? I’d rather hear you moan, printsessa, pussy dripping for me. Irina’s no one to us. And yet, you still chased me up this mountain.”

She twists free, her eyes daring, and slides her pants down, kicking them off despite her ankle’s protest, standing in just panties, the fabric soaked, clinging to her pussy’s outline. “Chasing? I’m hunting, volchok, and you’re my prey. Bratva’s got secrets—what’d Irina stumble into? Tell me, or I’ll ride your cock till you break.”

My balls tighten, her body a fucking altar, and I growl, stepping closer, my hand hovering near her panties, itching to tear them off. “Irina’s not in our books. You need to let go of this obsession, Katya.”

She hooks her thumbs in her panties, sliding them down, baring her pussy, wet and glistening, a taunt that nearly undoes me. “Obsession? She’s my blood, Nikolai. Bratva’s dirty—what’d they do to her?”

I’m done holding back, her pussy calling me, but she kneels first, sudden and bold, her hands on my belt, unbuckling fast, her tits swaying as she looks up, eyes fierce. “I don’t know… All I know is that I want you to choke on my cum, printsessa,” I say, gripping her hair loosely, letting her take control.

She grins, wicked, and yanks my jeans down, my cock springing free, thick and pulsing, pre cum beading at the tip, dripping for her. “Does your Bratva have her chained somewhere?” she asks, licking the tip, her tongue swirling, tasting me, sending a jolt through my balls. “Give me the location, Nikolai.”

I groan, her mouth a fucking paradise, and nod, letting her take me deeper, her tongue lashing my shaft, spit slicking me as she sucks. “No chains, malyshka,” I say, voice strained, pleasure spiking as her lips stretch around me. “Irina’s not on our radar.”

She sucks harder, her mouth hot, wet, taking half my cock, her hand stroking the base, spit dripping to my balls, pooling on the floor. “I know you’re Bratva scum,” she says, pulling off, jerking me fast, her lips kissing my tip. “Was she running drugs? Tell me, volchok, now.”

My head tips back, her hand a vise, pleasure tearing through me, but I hold firm, gripping the table. “Drugs? Clean slate, Katya,” I pant, her tongue flicking my slit, teasing the pre cum. “Irina’s your ghost.”

She swallows me again, deep, her throat tight, gagging as she bobs, her tits bouncing, spit flying as she works me. “Really?” she gasps, pulling off, stroking me slick, cum and spit mixing on her hand. “She’s my sister, you prick. Bratva enemies—did she cross them?”

I’m losing it, balls tight, her mouth a relentless heaven, but I shake my head, pleasure blurring my edges. “No enemies, printsessa,” I say, voice cracking, her lips wrapping my tip, sucking hard. “Irina’s dead, as far as I know.”

She sucks my balls, one then the other, her hand pumping my cock, spit and pre cum dripping down her wrist, soaking her tits. “Dead?” she says, licking my shaft, slow and torturous, her tongue tracing the vein. “I really don’t think so. And I think you’re lying. You’re trying to cover up for your friends.”

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