Page 34 of His Hold

I grip her hair tighter, not pulling, just anchoring, her mouth driving me to the brink. “No, malyshka,” I groan, her lips kissing my balls, her tongue teasing the seam. “Irina’s nobody to us—why are you so sure I’m the key?”

She takes me deep again, throat working, gagging loud, her eyes locked on mine, fierce, hungry. “Because of the photos,” she pants, jerking me, spit flying as she strokes. “You’re Bratva, Nikolai, neck deep in it. She’s linked—tell me how.”

My cock pulses, cum building fast, her hand a blur, her mouth open, waiting, eager for my load. “No link, I swear,” I say, pleasure blinding, her tongue flicking my slit, lapping the pre cum. “Irina’s yours, not ours. Why are you fighting me like this?”

She sucks me hard, one last time, lips tight, throat swallowing, and I explode, cum shooting into her mouth, thick ropes spilling past her lips, streaking her chin, her tits, dripping to the floor as she swallows, milking me dry, her hand slowing, drawing out every shudder, every drop.

“We are definitely not fighting,” she says, licking her lips, cum glistening on her chest, her voice teasing but sharp.

I pant, spent, her face a vision, cum and spit painting her, and I pull her up, kissing her hard, tasting myself on her tongue, her pussy pressed to my softening dick. “Nothing to find, printsessa,” I say, our lips brushing, her body warm against me. “And we might not be fighting, but we are still enemies.”

She grins, fierce, her nails digging into my chest, leaving marks. “Enemies? Maybe I just like your cock, volchok,” she says, and I laugh, the game still alive, our war as hot as our lust, the storm outside no match for the one we’re brewing.

It’s a taunt that keeps my dick half hard, even after she’s drained me dry with her mouth. The cabin’s fire crackles, casting shadows across her naked body, her tits glistening with my cum, her pussy still wet, dripping onto the floor as she stands, bold and unashamed, despite her wrapped ankle.

The snowstorm howls outside, trapping us in this wooden cage, but the real storm’s here, between us—enemies locked in lust, her chasing Irina’s ghost, me weighing her threat. Her blowjob tore through my control, but now I’m turning the tables, questions burning hotter than my need to fuck her again. I step closer, my hands itching to claim her, to pry open her secrets while I’m buried inside her.

“Like my cock, malyshka?” I say, my tone thick with challenge, grabbing her waist, pulling her flush against me, my dick stiffening against her belly. “Let’s see how much you like it when I’m fucking you senseless. Why’s Irina your excuse? Are you really her sister, or are you writing some article to gut me?”

She laughs, a sultry sound that makes my balls ache, and pushes her tits against my chest, nipples hard, teasing me. “An article? Nikolai, I’d rather ride your dick than write about it. Irina’s my blood. Why else would I stalk a Bratva beast like you?”

I spin her around, bending her over the table, her ass up, pussy glistening, ready for me. “Stalk?” I growl, slapping her ass lightly, watching it jiggle, my cock throbbing already, despite the fact that I just came all over her. “How long have you been on my trail, Katya? Weeks? Months? Or are you spying for the Chechens, feeding them my moves?”

She moans, arching back, her pussy brushing my tip, slick and inviting. “Spying? I’m no one’s dog, volchok. I’ve been watching you for a month, maybe two—Irina vanished, and you’re my only lead. Fuck me, or you scared I’ll bite?”

I grip her ass, spreading her cheeks, my cock nudging her pussy, and thrust in, hard, her wetness swallowing me, tight and hot. “Bite?” I pant, slamming deep, her pussy clenching my shaft, cum already dripping. “I’ll make you scream, printsessa. Sister or not, why Irina? Are you lying to get close, to expose me?”

She groans, pushing back, meeting my thrusts, her breasts bouncing against the table, her voice thick with pleasure. “Expose you? I’d rather cum on your cock, Nikolai. Irina’s gone—poof—and you’re Bratva. Tell me she’s not your fault, or fuck me harder.”

I pound her pussy, relentless, my balls slapping her clit, her juices soaking me, dripping down my legs. “My fault?” I say, leaning over, biting her shoulder, not hard, just enough to make her gasp. “What’s your past, Katya? Some reporter digging dirt, or are you playing me? How’d you find me?”

She laughs, breathless, her pussy pulsing around me, milking my cock as I fuck her deeper. “Playing? I’m just a writer, articles on art, not mafia. Found you through Irina’s diary—your name, circled. Keep fucking, don’t stop.”

I slow my thrusts, teasing, my cock buried to the hilt, her pussy gripping me like a vise. “Is that so?” I say, pulling out, rubbing my tip against her asshole, slick with her cum. “You’re too clever, malyshka. Are you a plant? Some rival clan’s whore sent to trap me?”

She moans, pushing back, her asshole opening for my tip, eager, wanting. “Whore? I’m nobody’s whore, Nikolai, but fuck my ass, make me yours tonight. Irina’s my sister, not a lie. Why did she write your name down? Tell me, or I’ll cum without you.”

I spit on her asshole, rubbing it with my thumb, then push in, slow, her tight ring stretching around my cock, hot and vice-like, pulling a groan from my throat. “Cum without me?” I say, thrusting deep, her ass clenching, her pussy dripping onto the table. “I’ll fuck you till you’re begging, printsessa. What’s your job really? Writing’s a cover, isn’t it? Are you after my head?”

She screams, the pleasure raw, her hands clawing the table as I fuck her ass, steady, deep, her body shaking. “Cover? I write for a magazine, you prick, not Bratva kings. Irina’s my heart. Why’s she gone? Fuck me, Nikolai, harder, give me something.”

I slam into her ass, my cock pulsing, her tightness driving me wild, cum leaking from her pussy, pooling beneath her. “What magazine would that be?” I pant, reaching around, rubbing her clit, making her moan louder. “Bullshit, Katya. You’ve got skills. How long have you been tailing me? Do you work for someone? The feds? The Italians?”

Her pussy gushes under my hand, her ass gripping my cock as she rocks back, meeting every thrust, her voice a moan. “Feds? I’d rather fuck you than snitch, volchok. Two months, maybe three. Irina’s trail led to you. Keep going, make me cum, tell me she’s alive.”

I fuck her harder, ass and clit, my hand slick with her juices, my cock throbbing in her tight hole. “Alive?” I say, leaning close, kissing her neck, tasting her sweat. “Irina’s not my kill, malyshka. Did you ever meet my enemies? Chechens, Albanians, do any of them pay you to dog me?”

She laughs, gasping, her pussy clenching, her ass taking me deeper, her orgasm building fast. “Pay me? I’d charge you for this fuck, Nikolai, it’s that good. No enemies, just me, hunting you.”

I thrust faster, her ass milking me, her clit pulsing under my thumb, her cum dripping to the floor. I growl, my balls tightening, the pleasure spiking. “You’re too deep in this, printsessa. This cannot be all about your sister who went missing five years ago. If it’s true, then why did you only start following me a few months ago?”

She screams, cumming hard, her pussy gushing, her ass clenching my cock, pulling me closer to the edge. “I only found out about your existence a few months ago, asshole! You’re a ghost. Fuck me, don’t stop...”

I pull out of her ass, slick and ready, and thrust back into her pussy, hard, deep, her cum soaking me, her walls gripping tight. I pant, fucking her fast, my hand still on her clit, rubbing circles. “Nothing connects us, Katya. Have you got your own enemies? Is someone extorting you to tail me?”

Her moans fill the cabin, her pussy flooding, her nipples pressed to the table as she takes me. “Enemies? Just you, Nikolai, and your cock’s winning me over. Irina’s gone, and your Bratva knows why. Keep fucking, I need it.”

I pound her pussy, relentless, my cock pulsing, her juices dripping down my balls, soaking the floor. “Bratva?” I say, grabbing her hair, pulling gently, arching her back.

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