Page 107 of Bratva's Intern

“I want to ruin you for anyone else. Fill you so deep you’ll leak for me for days. Mark you where no one’ll ever see, but you’ll feel it every time you sit.”

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Maxim?—”

“You’re mine, Wren,” I snarled into his neck. “This body, this hole, this perfect, filthy mouth—you gave it to me. And I’m never giving it back.”

“Oh, Maxim, tell me I’m good. Tell me I’m your good little slut while you fuck me, please.” A sob broke from his lips. “I love it when you tell me how good I am.”

I stilled inside him, buried to the hilt, chest heaving. Then I gripped his jaw, forced him to look at me, even with tears in his eyes and spit on his lips.

“You are,” I growled. “You’re so fucking good for me. My sweet little slut. My perfect hole to fuck. You take me so well, like you were made for it.”

Wren whimpered, eyes fluttering. I moved again, slow and deep, grinding into him with each thrust.

“You feel that? That’s how good you are. Your cunt’s choking my cock, baby. So tight. So wet. You’re dripping for me.”

I slammed into him again, watching the way his body arched off the bed with every thrust. He wrapped his legs tight around my waist like he was trying to pull me even deeper.

“You’re shaking.” I fisted the chain between his cuffs and yanked it just enough to make the metal bite into his skin. “Too much for you, sweetheart?”

He whimpered, head tossing against the pillow. “N-no—don’t stop. Please don’t stop?—”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

I bent and kissed him hard—openmouthed and rough—swirling my tongue around his, tasting the sweet desperation in his pants. He kissed me back with as much vigor, sinking his teeth into my lip, stabbing his tongue into my mouth as we mimicked the rhythm of our bodies.

His cock was rock hard, leaking against his stomach, untouched. With every thrust, his hips rolled helplessly, chasing every ounce of friction he could get.

“This what you want?” I panted, grinding into him again, deeper this time. “Tied up. Pinned down. Fucked raw?”

“Y-yes—yes—Max, please.”

“You look so fucking hot like this.” He closed his eyes, and I slapped his cheek. “Look at me when I fuck you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good boy. That’s my good boy.” I drove into him harder, faster, until the bed rocked and the headboard slammed the wall in a rhythm that bordered on obscene. “You’re gonna come all over yourself without me even touching you, aren’t you?”

He thrashed against the restraints, pulling his wrists so hard the cuffs clinked loudly against the bedframe.

“Please, Max, I can’t. I really can’t.”

“You can. You have to. It’s the only way you get to come tonight.”

I didn’t touch his cock.

Didn’t have to.

Even when he begged for me to put him out of his misery.

I hoisted his legs over my shoulders, and he writhed beneath me. He was already close. I felt it in the way he clenched around me, in the little sobs that punched out of his throat every time I bottomed out, my balls slapping his ass.

“Please, Maxim,” he wailed. “I can’t come. Please touch me.”

I growled, fucking him harder, deeper, faster, refusing to let up even as he twisted beneath me. “You’re gonna come just from me fucking this pretty hole. You don’t want to disappoint me, do you? Just lie there looking pretty for me, baby, and let me fuck the cum right out of you.”

“Max, fuck. It’s too—too much.”

“It’s perfect,” I snarled. “Now show me how perfect you are.”

---