Page 66 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
“Go on, continue. Slower.” I obeyed, working his shaft and fondling his balls, which hung heavy with need, while my body burned from his hums of satisfaction. “Good girl. Fuck. Yes.”
He moved against my hand, pumping through my fist, while he grew harder and harder.
My pussy grew slick with urgent need, and I wasn’t sure how long I could last without satiating myself. Before I took matters into my hands, he pulled out of my grip, kissing me with a lazy smile.
“We keep up with that, and I’d come in your hands.” He pulled me closer. “That is not the plan for tonight. I have every intention of filling up that pussy of yours.”
Good, because I could burst any minute now.
The muscles in his chest flexed beneath my fingers, but he didn’t rush me. His gaze stayed locked on mine, burning into me, setting every nerve alight.
And when I leaned in, pressing my mouth to the center of his chest, he exhaled sharply, like he hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until that second.
“Christ, Elena,” he whispered, his voice rough and reverent all at once.
Then, without warning, his arms scooped me up. I gasped, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the counter. My back met the cool stone, but it was his heat that consumed me, grounding me, lighting me up from the inside out.
His hands moved over me as though he was memorizing every inch, committing the feel of me to memory, like I might vanish if he didn’t.
And the way he looked at me, there on that counter, naked and trembling under his touch, made me feel like I was something holy. Like I was a storm he’d waited years to be caught in.
Our mouths met again, no longer soft, but desperate.
Hungry.
I clung to him as his hard cock poked my pussy, my body arching into his, needing the weight of him, the realness.
I moved, creating friction between his cock and my clit. The contact threatened to drive me insane, but I wanted more. I bucked my hips, rolled my waist, and whined when he wouldn’t give me what I wanted.
“Damien, please….”
“Please, what?”
He was enjoying watching me move my hips, begging for contact.
“Please, I want you inside me.” I forced a kiss on his lips. “Fuck me, Damien.”
The heat between us wasn’t a slow burn anymore. It was fire, wild and devouring.
“You really are a secret slut, aren’t you?”
“What? No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You’re my slut, sweetheart. Just mine.”
He chose the moment to piston his cock into me, and when he finally moved, when he brought our bodies together, I forgot the insult I’d cooked up on my tongue.
I didn’t protest when Damien bit down on my shoulder or took one of my breasts into his mouth while he pummeled me roughly into the counter.
I didn’t flinch when my sultry moans echoed loudly off the kitchen walls, and he didn’t make a move to stop me from being too loud, or do anything when one of his men accidentallystumbled into the kitchen, eyes growing wide at the sight of his naked boss fucking his wife on the kitchen counter.
It made me hotter, made me moan louder, and made me wish there were other ways I could give myself to him.
My nails dug into his shoulder, and my hips moved too fluidly, accepting all of him, so much that I began to feel like his slut.
His cock pistoned in and out, in and out, and I threw my head back, screaming out his name as a tidal wave of pleasure washed over me.
It was my first orgasm, right before Damien released white-hot ropes of cum that shot into me and dripped out from my pussy.
