Page 90 of Bratva's Vow
I trailed one finger down the seam of his ass, slow and deliberate, pausing behind his balls, teasing the sensitive strip of skin there.
His breath hitched.
I peeled the lace down, leaving the delicate fabric tangled at his upper thighs just where I wanted it. A hint of what he wore for me. A reminder.
His ass was bare and flushed and perfect.
I spread his cheeks slowly, deliberately, loving the way his breathing shifted, the way his muscles tensed. His hole clenched as the cool air hit it, puckered and pink and needy.
“Still so tight,” I murmured, kissing the curve of one cheek. “But you’ll open for me, won’t you? You always do.”
“Yes.”
“That’s my good boy.”
I grabbed the plug, the one with the jeweled end, sleek and black and the right size to remind him he was mine. I slicked it with lube and brought it to his entrance.
Wren shifted his hips, nervous and eager at once.
“Breathe, solnyshko. I’ve got you.”
I rubbed slow circles around his rim, watching him twitch, curling his fingers in the restraints.
He let out a shaky exhale as I teased him with the tip, applying the barest pressure, circling slowly, coaxing.
A mewling sound escaped him.
“There it is,” I murmured. “That sweet little flinch.”
I ran my palm up the small of his back, grounding him, letting him feel me. I kissed the back of his neck, then pressed my cheek to his shoulder and exhaled slowly against his skin.
“Shh… breathe. Let it happen. Let me in, baby.”
The muscles beneath me flexed, tight and trembling.
I kept the pressure steady, not pushing too hard, rocking the plug against him with slow intent. Soft circles, then a little deeper.
“That’s it,” I coaxed. “Don’t fight me. Let me open you up like you’re meant to be.”
He moaned, high and breathy, his forehead resting against the pillow.
I saw every ripple in his body, every flicker of sensation. He clenched his hands in the restraints, legs shaking slightly where they were spread wide for me. I reached down and palmed his ass, thumbs spreading him wider.
“You always take me so well,” I whispered. “I love watching you soften for me. Every time I stretch you open, it’s like your body remembers who it belongs to.”
He sobbed softly, caught between pain and pleasure.
“Good boy,” I praised, kissing his spine, letting the plug push a little deeper.
He gasped, lifting his head off the pillow for a second, then dropping it again.
I paused. Rubbed his lower back with one hand. Murmured low reassurances in Russian against his skin.
When he relaxed, I pressed in again. Inch by inch, steady, unrelenting.
“There you go. You’re doing so fucking well for me, Wren.”
Another gasp. Another twitch of his thighs.
