Page 27 of The Bratva's Hunted Bride
The first touch of his tongue is a shock, making me jump, but his hands are ready. He wraps them around my thighs, holding me open and in place. His beard brushes my thighs as he starts to lick and lap at me. There’s obvious skill there and hunger, too, a desperate need to taste me. The sight of him, huge, terrifying Timofey, between my legs, worshipping me like it’s what he was born to do, is intoxicating.
His lips shine as he lifts his head to look up at me, his grey eyes dark with lust. “You taste as good as you look.”
I blush in pleasure and embarrassment, then moan as his mouth returns to its purpose. Every lick more insistent than the last, swirling around my clit, then directly over it until I’m writhing, thighs gripping the side of his head. If he needs air, he doesn’t show it. His tongue dips lower to taste me fully, then drags, languid, back up to my clit.
He sucks it gently, teasing the bud with just enough pressure, and I’m getting close to losing all control. His hands hold me in place, and my fingers twist in the bed sheets, my breaths coming ragged and short. There’s no rest, no pause, only his relentless rhythm and the rising wave inside of me.
Pressure builds, my stomach tightening, and his name slips out of me like a prayer. “Timofey. Oh, god.”
His tongue moves faster, urging me on, and then it’s there. A shatter of release that tears through me. My hips convulse up off the bed and his mouth is there to meet me, sucking and licking and coaxing me through every wave until finally, I collapse back down onto the bed. As my vision clears and my heartbeat races through my chest, he looms above me.
“Fuck, you’re perfect when you come apart.” He palms his cock over his pants where it has tented the fabric. “I could’ve cum just from watching it.”
Pleasure still trembles through my thighs, but my desire for him isn’t sated, not even close. Something deep inside me aches for him, for the feeling of being stuffed full and taken. I watch with rapt attention as he stands and undresses, freeing his cock. A whine escapes my throat at the sight.
“But I need you inside me,” I say, and I reach for him, already hating this momentary space between us, and he positions himself back between my legs. “Now that you’ve had your fill.”
“My fill?” He clucks his tongue, hands sliding down my thighs. “I could never have my fill. I could have you every day for the rest of my life, and never think it enough.”
I feel the head of his cock press against my pussy as he tugs me closer. He takes his time again, sliding up and down to coat it with my arousal before lining it up with my entrance. Then he pushes forward, unyielding as my pussy stretches to take him. It’s such a tight fit that I almost doubt I can take it, his huge body dwarfing my smaller one.
“The tightest little thing,” he growls, pushing deeper.
My hands scrabble at his hips, his waist, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop until his hips are flush with mine and every inch of his cock is buried inside of me. His eyes close as he savors the feeling, and I force myself to breathe, to relax around him. I do that to him. I make his breathing stutter, his voice grow raspy, I make him tremble.
He moves again, pulling halfway out before sinking back in. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, making me feel every tugof my pussy along his length. Thank God I’m soaked, or I’d never be able to handle him.
The ache of taking him gives way to bone-deep warmth as he starts to move inside of me, hands wrapping around my hips to hold me steady. I soak in the sight of his pleasure, the way his fingertips tighten when I twist my hips, the flare of his eyes when I press up to meet his thrust.
He leans down to kiss me, a possessive, heady thing that swallows my next moan. His thrusts are deep and relentless, the pace quickening as I grab his shoulders to hold myself steady, to anchor myself against the bed.
“Mine,” he groans, and I don’t know if he meant for the word to escape his lips.
It shouldn’t feel this good to be claimed like this, but it spools out something dark and needy inside of me, something that aches to give everything to this man. I can’t escape him. His strength pins me to the bed, and I realize there’s nowhere else I want to be. I want this.
I clench around him as his pace grows punishing, wanting to give him everything, wanting to make him feel the same shattering pleasure he’d given to me with his tongue.
“Take me,” I beg, throwing away all of the restraint I’d managed to cling to. “I’m yours.”
He fists his hand in my hair, forcing me to look at him as he slams into me, and the knot of desire in my stomach threatens to burst. At this angle, he’s driving into the sweetest part of me with every thrust, and the look in his eyes—drunk on this, drunk on me—is impossible to look away from.
“Let go for me,” he says, taking me now like some unfettered beast. “I want to feel you cum on my cock.”
“Oh fuck, I’m going to—” The moan that rips out of me is practically a scream and I cling to him, hanging on as my orgasm tears through me.
He doesn’t pause, doesn’t relent. My pussy pulses around him, our movements erratic as my hips buck. His grip tightens in my hair, and I know he’s close to his own peak. With another erratic thrust, he shoves deep inside of me, filling me up. I can feel each hot spurt of cum as it hits my inner walls, still quivering in the wake of my orgasm.
We collapse together back onto the bed, sweat-soaked. He rolls to one side to avoid crushing me, and I sigh a little as he slips from inside of me, already missing the feeling of fullness, but pleasantly sore and buzzing. Timofey’s eyes are sated and sleepy, and he props his head on his hand to look at me. I did that to him. Sated him. Pleased him. The knowledge gives me an oddly satisfied sensation that has nothing to do with my own orgasms.
Then, something else seeps in. Regret. Fear. What I’m feeling when I look at him, the way his pleasure seems to me just as much as my own? Those are not the simple feelings of a hook-up, and I know that’s all this was to him. He kidnapped me to use me, and this is just a bonus. God, I’m an idiot. I roll away from him and grab my shirt from the floor, pulling it on even though it feels disgusting against my sweat-slicked skin.
“That’s never going to happen again,” I tell him, as I do up the buttons.
He crosses his arms behind his head, completely shameless in his nudity. “If you say so.”
That casual remark infuriates me, proving just how right I was that this is nothing more than casual sex to him. He probably planned all of this, and now he’s gotten exactly what hewanted from me. Why can’t I resist him? From the first night we met, I’ve been drawn to him. Even knowing what I know about him now, even with him as my captor, I can’t make my body see reason where he’s concerned.
And to him? It’s nothing.
