Page 16 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
The release came like a wave, stealing every thought and leaving me trembling. I covered my mouth with my palm, my legs shuddering, my back arched higher than before.
It was embarrassing how I squirted like water from a fountain, my release stimulated by nothing but his tongue and fingers. He rose from beneath me, wiping my juice from his lips, his blue eyes locked to mine.
I stared at him in awe, wondering how the hell he pulled that off.
He leaned in and claimed my lips in a slow, fervent kiss, his hand palming my breasts. “Where’s your bedroom?” he whispered in my ear.
Too weak and numb to speak, I darted my eyes in the direction. Quietly, he carried the warmth of my body in his arms, and, rising to his feet, he strolled over to my room. With my legs locked around him, I lowered my head, sealing his lips with a soft kiss.
Inside, he gently lay me down on my back, his hands sliding my dress off with a fluid motion. His knees sank into the mattress as he took his shirt off, and soon after, he tossed his tie away.
My heart skipped a beat when he exposed his body, mapped with scars that each told a different story. My gaze traced the ridges of his chiseled abs, his broad chest and torso outlined by the soft light. I watched him unzip his pants, slow and deliberate, his measured moves building my anticipation.
He dipped his hand in his pants and withdrew his cock—hard and veiny. My eyes widened, heart drumming in my chest. Yulian hovered over me, his hand caressing my curves, eyes searching mine, asking without words..
I nodded, pulse spiking.
With one careful thrust, he entered me, his penetration full of quiet wonder. I writhed beneath him, my legs wrapped around his waist as he ground his hips against me. Unhurried. Gentle. Measured.
He took my breasts in his mouth, one at a time, his hands roaming over my body. Slow. Almost reverent. “You’re so warm,” he whispered in my ear. “So sweet.”
My cheeks flushed at his remark, my fingers raking into his back. I buried my face in the corner of his neck, his rich cologne invading my nostrils, the alluring scent causing my need to build.
He lifted my leg, his palm sliding up and down my thigh as he drove deeper and deeper and deeper inside me.
Fuck.
I was so wet.
So slippery.
And he was so hard.
So intense.
I didn’t expect him to be so gentle considering the kind of man he was. And now, I was glad he didn’t rough me up—glad at how slowly he was moving. I gave myself up to him, surrendering completely, and he didn’t miss a single curve of my body.
Our breaths tangled, hands linked as we danced to the tone of this passion—this lust coursing in our veins.
No holding back. No walls. No masks.
Just the two of us, connecting in more ways than one. He kissed my lips again, his tongue twirling in my mouth. My leg hung in the air, my back arching against him, fingers digging into his flesh.
We didn’t fuck. We made love, which was strange in almost every way of the word. All through the night, we went on and on, round after round. No rush, no pressure. Just pleasure. Even when he exploded inside me, I didn’t flinch; instead, I accepted all of him wholeheartedly.
Yulian was different, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe I should be afraid of this man, but how could I after he made me feel alive again? He made me feel like a woman, cherished and adored. He worshipped my body and sparked dormant flames inside me.
Sex with him was surprisingly like none I’d ever had, and maybe that was the reason I felt at peace with him.
However, the number of scars on his skin clearly showed he was not a man of peace.
Yet, I wasn’t afraid.
By morning, before I woke up, he was gone. The bed felt empty, but the scent of cologne still lingered on my sheets, a subtle reminder of the adventure we had last night.
He didn’t leave a note; he just vanished like he wasn’t the same man who adored me the night before. But it was all good. It was just a one-night stand anyway.
No biggie.
