Page 55 of Sold to the Bratva
I love the man who loves me. I love the man who is loving me now, kissing down my body with the reverence of an altar boy. He worships me. To him, I am holy. I gasp when the rough hairs of his five o’clock shadow scrape along my inner thigh.
“I need you inside me,” I gasp, unable to stop the buck of my hips as I try to drag him closer.
His laugh vibrates against my skin, a delicious hum that makes my toes curl.
“There will be time for that,” he murmurs. “You’re always so goddamn impatient.”
“And you love that about me,” I remind him.
“I do,” he says as his hands grip my hips and bunch my dress.
His fingers skim the sides of my legs as he eases my panties down, and then the heat of his tongue plunges inside me, exploring like a pirate finally claiming buried treasure. He circles my clit, and I moan out loud when he marks the spot.
“What did you say?” He laughs against me, the vibration sparking along my nerves.
My cheeks burn when I realize I spoke aloud, but embarrassment has no place here and he knows it.
“I said that’s the spot,” I answer on a breathy moan, and he meets my eyes with a darkened gaze. “So keep fucking doing that.”
“So bossy.” He grins before diving back into his ministrations.
I’m already impossibly close. Stars burst behind my eyelids, yet this isn’t how I want to come. I told him that before, and he listens better to actions than words. I tighten my grip in his hair until he reluctantly pulls away.
“Take off your clothes,” I demand, frowning down at him. “I refuse to come until you’re naked and inside me.”
“You sure about that?” he asks, smirking as he deliberately blows on my clit. Damn him for the way my body arches off the bed.
He must have forgotten how stubborn I am. I snap my thighs together, forcing him to retreat, and he studies me with a dangerous glint. The smirk remains. He’ll never admit it, but he loves when I’m in charge.
“Clothes off,” I demand again. “Now.”
He slips off the bed, his gaze never leaving mine, and starts unbuttoning his shirt at a maddening pace. He’s teasing me, prolonging the torture until I can touch him. I refuse to break. Sitting up, I dig my fingers into the sheets and watch his torturously slow striptease.
I drink in the rippling muscles of his chest once the shirt is gone. I lick my lips at the sight of his powerful arms, those same arms that carried me into this room. He watches me watching him, performing solely for my pleasure.
I bite my lip when my gaze lands on his happy trail, and he unhooks the button of his trousers with agonizing leisure, asthough unwrapping a gift. He is the present, and I’m the greedy recipient.
No matter how many times we do this, or how many times we will, I love the sight of his erect cock. The curvaceous member is eager to enter me as it’s already glistening with pre-cum when he frees it from his boxers. I rub my thighs together for a scrap of friction as I feel the heat in my stomach tighten in need.
My body is desperate for him, chest heaving as he steps out of his boxers and prowls toward me. There’s no other word for it. He’s a predator on the hunt. He climbs over me, slow and sure, grabbing my ankle, and gently tugs until I’m pinned beneath him.
“You want this?” he asks, slowly grinding his cock against my thigh.
“Yes,” I moan, already halfway gone.
“Then it’s your turn to get naked,” he commands, and I’m more than willing to comply.
I slide the dress straps over my shoulders and shimmy out, making sure our bodies brush as I squirm beneath him. He nearly growls while helping me discard the fabric. Only one small piece of clothing remains between us, and the hunger in his eyes says he wants to tear it off with his teeth.
The sheer lace bra offers almost no support and even less coverage, which is exactly why I chose it. He’s speechless as he traces the swells of my breasts, watching in fascination while my nipples harden beneath the fabric.
“You really do live to drive me insane,” he murmurs, then wraps an arm around my waist and flips us so I straddle him. “I want to see those gorgeous tits bounce while you ride my cock.”
I need no further invitation. Reaching behind me, I flick open the clasps of the bra and let my breasts bounce free. I guide his cock to my entrance, and, slick with arousal, he slides in, filling me almost to the hilt in one long glide.
“Fuck,” he groans as I sink down onto his perfect cock.
He feels as though he were molded for me, built to drive me wild in ways I never imagined. I rise slowly before slamming back down, forcing his head to roll back on the pillow.
