Page 20 of Captured By the Masked BRATVA
“It is,” he says, his voice low and steady. “It’s you. It was always going to be you.”
He takes the cello and places it with reverence in it’s stand. Then pulls me gently up to standing only so he can pull down my leggings and panties in one soft tug, before sitting me back in the chair.
“Spread those knees, solnyshko, let me worship you the way you deserve.”
I do as I’m told, because honestly, this is my favourite thing in the whole world. The way he looks at me the way he devours me, the way he makes me come apart so I can rebuild stronger.
He eats me slowly at first, teasing and tickling me with his lips and tongue until I’m sweating with the need for release. He works me to the edge, filling the air with dirty talk while the orgasm recedes and I beg. I grind against his face trying to find the friction I need to take me over the edge, and when it finally happens, I fly over it sobbing his name.
I’m still coming down when I hear him undo his belt and his trousers hit the floor. His thighs are flexed and wide, the muscles making lines I want to sink my teeth into. He fists his thick, heavy cock.
I stand from my chair on still wobbly legs and push him back to the sofa, straddling him and taking him into my wet heat slowly. He groans when I reach the root of him and I pull my top over my head quickly, lifting myself up so he can bury his face inbetween my breasts. He bites at my nipples through the lace of my bra and moan when I sink back down his length.
He undoes my bra, stroking his hands over my back before sliding it from my shoulders and down my arms.
“Fuck, solnyshko, you look like a queen.” He cups both of my breasts, measuring the weight of them. “These are going to become divine. They already drive me insane,” the last worlds come out strangled, as though he is barely holding on to restraint.
I begin to slide back and forth over his cock while he plays with my tits. Never taking his eyes from them.
“Full and stretched and leaking,” he mutters. His cock twitches violently inside me and I know he is getting close. One handdrops to my hip in a bid to slow me down, but I can’t, I’m chasing my own release now.
“Solnyshko,” he says, using the pet name he has given me. “Slow down,” he growls, eyes still on my tits. But I’m watching him closely, waiting for the moment he blows his load because I know that’s what will tip me over the edge.
“Who owns my dripping pussy?” I ask, turning the tables on his dirty talk. “Tell me who I belong to.”
“Me,” he manages, sweat beading on his forehead. “Your mine!” I know when his control finally snaps.
On the wordmine,his jaw clenches and his eyes glaze. Then he drops his face onto my breasts and holds onto both of my hips, pushing deeply into me with each surge of his cum. I follow him. The feeling of his throbbing cock, his cum slickening my movements, the grind of my clit against him as I rock, and the sound he makes as he falls over the edge is all to much. My head falls back and I ride the waves out as he sucks my nipple into his mouth and pinches the other between his thumb and index finger.
Artem
The world slows to a whisper after. Elena is still seated on my knee, my cock still half hard inside her, her breath still unsteady against my skin. I run my hand down her spine, feeling every fine tremor, the way she leans into my touch like she’s never known gentleness before.
I finally release her nipple and press a kiss to her lips. “You’re okay?”
She nods, eyes heavy, the faintest smile curving her lips. “More than I thought I ever would be.”
I know what she means. I feel it too, that dizzy quiet after violence, after need. I thought the fire between us would consume what was left of me, but somehow it’s made room for something new. Hope.
I finally don’t feel haunted by the past. I’m thinking about the future. About mornings that smell like her skin. About laughter in rooms that have only ever known silence.
I pull the blanket from the back of the sofa over her, tracing slow circles against her back until her breathing steadies. She blinks up at me, green eyes soft and trusting, and something inside me clenches hard enough to hurt.
“I can’t believe you’re real,” I say quietly.
She smiles. “I could say the same.”
Her hand drifts to my chest, her fingers resting over my heart, and for a moment I just let myself feel it, her warmth, the rhythm, the rightness.
“If we stay here like this, I’ll have to fuck you again,” I murmur.
“I’d like that,” she says with a soft grin.
But there’s something else I need to do. I gently lift her from me, she whimpers as I pull out of her, and cross to the corner where the safe is hidden behind a panel of glass and steel. My body still aches from her, my pulse unsteady. I enter the code by touch, the old numbers still burned into my memory. The door opens with a quiet click.
Inside, beneath stacks of documents and cash, sits a small velvet box. Black, worn at the edges. I take it out and turn it in my hand, remembering the day it was given to me, the weight of my father’s expectations disguised as legacy.
He told me to save it for someone who could further the family line. I was saving it for someone who saved me.
