Page 63 of Bratva Bride
His fingers traced the curve where my ass met my thigh, barely a whisper of touch, but it made me jerk like he'd used electricity. The movement pressed my clit against his thigh, and the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through me so intense I had to bite down on a moan.
"Sorry," I gasped. "I didn't mean to—"
"Shh." His other hand found my hair, stroking gently. "No apologies for how your body responds. This is perfect. You're perfect."
Perfect. Me, draped across his lap with my panties around my thighs, so wet I was probably leaving marks on his expensive linen pants, shaking with want disguised as nervousness. If this was his definition of perfect, I'd rebuild my entire self-concept around it.
"I can feel how wet you are," he continued, and his thigh shifted slightly beneath me, creating new pressure against my swollen clit. "My pants are soaked where you're pressed against me. Such a responsive little one. Such a good girl for showing me exactly how this affects you."
A whimper escaped my throat. He could feel it. Feel how desperately turned on I was by this position, by his control, by the impending discipline that my body had somehow rewired into foreplay. My hips wanted to move, to grind against his thigh until the pressure gave me what I needed, but I forced myself to stay still. This was about the spanking. The rule. The structure we'd built together.
"Are you ready?" he asked, and his hand pressed slightly firmer against my ass, fingers spreading to cover more territory. "Remember your safe words."
"Green," I said immediately. "So green. Greenest green that ever greened."
That pulled a laugh from him, low and warm. "My eloquent little genius, reduced to color repetition."
"Your fault," I mumbled into the sofa cushion. "You broke my brain with your stupid perfect hands."
"My hands aren't stupid," he said with mock offense. "They're about to teach you a very important lesson about screen time limits."
Right. The lesson. The discipline. The reason I was spread across his lap like an offering to the gods of bad decisions and excellent consequences.
"Ten spanks," he said, shifting back into that controlled, dominant tone that made my insides liquid. "I want you to count each one out loud. After each count, you'll say 'thank you, Daddy.' If you forget, we start over. Do you understand?"
Start over. The threat and promise of that made my clit throb so hard I saw stars. Ten spanks might kill me, but having to start over? Having to take more because I couldn't remember basic counting? That would definitely kill me in the best possible way.
"I understand," I managed, though my voice sounded wrecked already and he hadn't even started.
"Good girl." His hand lifted from my ass, and the loss of contact made me whine. "What do you say after each spank?"
"Thank you, Daddy."
"And if you forget?"
"We start over."
"Perfect." His hand rubbed one more circle on my bare skin, then lifted again. "Ready?"
No. Yes. Maybe. How could anyone be ready for something that was definitely going to fundamentally rewire their entire nervous system? But my body was screaming for it, my clit pounding with need, my pussy so wet I could feel it dripping. If he didn't start soon, I might come just from the anticipation.
"Yes, Daddy," I whispered. "I'm ready."
The words hung in the tropical air between us, heavy with promise and intent. I could feel him shift slightly, adjusting his position for better leverage. Could feel the muscles in his thigh tense beneath me. Could feel the exact moment when anticipation crystallized into intention.
This was really happening.
My first spanking.
My pussy clenched around emptiness, and I had to bite my lip hard to keep from begging. For the spanking to start. For it to never start. For him to forget the discipline and just fuck me until I couldn't remember why I'd been researching bratva marriage law at three in the morning.
"Breathe," Ivan reminded me, and I sucked in air that tasted like sunscreen and want. "Good girl. My perfect little one."
Perfect. There was that word again, applied to the disaster of me spread across his lap. But maybe that was exactly what perfect looked like—messy and wanting and honest about both.
"I'm ready," I said again, stronger this time. "Please, Daddy."
His hand rose, and I closed my eyes, every cell in my body focused on the moment when it would fall.
