Page 65 of Bratva Bride
"You can come if you need to," he said, and the permission destroyed any control I might have been clinging to. "Let your body do what it needs to do."
The ninth spank was firm, decisive, and it pushed me right to the precipice. I was balanced on the knife's edge of orgasm, every muscle taut, every nerve ending screaming.
"Nine!" I practically screamed. "Thank you, Daddy!"
"One more, kotyonok. One more and you're done."
One more. I was going to come. There was no question now, no possibility of holding it back. My body had decided, was already gathering itself for something massive.
The tenth spank was perfect. Not too hard, not too soft, landing exactly where all the others had prepared me to receive it. But it wasn't the impact that did it—it was everything. Thediscipline and care wound together. The permission to feel whatever I needed to feel. The absolute safety of being held across Ivan's lap while he taught me consequences could be beautiful.
The orgasm hit like a freight train made of light.
"Ten! Thank you—"
The words dissolved into a scream that I muffled against the sofa cushion as my entire body convulsed. The orgasm wasn't just physical—it was emotional, spiritual, transcendent. Years of tension releasing all at once. Twenty-six years of being too much and not enough simultaneously, finally allowed to just exist in sensation without judgment.
My pussy clenched in waves that seemed endless, each pulse sending new shockwaves through me. I could feel myself gushing, soaking his pants beyond any polite denial. My clit throbbed so hard it almost hurt, that perfect edge between pleasure and too much that made me sob into the cushion.
Ivan's hand stayed on my ass, not moving, just present while my body shook apart. His other hand stroked my hair, gentle and grounding while I rode wave after wave of the most intense orgasm of my life.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let go. All of it. Such a good girl, coming so hard for me. So perfect."
Perfect. The word followed me down as the orgasm finally crested and began to ebb, leaving me shaking and gasping and completely undone across his lap. My ass throbbed in time with my heartbeat, marked by his hand, claimed by this discipline that had transformed into something beyond what either of us had expected.
"Thank you, Daddy," I whispered into the cushion, meaning it with every atom of my being. "Thank you."
The aftershocks were still rolling through me when I became aware of something else—something hard and substantialpressing against my stomach where I lay across Ivan's lap. His cock. Thick and insistent through his linen pants, broadcasting his arousal as clearly as I'd been broadcasting mine.
The realization sent a fresh wave of want through my already oversensitized body. He was hard. Ivan—controlled, careful Ivan who planned everything down to the minute—was achingly hard from spanking me. From watching me come apart across his lap. From delivering discipline that had transformed into the most intense orgasm of my life.
I shifted slightly, ostensibly adjusting my position, but really just needing to feel more of him. The movement made him inhale sharply, and I felt his cock twitch against my stomach. God, he was big. Even through layers of fabric, I could feel the substantial length and thickness of him. My pussy, still clenching with residual pleasure, suddenly felt devastatingly empty.
"Anya." His voice came out rough, like he'd been gargling gravel. "You need to—we should—"
"You're hard," I said, the observation escaping without permission. "Really hard."
His breathing had changed completely. No longer the controlled rhythm he used to manage anxiety, but something ragged and desperate. His chest rose and fell against my side where our bodies touched, and I could feel his heart racing—actually racing, this man who faced down bratva violence without blinking was undone by my body across his lap.
"Yes," he admitted, the word barely more than an exhale. "Watching you—feeling you come like that—"
He didn't finish, but his cock pulsed against me, filling in the blanks with anatomical honesty. I pressed down deliberately this time, grinding my stomach against his erection, and the groan that escaped him was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard.
"Anya, fuck—"
Ivan Volkov, who chose words with surgical precision, reduced to profanity. Because of me. Because my body against his was making him lose that famous control.
I ground down again, harder this time, and his hand came to my hip—not to stop me but to hold me, fingers digging in with desperation that matched mine. Through my post-orgasmic haze, fresh arousal was building. My pussy was soaked, my clit still swollen and sensitive, and all I could think about was how his cock would feel inside me. Stretching me. Filling the emptiness that ten spanks had somehow created.
"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for. "Ivan, please."
"Such a good girl," he breathed, his voice completely wrecked. "You deserve something special."
Something special. The promise in those words made my entire body clench with anticipation. I ground against him again, and this time he guided the movement, his hand on my hip helping me find a rhythm that made us both gasp.
"You're soaking through my pants," he observed, and there was wonder in his voice. "I can feel how wet you are. Still dripping from that orgasm."
"Your fault," I managed. "You and your perfect hands and your—" I pressed down harder, feeling the full outline of his cock, "—your everything."
