Page 17 of A Baby for the BRATVA Boss
“Can I?” she asks, licking her lips.
“You don’t have to,” I say, trying to ignore the buzz of excitement that chases up my spine.
She folds forward a little as she reaches out, unzipping my pants and pulling my cock free.
When her mouth lowers to it, warm and wet, I groan with pleasure.
Her tongue darts out tentatively at first, licking the tip where pre-cum has already beaded, and the sensation shoots through me like fire, making my hips jerk forward involuntarily. I grip the edge of the bed to steady myself, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she learns what I like, her lips parting wider to take me in slowly, inch by inch.
Her inexperience is evident in the way she hesitates. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks gently, the eagerness in her gaze, the way she looks up at me for approval, it undoes me more than any skilled touch ever could. My hand finds its way into her hair, threading through the soft strands, encouraging her as she bobs her head, taking more of me each time until I hit the back of her throat and she gags, pulling back with watery eyes.
“Sorry,” she says, not taking her gaze from the head of my cock.
“You never need to apologize to me,” I say, lifting her chin until she looks at me. “Especially not when you’re doing this.”
She nods and the warmth of her mouth envelops me completely now, slick and tight, and I can't hold back the low growl that rumbles from my chest. My fingers tighten in her hair as she finds a rhythm, her hand wrapping around the base to stroke what she can't fit in her mouth.
Every swirl of her tongue along the underside sends sparks up my spine, building that pressure in my balls faster than I expect, and I have to fight the urge to thrust deeper, to claim her mouth like I claimed her body last night.
She's learning me, tasting me, and the sight of her on her like this, sheets tangled around her waist, her breasts brushing against my thighs with each movement, it makes me want to pullher up and bury myself inside her again. But I let her have this, let her control the pace, because the way she's moaning around my cock tells me she's enjoying it as much as I am.
I feel the tension coiling tighter, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.
I warn her through gritted teeth, "Sophia, I'm close," but she doesn't pull away, instead sucking harder, her free hand digging into my thigh as if to anchor herself.
The heat builds to a breaking point, and with a guttural groan, I come, spilling into her mouth in hot spurts. My body shudders as she swallows around me, taking everything I give her.
Stars burst behind my eyes, the release so intense it leaves me breathless, and when it's over, I gently pull her up, crushing my lips to hers in a kiss that tastes of me, of us, my hands roaming her back. She's mine in ways I never imagined, and this is just another thread that binds us tighter.
Sophia
The air smells sharply of pine and frost.
We walk between rows of evergreens dusted in snow, each one perfect in its own way. Tall, symmetrical, reaching for the pale winter sky. The world feels quieter here, the kind of quiet that lives inside you, where everything that’s happened stops echoing for a while.
Yury keeps close but doesn’t touch me, his long strides easy beside mine. Every now and then, when I slip a little on the uneven ground, his hand finds my elbow, firm and steady, guiding me to balance. I can feel the heat of him even through the thick layer of my coat.
“I still can’t believe you actually came here,” I say, glancing sideways at him. His breath fogs in the cold.
“I keep my promises.” His tone is flat, but the corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile. “You wanted a tree.” He hums low in his throat, scanning the rows ahead like he’s hunting something. “Let’s find you one worth starting a tradition with.”
We walk deeper into the farm. The owner, a wiry man in a thick flannel jacket, waves when he spots Yury. The respect is instant, instinctive. It’s strange watching that power ripple around him out here, where everything smells like sap and snow instead of gunfire and money.
“You terrify everyone,” I tease.
He looks down at me, one dark brow lifting. “Even you?”
“Maybe a little at first.” I tug at my mittens, pretending to study the trees. “But then I realized you don’t scare me. You make me aware of myself.”
He stops walking. The silence between us thickens until I can hear my own pulse.
“Explain that,” he says quietly.
I shrug, though my heart is racing. “When you look at me, I stop thinking about fear. I think about what I am. What I could be.”
His gaze sharpens, heavy and unreadable. Then he nods once, like he’s storing the words somewhere private. “Good.”
We keep moving. Snow falls from the higher branches in soft bursts, landing on my hair. I laugh, brushing it away, and he reaches over to dust a few flakes from my shoulder. His glove trails down my sleeve, his hand lingers near mine.
