Page 36 of A Baby for the BRATVA King
I lift up on trembling legs and slide down his body. My skin is oversensitive. Every point of contact sparks. His chest against mine. His hands on my back. His mouth finding mine, and I taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes something ache behind my ribs.
"Good?" he asks against my lips.
"You know it was good. Don't fish."
The corner of his mouth lifts. The almost-smile. The one that still does things to my chest after all this time.
I can feel him hard beneath me. Pressing against my thigh. I shift my hips and he makes a sound. Low. Strained.
"I want to watch you come on me," I say. The words feel bold and new. Everything between us still feels like a frontier, even now. Even engaged. Even pregnant. "Not inside me. On me."
His eyes darken. "Mia—"
"You've been filling me since we met, but you said on that first night, how you wanted to claim my pussy." I trace a finger down his chest. Down his stomach. His muscles contract under my touch. "You've already done your job. Now I want to watch."
Something flickers in his expression. Something that's half amusement and half raw want. "My job?"
I pull open his slacks, slide my hand beneath them. "Your very important reproductive duties." I wrap my hand around him and he inhales sharp through his teeth. "Consider yourself relieved of active duty."
"You're hilarious."
"I'm hilarious and I'm holding your cock. Multitasking."
He laughs. Short. Real. The sound cuts off when I start to move my hand. His head presses back into the pillow. His jaw tightens. His hips flex up into my grip.
I shift down. Settle between his thighs. This part I've learned. This part I've practiced on him with the same dedication he brings to everything he does to me. I’ve studied his reactions, learned what makes him groan, what makes his hands fist in the sheets, what makes his breathing go ragged.
His hand comes to my hair.
I use my mouth first. Take him in slowly, as much as I can, and his groan is deep and guttural and makes something hotpulse between my legs. I work him with my hand and my mouth together, the way he taught me, the way that makes his thighs tense and his stomach flex.
"Mia." His voice is wrecked. "If you keep—I'm going to—"
I pull off. Look up at him. He's a wreck. This man who controls empires and runs operations and handles everything. His chest is heaving. His pupils are blown. His hand is shaking in my hair.
"Come on me," I say. "I want to feel it."
I move back up his body and straddle his hips. Take him in my hand and press him flat against me, against the slick heat of me, not inside, just there, the length of him sliding against my folds, and I rock.
His hands slam onto my hips.
“Show me who owns my pussy,” I say with a pout as I pinch my nipples.
"Fuck." The word tears out of him. His head drops back. I rock again, sliding against him, coating him with how wet I still am, and his grip turns bruising.
He flips me over in one swift movement, then takes his cock in his hand.
“Spread,” he says between pants and I know what his is asking. I bring my legs as far apart as I can, stretching them sideways and up in a wide ‘V.’
“Fuck,” he says again as he jerks himself relentlessly, never taking his eyes from my pussy. Every stroke has the head sliding through my center, bumping against my clit until I’m mewling with the sensitivity of it.
His cock pulses against me. I feel the first rush of warmth hit my skin, and I look down and watch it happen, watch him come on me, on my pussy, on my stomach, and the sight of it, thevisual of this man losing himself against my body, tips me over an edge I didn't know I was close to.
I come again. Quieter this time. A rolling, deep thing that pulses through my core while he's still spilling against me. My hand goes to my center, presses against my cum slicked clit as I shudder through the last of my orgasm and the final drops of his cum land on my parted lips.
I look down at the mess between us, his cum on my skin, glistening in the light, and I feel something that isn't just satisfaction. It's possession. Mine. This man, this body, this life. Mine.
"Don't move," he says. His voice is rough as he lowers one of my legs, then the other.
"I wasn't planning to."
He reaches for the nightstand. Pulls a handful of tissues free.
“No,” I say. “Leave it a little longer.”
He growls a little but leans back and looks at the mess we’ve made.
“Well, now you’re mine in every way,” he says, watching me move his cum through my folds and into my entrance.
“Always was,” I reply.
