Page 14 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
“Still think I wasn’t ready to finish what I started?” I whisper.
He grabs me and kisses me so hard, I lose track of where I am. My back hits the fridge. His cock is still out, softening against my thigh, but his hands are already sliding up under my blouse again.
“I didn’t think I would be.”
He grins, wicked and breathless. “Then I hope you don’t mind losing count.”
He says it like a warning, but I don’t back off. He’s still inside my head, still thick on my tongue, still tasting like everything I never let myself want. His cock is softening against my thigh, but barely. I can already feel him thickening again, heat rising under my palm as I reach for him, stroke him slowly, then squeeze harder.
“You’re already hard,” I murmur.
His mouth curves, lips brushing mine. “You look surprised.”
“I’m not.” I roll my hips forward, grinding against the ridge of him. “I’m impressed.”
He groans, grabs my ass with both hands, and lifts me straight onto the table, knocking aside an empty glass with the edge of my thigh. I’m still in my blouse, pants shoved down around my knees, and my thighs are slick from what he did to me. He steps between them and runs his knuckles down the inside of one leg, spreading me wider.
“I haven’t even started with you,” he says.
He bends, kisses my throat, sucks a mark onto my collarbone that’ll stay. I gasp and claw at his belt, tug it open again. His pants drop around his hips. He’s fully hard now, flushed and ready, and when he jerks once in his hand, I feel my whole body tighten in response.
When he steps in close, I reach for him without thinking. He grabs my wrists and pins them to the table on either side of me, then thrusts into me in one slow, brutal stroke.
The stretch is too much and just enough.
I cry out, arching up as he sinks deeper, hips tight against mine, cock buried to the hilt. His eyes lock on mine, dark and blinking, and he holds perfectly still, watching me take it.
“You feel that?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I gasp. “God, yes.”
He pulls back and drives into me harder, the sound of it obscene and wet and everything I want. The table shifts under us. My arms tremble from how tight he’s holding them. He fucks me like he’s laying a claim, like he’s done waiting, like he’s got years to make up for and he’s going to do it without apology.
He leans forward, one arm still trapping both wrists, and licks the sweat from the side of my neck.
“You’re still wearing too much,” he says.
He lets go of my arms just long enough to yank my blouse up and over my head, tossing it somewhere behind him before grabbing both breasts and sucking one deep into his mouth. I moan and wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, grinding up into every punishing thrust.
He fucks me harder, each movement more punishing than the last, and when his hand drops to rub me, fingers slick and fast, I know I’m going to come again.
“I’m close,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
“I couldn’t even if I tried,” he growls.
His thumb circles hard, hips slamming into me, and I break all at once. The orgasm hits with a crack, my whole body locking down on his cock, shaking under him as he drives into me through it. Icry out, too loud, too raw, and he covers my mouth with his just to muffle the sound.
He doesn’t stop.
He lifts me, still inside me, and sets me down on my feet before I can breathe. My legs buckle and he catches me, spins me around, and bends me over the table. I brace both hands against the wood as he thrusts back into me from behind, deeper this time, harder, cock grinding into places that make me scream again.
His hand snakes around my throat, not tight, just enough to hold me still.
“You gonna give me another one?” he asks.
I shake my head, barely coherent. “I can’t.”
“You will.”
