Page 83 of Bratva's Mercy
My interest should have disappeared instantly since he wasn’t about to make me come, but it was the opposite. His words caused a tingling sensation to spread from my dick,pooling into my stomach and making my nipples and the roots of my hair turn sensitive.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, leaned forward, and wrapped my mouth around Leo’s girth. The soft head gave way to a firmer, veiny texture as I swallowed around him. He’d showered this morning, and his fresh, clean scent tickled my nostrils.
Mine.
Leo was mine.
What did it matter that he denied me my orgasm? As long as I could make him pant and moan the way he was, I was satisfied. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t get the most out of it.
I slipped my palms up, under his shirt, toyed with his piercing, then traced the hard lines of his chest. His body felt incredible—warm, solid—but it was the way he reacted that got to me. His breath caught, and the muscle under my hands tightened. My fingers twisted around his nipples, and I sucked harder—up and down, then repeat—encouraged by the way his head fell back and the moans coming from him. His hips moved in a hypnotic rhythm, circling into each lazy thrust past my tonsils.
“Sergei—”
He dug his fingers into my hair, his breathing becoming more labored, his hips snapping forward like he couldn’t hold back anymore. Every sound, every movement of pleasure from him only made me want to give him more.
“Fuck, dollface, your mouth’s incredible?—”
The words broke off into a strained groan, his body going taut. His chest heaved under my hands, muscles locking, and his grip in my hair tightened as everything in him seemed to crest at once. A shudder tore through him, sharp and uncontrollable, as he let go with a rough, broken sound, his cum spurting in rapid bursts down my throat.
He stilled after that, but only for a second before another tremor followed, softer this time. His breathing came out uneven, chest rising hard against my palms, his hold on me loosening slowly, reluctantly, like he didn’t want the moment to end.
“Jesus…” he muttered under his breath, voice wrecked, still trying to steady himself. “I’m going to have to make use of that slutty mouth more often.”
He took hold of my cheeks in his hand and urged me to my feet. “Come here, baby.”
Baby.
For a second, I just stared at him, my chest tightening. Leo didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to make it a thing. He just stepped in, close enough that I felt the heat of him again, and then his arms came around me.
I went still in his hold.
Didn’t know what to do.
Didn’t know where to put my hands, how to breathe, how to exist inside something that felt this gentle. How could one word unravel the tough shell I’d built around myself over the years?
“You did well,” he murmured, voice low, right by my ear. “Such a good boy, aren’t you? So obedient and eager to please. I’ve got you.”
My throat burned, and before I could stop it, I leaned in, my forehead pressing into the side of his neck. I curled my fingers into the back of his shirt to anchor myself against him.
I hadn’t… This wasn’t…
No one had ever held me like this.
No one had ever looked at me the way he did.
No one had ever thought to call a man like me, whose existence was forged out of blood and bullets, “baby” and “dollface.” No one had ever said that I was good before, when we both knew the truth.
Leo didn’t move to pull away. Didn’t comment on the way my breathing hitched or the way I held on tighter than I probably should have. His hand slid up my back, slow and steady, reminding me he was still there.
“You’re safe to be yourself with me,” he said, even softer this time.
And the fractured pieces of me, still holding together, shattered.
When I was six years old, I watched my mother die a horrible death, stabbed by my father’s jealous. From then on, I lived a miserable existence, tortured by a father who blamed me for his life falling apart. There wasn’t a day I wasn’t reminded that I shouldn’t have been born. That I hadn’t been kicked in the ribs, burned with an iron, stripped, and beaten with the buckle end of a belt, even starved.
It had been years since I’d remembered that boy.
My eyes burned.
