Page 93 of Bratva's Mercy
“Please, Leo,” he whined. “I need it. I need you.”
“Will you do it again?”
“No,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
I knew he was lying, and he knew he was lying. But in that moment, none of it mattered. Just the illusion of his words tomake me feel better about how weak I truly was when it came to him.
“Tell me I can come,” he begged. “Please, Leo. I’m almost there. Give me your permission to come.”
“You don’t need it. You do whatever you want to do anyway.” Some of my earlier bitterness returned.
“But I do. Please, Leo.” The pitch of his voice turned high with need. “Leo, please. I want to come so badly, but only if that’s what you want.”
I bit the insides of my cheek to prevent myself from responding. Our hips still frantically moved in tandem, and I never let up, stroking both of us in my hands. He was at the edge. I could feel it. All I needed to do was give him my permission, but I stalled, finding a sick, twisted satisfaction in the way he held himself together, from tipping over the edge without my consent.
He made a whimper, and his biting kisses ceased. Sergei placed a placating kiss, soft and tender, in the crook of my neck and shoulder.
“Please, Leo.” His voice was a mere whisper of hot breath hitting my skin. “Give your baby permission to come.”
Fuck. He broke me. The way he referred to himself as my baby?—
“Go ahead,” I said, my tone gravelly. “Come for me.”
“Oh fuck. Thank you.”
His gratitude was unexpected and drove a conflicting nail inside my chest. With one act, he’d convinced me he was one of the worst men I’d ever met—second only to Morozov. And with another act, he made me want to hold him in my arms and…and protect him.
But he doesn’t need protection.
Sergei’s breath stuttered, catching unevenly in his chest before breaking into a low, strained sound he couldn’t quitehold back. His release spurted out of him, coating my cock as his composure fractured.
His eyes squeezed shut, brows pulling together like he was bracing against something, and I couldn’t stop staring.
For a moment, Sergei didn’t look like the man who terrified me earlier. In the throes of passion, he was left bare. He looked…younger. Stripped down to a quieter version of himself that seemed almost fragile beneath all that discipline and restraint.
And that, more than anything, unsettled me.
While I was still reeling from the different versions of Sergei, he fell to his knees in front of me. As if daring me to stop him, he held my gaze as he licked his own cum from my cock. I sucked in a deep breath but held still, watching him watch me while he cleaned me off. By the time he was done and took me to the back of his throat, I was at the breaking point. When he released me, I stopped him with a hand in his hair before he could suck me back in.
“Open up.”
He opened his mouth, tongue hanging out as I stroked myself with my free hand. A gasp was the only warning he had as my skin tightened against my palm. I slapped the head of my cock against his tongue and shot my load into his mouth.
“Don’t swallow.”
I released my dick and gripped his chin, guiding him to his feet and forward. I kissed him, sweeping my tongue into his mouth so we could both share my spend. The kiss went on—did I mention he was a damn good kisser?—until my mouth started to get dry. I leaned against the wall with a sigh. Sergei leaned into me, his face in my neck, nuzzling me there.
“Am I good?” he asked in a whisper.
He knew damn well he wasn’t.
I nodded, lying through my teeth. “Yes, you’re very good, dollface.”
His lips curled into a smile, and I clamped my eyes shut. How much longer could I do this? Pretend as if I wasn’t telling him exactly what he wanted to hear, even as I plotted behind his back, which might be his very downfall?
I don’t want to hurt him.
“We still need to talk about what you did,” I said.
