Page 92 of Scarred Bratva King

“You’re going to sit there,” I say, my voice smooth as I point at our chair. “And you’re not going to touch. Not until I say so.”

He doesn’t argue, sitting down and staring at me.

I move closer, letting my fingers trail across the spines of books as I walk, the cool air brushing against my skin.

When I reach him, I stop, straddling his lap without sitting down, my knees pressed into the sides of the chair. His hands twitch, and I lean in, my lips brushing his ear.

“I said don’t touch,” I whisper, and I feel the shudder that runs through him.

I start to move, my hips swaying in slow, deliberate circles, my body just close enough to tease but not close enough to satisfy. I can feel the heat of his gaze as it burns into me.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mutters, his voice rough with desire.

I smirk, my nails lightly scraping down his chest. “And you love it.”

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, his eyes drop to my breasts, and I watch as his tongue swipes across his lower lip.

I lean back, arching my spine, letting him take in every inch of me. My hands slide up my torso, cupping my breasts, my fingers teasing my nipples until they’re hard and sensitive.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says.

I smile, leaning forward again, my lips brushing against his. “Flattery won’t get you what you want.”

“Then what will?” he asks, his voice dripping with frustration.

I don’t answer. Instead, I reach down, unbuttoning his pants with deliberate slowness.

His cock springs free, hard and throbbing, and I can’t help but smirk as I wrap my fingers around him, squeezing lightly.

“Beg,” I say, my voice commanding.

He groans, his head falling back against the chair. “Please.”

“Please what?” I ask, my fingers still moving, teasing him with light strokes.

“Please let me fuck my wife’s pussy,” he growls, his eyes snapping open to meet mine.

I laugh, a soft, sultry sound that only seems to frustrate him more. “Not yet.”

I release him, standing up, and he lets out a frustrated groan. I turn around, swaying my hips as I walk away, but I don’t go far.

I stop in front of a nearby bookshelf, pretending to browse the titles, knowing full well he’s watching me.

“Veronica,” he says again, his voice a low warning.

I glance over my shoulder, catching his gaze. “Yes, husband?”

“Don’t play with me,” he says, and there’s a sharpness to his tone that sends a thrill through me.

I turn around, walking back to him, my hips swaying with every step. When I reach him, I stop, my hands on his shoulders as I lower myself onto his lap, his cock brushing against my pussy.

“I’m not playing,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “I’m in control. And you’re going to do exactly as I say.”

He doesn’t argue. His hands grip the armrests so tightly his knuckles turn white. I sink down onto him slowly, the stretch of him filling me, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes closing for a moment before they snap open again, locking onto mine.

I start to move, rocking my hips in slow, deliberate motions, my hands resting on his shoulders for balance.

---