Page 43 of Obsessed Bratva King

His hands move to the buttons of my blouse, his fingers undoing them one by one, agonizingly slow. “Maybe I can make you talk.”

I bite my lip, a moan escaping as his hands slide under the fabric, his palms warm against my skin. “Ivan...” I whisper. “I thought we needed to leave.”

“Oh, but what’s life without a little danger?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine, his breath hot against my skin. “I love watching you squirm.”

His hands slide down to my skirt, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, brushing against the sensitive skin of my thighs. “Tell me what you want, Cora.”

“You,” I gasp, my body arching into his touch. “I want you.”

His lips capture mine in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, claiming me. His hands move to the zipper of my skirt, pulling it down, letting the fabric pool at my feet.

He steps back, his eyes raking over me, lingering on the black lace of my panties. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I could spend hours just looking at you.”

“Hours?” I tease, my hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one. “How much time do we have here?”

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re right,” he admits, his hands sliding up my sides, brushing against the curve of my breasts. “Better speed things up.”

His lips return to mine, his kiss deeper, more demanding. His hands move to the clasp of my bra, undoing it with a practiced ease. The fabric falls away, and his hands are on my breasts, his thumbs brushing against my nipples, making me moan into his mouth.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. “You always taste so sweet. Like honey.”

I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “Ivan...” I whisper. “Please...”

“Please what?” he teases, his hands sliding down to my panties, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric. “Tell me what you want.”

His fingers brush against my clit, making me moan. “I want to hear you beg,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine. “Beg for me, Cora.”

“Please, Ivan,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Please... I need you.”

He smirks, clearly satisfied with my pleas. His fingers slide inside me, curling just right, making me gasp. “So wet for me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. “You’re always so wet for me. It drives me crazy.”

I moan, my hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more. “Ivan... please...”

“Patience,” he purrs, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate strokes. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He steps back, his hands moving to his belt, undoing it quickly. His pants fall to the floor, and he steps out of them, his cock hard, straining against his boxers. He pulls them down, freeing himself, and I can’t help but stare. He’s perfect. Everything about him is perfect.

“On the couch,” he commands, his voice low, commanding. “On your knees.”

I obey, my body trembling with anticipation. I climb onto the couch, positioning myself on all fours, my ass in the air. He steps behind me, his hands gripping my hips, his cock brushing against my entrance.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice thick with possessiveness. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Always yours.”

He thrusts into me, hard and fast, making me gasp. His hands grip my hips, his thrusts deep, punishing. “Mine,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” I moan, my body arching into his thrusts. “Always yours.”

He slows his pace, his thrusts becoming deeper, more deliberate. His hands slide up my back, pressing me down, his lips brushing against my ear. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “So tight. So perfect.”

I moan. “Ivan... please...”

He pulls out, flipping me onto my back, his lips capturing mine in a searing kiss. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide, his cock sliding back inside me.

His thrusts are slower now, more sensual, but no less intense. His lips trail down my neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice low, possessive. “Say it again.”

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