Page 4 of The Bratva's Weakness

“So, you travel a lot for work?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I trace her hands, causing tingles to break out on her arm. “I’ve been to every continent, except Antarctica.”

“The penguins don’t want your business?” she laughs, and the sound of her melodic voice goes straight to my cock. I move, trying to alleviate the pressure without her knowing.

“Probably not. Most people don’t,” I immediately regret letting that slip when her brow furrows. “I spend most of my time in South America.”

“What do you do?” her breath hitches as I slowly stroke upward, her skin velvet smooth beneath my touch.

“God, your skin is like porcelain,” I huskily whisper, reverently.

“In the car you called me baby,” she suddenly says. I can’t tell if she’s asking why or just making a comment. Perhaps she’s trying to tell me off for being so forward. She has no idea this is me holding back.

I scoot closer, grabbing her hand and bringing it to my lips.

“Would you rather I not?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she admits. Her mouth parts as I suck one of her fingers into my mouth. She groans and shifts toward me. I should probably stop, we just fucking met, but instead I reach over and haul her on top of me, sitting on my lap.

“What – what are you doing?” she sighs as I move her hair off the back of her neck and plant kisses against her skin. Her hands grip my thighs, and her legs open of their own accord and her head falls back against my shoulder.

“I should probably go,” she says, hesitantly.

“Only if you want to,” I whisper in her ear. My hands find the bottom of her shirt, and I graze my fingers underneath, stroking up and down her sides. She presses back against me, a gasp leaving her as she meets my hardness. I pause, waiting, and let out a tortured moan as she slowly moves back against me.

“Baby,” I grunt before grabbing her hips and thrusting up into her backside. She cries out, this time hunching forward, so my dick, still straining to escape my pants, hits her in just the right spot. I thrust again, and her hands clamp down on my knees, helping to grind against me.

“James,” she cries.

“Baby, fuck me,” is all I can say as I start a steady rhythm. She mewls and squirms, needing more. I stop, twisting her around so she’s straddling me, and plant her back down on my dick.

“Use me, baby,” I tell her. I grasp her shirt, yanking it high, ready to see her perfect tits, and when my mouth covers her nipple beneath her barely-there bra, I suck for all I’m worth. Her fingers find my hair, her noises louder and louder as she now sets the pace.

My balls are so tight it’s painful, and all I want to do is unzip my pants and sink into her perfect cunt. But I resist. I move, helping hit her clit just likes she needs, and lave the other breast, leaving wet prints on her bra.

Allie cries out and clenches around me, holding me tight, her hands fisted in my hair as she finds her release. I slow my ministrations and plant soft kisses along her chest until she sinks against me, breathing heavy.

“I don’t even know you,” she mumbles.

I chuckle and stroke her back, willing my hard-on to lessen. “I plan on getting to know you,” I boldly tell her.

She pulls back and looks at me with a small grin. “Allie Miller. Your turn.”

I move the hair behind her ear as I answer, “James O’Connor.” She freezes, the smile slipping off her face.Shit.I guess she recognizes the name - the legendary O’Connor crime family that’s run this city for the better part of the last half-century. I start to clutch her hips a bit tighter but instead force myself to relax and wait.

She searches my face before sliding slowly off my lap and backing away, straightening her clothes.

“Don’t do that,” I say too harshly. She flinches, and I swipe a hand down my face. I lean forward, putting my hands in my hair, and taking deep breaths.

“I’m not mad at you,” I tell her, glancing up. “Please don’t be scared of me.”

She takes a tentative step forward that about wrenches my heart in half. I pull at my hair, frustrated that my name sparks so much fear in her. In my world, that’s usually a good thing. But withher? She should never be scared of me.

Suddenly. I feel her hands on mine, pulling my hands away and smoothing the mess I’d made. I lean back, closing my waves, letting her touch and presence relax me again.

“I’m not scared of you,” she says slowly.

I wrap my arms around her, shaking my head. “It’s okay, you should be baby. I should make you leave and never come back.”

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