Page 49 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

He slides it over and over and over, from the bottom to the top, and on the fifth slide, he flicks his tongue over my clit. “Mark,” I gasp, my hands reaching for his hair as a surge of pleasure washes over my senses. “Stop teasing…”

“Where’s the fun in that?” his voice vibrates against my pussy, setting off a whole different chain of sensation. He flicks his tongue again, pressing it hard in short intervals.

I feel myself soak, and when he slides a finger into my pussy, I know he realizes it too. “Quinn,” he gasps, pleased, and he curves his finger, his tongue still flicking against my clit.

It’s a meditative trance. He’s slow and gentle, and when I begin rolling my hips for more, he listens. He puts in another finger, the tips fluttering against the spot just beneath where his tongue is. He consumes me, makes me blind to anything but him.

I bite into my lower lip, and my fingers clench the sheets. “Mark…” My voice is faint, a squeal. He begins fingering me harder, his tongue lapping me up like the river, and I feel my juices drip down beneath my legs.

“Oh my god,” I mewl as I feel the epicenter of pleasure take form, ready to erupt. I lurch off the bed, and Mark’s steady hands reach for my stomach, pushing me back down as he continues his efforts.

The world around me drums away, and I feel the drop coming. “Mark…” I scream, and then I burst, the tingling sensation bursts from that one spot, spreading through my core, making my legs tremble and my back lurch. I see stars and hear Mark pant as he continues to finger me through clenched muscles.

Only when the last of the orgasm fades does Mark extract himself from between my legs. I watch, breathless, and he makes quick work of his clothes. There he is, sitting with his knees on either side of my hips, an Adonis of a man. Without thinking, I lift off the bed, my hands gliding down his muscled chest, those toned arms, to the curve of his ass.

He growls and pushes me back against the bed with his weight, his arms holding him up. For a moment, all I see is my reflection in his eyes.

“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” he says.

“Have you ever seen yourself naked?” I reply.

I see a glimmer of pride in his eyes as his hands move between our bodies until they rest on my thighs. He navigates between them, encouraging me to open wide.

I part for him, and he positions himself above me. I watch, my breath hitching in my throat when his eyes glaze over as they travel away from my eyes to my throat, down to my breasts. He links fingers through the strap of my bra, inching it down and moving on to the next one until my bra rests below my breasts.

His head dips, and he licks my nipple, his other hand caressing my breast. By now, I’m a trembling mess of want, need, and desire.

I reach for his lower back and pull him closer, and when I feel the tip of his cock hit against my apex, I gasp. A slow, lazy smile spreads over his face, and he gently inches into me, just an inch or so.

I want to scream, yell, run for more. But he’s the kind of man who takes things slow, before turning into a run. I know that, so I allow him to enter me agonizingly slow, his hands now cupping both my breasts for support as he slides into me. He squeezes my breasts just as he fills me to the hilt, his balls squeezing against me, and I scream out his name—“Maaark!”

It’s infuriating, it’s delightful. It’s everything.

“God, you feel like heaven,” he whispers into my ear, before pulling out and ramming into me, harder this time. He pulls out again. Ram. Out. In.

“Fuck,” I moan, grabbing onto his hips, my own lurching to meet his. He slides back in and this time, doesn’t leave. He begins to fuck me, every roll of his hips, every touch of his hand, every sound of his moans an assault on my senses. I clutch his ass and hold him in…deep.

He pounds me hard and fast. His hands reach for my waist, locking me into position as the bed moves below us. It screeches and groans in protest, but we’re fucking so hard that there’s no concern that the whole house might hear us. Mark tilts his hips up, his cock hitting against my upper wall, and I feel a spark form.

“Oh my god,” I say. “Right there. Yes, right there.”

He leans back, his large hands now gripping my waist, his fingers spreading over my stomach, and he moves so fast that the sweat trickles down his forehead, falling on my skin. I don’t care. I grip the sheets, and he smiles as he continues to pound me.

That spark has become a wildfire, and when his tip touches the spark this time, I explode. “Mark,” I moan. “It’s happening.”

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” he commands. “Cum for me.”

It’s the way he wants to please me that acts as the tipping point. My eyes blast open, and the colors around me merge into stars as the blood gushes to my head. The pleasure rides up my back, down my legs, across my core. I feel his cock stiffen and he spills into me as my pussy convulses from the orgasm, pulling him dry. This moment is the highest high I’ve ever felt, and I close my eyes as the last of my orgasm rips through me.

Mark catches his breath, still inside me, and a minute later pulls out. We’re both panting when he gathers me in his arms. We lie like that in silent stillness. The sheets are twisted around us, evidence of the storm we just weathered together. He has one arm thrown over his head, looking every bit like a Bratva prince at rest, and the other draped possessively over my waist.

“We should get to work,” I murmur, my voice husky—or maybe it's from screaming his name half an hour ago.

“Should we?” He turns his head, a smirk playing on his lips, his blue-gray eyes gleaming with something like triumph.

“Unlike you, I have the ability to get fired,” I can't help but smile back at him, though his arrogance should be grating. Instead, it's endearing, which is its own kind of danger.

His thumb draws lazy circles on my hip bone, sending little sparks of pleasure radiating through me. I trace the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble that didn't exist last night.

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