Page 29 of My Bratva Dom

Aslan’s gaze travels down my body, slow and heated. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs. “And all mine.”

His thick, calloused fingers trace the inside of my thigh in a light,teasing caress, and my hips arch, desperate for more.

“Stay still,” he warns.

I bite my lip, forcing myself to obey.

His mouth finds the tender skin under my knee and drags over it, warm and wet, then higher, teeth scraping, tongue teasing. My breath hitches. My pulse races.

By the time his talented tongue swipes through my folds, I’m dying.

“Fuuuuck,” I moan, my fingers tangling in the sheets.

Aslan’s hand slaps my thigh, sharp and stinging, and my breath jerks. “What did I say?” His voice is sharp with command.

“S-stay still,” I stammer.

“That’s my good girl.” His mouth closes over me again, licking, sucking, biting until I’m shaking so hard I can barely think.

The pressure between my legs climbs higher with every flick of his tongue, suck of his lips, graze of his teeth. When his fingers join in, two, thick and strong, pumping inside me, I can’t hold back my wails.

“Please,” I whimper. Scared that he’s gonna rearrange my insides with his monstrous dick and turned on like never before, all at once.

Aslan groans against my flesh. Then his thumb finds my ass slick with my arousal.

I tense, my breath stalling.

“Relax,” he murmurs against my skin. “Trust me.”

I try but it’s too much. Too intense. Too overwhelming. Too dark and depraved.

“You’re doing so good, sassy,” he rasps. “So fucking sweet for me.” His fingers press deeper, curling just right, and I break. The pressure inside me, snapping hard and fast. My entire body jerks as pleasure spreads through me, white-hot and all-consuming.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s moving again, flipping me on my stomach, dragging me to the edge of the bed.

“We’re just getting started, baby girl,” he growls.

I barely have time to register his words before he’s on me again. His mouth, his fingers, his tongue pushing me impossibly higher.

I’m shaking, gasping, coming undone all over again.

But Aslan doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down.

“You’re mine,” he mutters, his voice low and savage. “Every fucking inch of you.”

My voice breaks on a sob, with pleasure so sharp it’s almost painful.

“Mine,” he growls again, his teeth scraping my skin. “And I’m never letting you go.”

I don’t know when I stop thinking, worrying about being alone with this beast of a man in his den, doing anything but feel. But when his hand tangles in my hair, tugging my head back so hismouth can crush mine again, hard, bruising and desperate, I know I’m lost.

I’m his.

I always was.

Twenty Two

Aslan

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