Page 3 of My Bratva Dom

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I put out my smoke, shoulder off my jacket with jerky movements, and roughly tug at my belt, shoving my slacks and boxers down just far enough to free my cock. I’m already leaking, red and swollen, hard just from thinking about her. My big hand wraps around my thick shaft, tight and rough. Stroking it, but that’s not enough. I need more. I grab the jacket I wore earlier, the one that still smells of her, and drag it to my face. Breathing her scent where she had her hand on my shoulder in the car, as I jerk myself hard and fast.

I can still feel her breath against my neck, warm and teasing, like she knew exactly what kind of animal she was poking.

I groan, low and rough, my calloused fingers tightening around my pulsing flesh.

I imagine her mouth stretching wide, lips slick and swollen as she struggles to take me.

“Fuck, baby… just like that.”

I picture her ass bouncing against my hips, bruised from my grip, while I fuck her deep and hard.

“Gonna make you mine,” I grunt between ragged breaths. “Gonna break you, brat… gonna fucking ruin you.”

The tension builds, hot and sharp, until my muscles lock and my body jerks, thick ropes of cum spilling over my fist.

I slump back against the chair, chest heaving, still gripping myself like I can’t let go.

Not enough.

I squeeze my cock again, still hard, still fucking starving, and grit my teeth.

Fuck, this isn’t just lust. It’s not just some itch I can scratch away. I fucking need this girl. Under me, soft and helpless, so I can fucking own her, wreck her, fill her until she knows who she belongs to.

I wipe my hand on my discarded jacket and exhale another ragged breath.

I warned you, little girl. Keep pushing and you’ll find out exactly what happens to brats who cross a dom.

Three

Tina

Marie’s room is huge, bigger than my entire apartment in New York. The bed could comfortably fit five adults, and the walk-in closet looks like something out of a fashion show.

“So, you’re really happy here?” I ask her.

My sister rolls her eyes. “Yes, Tina.”

I smile. Looks like marrying into the mob has made my sweet sister a bit sassy. Good for her.

Stretched out on the bed next to her, I pretend to study my nails. “Was expecting you to be chained to a radiator or something.”

She snorts, grabbing a pillow and whacking me with it.

“Hey!” I laugh, swatting her back. “I’m just saying, you’re married to a scary Bratva boss.”

“Viktor’s not scary,” she replies, beaming.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Okay,” she admits, raising her hands, her smile widening, “he is. But not to me.” Her eyes soften. “He’s good to me, sis. I swear.”

I want to believe her. She looks good. Glowing, happy.

“That’s good because if he screws up, you know I’ll go full-on psycho-sister on his big scary ass.” Marie laughs. “Anyway,” I add, changing the subject, “how’s the whole ‘living in a fortress’ experience?”

“It’s different, but the guys aren’t bad once you get to know them. Most of them just let me be.”

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