Page 37 of My Bratva Dom

I grab her hips and flip her on her stomach, throwing the sheet off the bed, baring her juicy ass. I slip between her legs, dragging her hips up, spreading her open.

“You still sore, baby?” I murmur, dragging my tongue down her spine.

“A little…”

“Good.” She laughs, turning to swat at my chest. I bite the soft curve of her hip, making her shiver. “Means I did it right.” I take her in my arms and press a soft kiss to her lips. “You’re mine,” I murmur again, softer this time.

Her hand finds mine, fingers curling over mine.

“I know,” she whispers.

And that’s all I need.

Twenty Five

Tina

I wake up feeling like I’ve been run over by a freight train.

A very big, very strong, very insatiable freight train named Aslan.

Every inch of me aches, a delicious, throbbing reminder of everything he did to me last night… and this morning… and again after that.

I blink groggily at the ceiling, wincing as I shift. My thighs are sore. My core is tender. I still feel a throb in my ass. And there’s a dull, pulsing ache low in my belly, like my body’s still trying to process the fact that he claimed me so thoroughly.

I feel… wrecked. Used. Owned.

And I’ve never felt better in my life. I’ll submit to this man for as long as he’ll have me.

The bed dips beside me, warm, solid weight curling against myback.

“You awake?” His voice is low and gravelly, still rough from sleep.

I turn my head, meeting his gaze. His hair is a mess, his face shadowed with dark stubble. He looks… gorgeous. Good enough to eat.

“Barely,” I croak.

His grin turns wicked. “Yeah?” He drags his fingers down my hip slowly. “You feel good?”

“Good?” I let out a hoarse laugh. “I feel like I just survived a hurricane.”

Aslan chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against my back.

His fingers drift to my waist, tracing lazy circles over my belly. “You’ll be okay.”

I sigh, melting into his touch. “I don’t think I can move.”

“You don’t have to.” He leans in, pressing his mouth to my shoulder. “I’ll take care of you.”

And he does.

I lose track of time, drifting in and out of sleep while he does exactly that me like I’m made of glass.

Aslan cleans me up with a warm cloth between my thighs, his hands gentle despite their size and calluses. He helps me to the bathroom, steadies me when my legs wobble. Wraps me in oneof his shirts. It’s soft, oversized and smells like him. Then he carries me back to bed like my plus-size body weighs nothing.

Then he feeds me a thick toast of fresh bread dripping with honey. Fresh fruit sliced into perfect bite sizes. And brings a glass of water to my lips, watching closely as I drink every drop.

“More,” he orders gruffly, refilling the glass. “You’re gonna need it.”

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