Page 135 of Bratva's Intern

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

WREN

Maxim growled against my skin, gently biting down on the juncture of my neck and shoulder. A strangled moan escaped me, and he chuckled, the vibration buzzing against my skin, making me impossibly hard.

“That’s my good boy,” he purred against my throat, fumbling with the fastenings of my belt.

I opened up his shirt just enough to slide one palm over the ripple of muscles on his chest. Every inch of him was a tantalizing mystery that I wanted to explore, to taste. I pinched one nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. He hissed, his head lolling back, eyes half-closed.

“You keep that up, and I won’t last for long.” He pushed my hands gently away from his nipples.

“You like it.”

“Way too much. Come here.”

He tugged me to my feet, his hands busy at the fastenings of my pants, which gave way quickly under his dexterousfingers. Maxim cupped me through my panties—my red lace panties. The kind I now wore because he’d asked me to. My hips jerked from his rough hands, and and I grabbed the desk behind me.

“Uh-uh. Stay still,” Maxim said against my throat.

“Sorry, Mr. Morozov.”

His breath hitched as he slid his hand into my panties and wrapped his fingers around my cock. His touch was sure and firm, his grip possessive as he stroked me slowly, thumb swiping over my wet tip. I couldn’t help but grind into his hand, seeking more of the blissful friction that was driving me crazy.

“Mr. Morozov…” My voice broke off into whimpers as he increased his pace, the pleasure escalating until my knees threatened to buckle.

“That’s it. That’s my good boy…” His voice rumbled in my ear, sending tremors down my spine. I clamped down on a moan while Maxim’s words echoed in my ears. “Let me take care of you.”

He dropped to his knees in front of me, and I nearly lost it. In my fantasies, it was always me on my knees, servicing him.

Maxim’s mouth was warm, demanding, perfect. He dragged his tongue slowly and purposefully, like he wanted to break me down piece by piece. I fisted the edge of the desk, eyes rolling back, thighs trembling under the weight of his grip.

“Fuck—” I gasped.

He groaned, the vibration almost too much, and when he finally pulled off, eyes dark and lips slick, he stood and kissed me again like he couldn’t bear the distance.

“Turn over,” he said, voice like gravel and sin.

I obeyed, still dazed, still aching. I braced my hands on the desk, letting him manhandle me into place. He grabbedmy hips, like his hands belonged there. Like I belonged to him.

He pressed against me, his breath hot against the back of my neck. His arousal pressed against me through his pants. Not coarse from poor quality, but because my skin was too sensitive.

He kissed the back of my neck. “Beg me to fuck you.”

Hesitation flashed through me, and insecurity over the incident earlier threatened to interrupt the moment, but I pushed it away.

Maxim loved me, and if he made me moan soft like a bitch, so what? I loved it. And I was more of a screamer anyway.

“Please fuck me, Mr. Morozov.”

Maxim froze behind me like the words had punched the air from his lungs. A sharp exhale hit the back of my neck, then a low, growled response that sent fire right through me.

“That’s it,” he said, voice pure gravel. “Say it again.”

“Please. Fuck me, Mr. Morozov.” I whimpered, pressing back into the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants. “I want your cock inside me so much.”

“How much? Do you think about riding my cock at your desk when you should be working?”

“Yes, sir. All the time.”

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