Page 104 of Bratva's Vow
“Sweet boy, of course I’ll be here. Go to sleep.”
His fingers moved in slow, gentle circles now, slick with his cum, teasing the edge of soreness and pleasure. I sighed into his skin, my whole body humming with aftershocks. There was something hypnotic about the way he played with me. Absentminded, possessive, like I belonged to him even in sleep. My limbs grew heavy. My breath slowed. I felt myself drifting, weightless again, under the steady rhythm of his fingers.
Why had he come home so horny? Had his business gone well tonight? The thought slipped from me before it could form into words. Sleep pulled me under, and I went willingly, still stretched open around his fingers.
Still his.
Forever his.
Maxim had lied to me. I woke up to nothing.
No heat. No weight. No arms wrapped tight around me like usual.
I blinked blearily at the soft morning light slanting in through the curtains and reached out on instinct, expecting skin and muscle and that ever-present scent of Maxim.
All I found were cold sheets.
I pouted.
Lifting my head, I squinted around the room, thendragged myself to the edge of the bed. Everything ached in the best possible way. My thighs were aching, my hole was sore, even my throat felt slightly raw, and yet, I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.
We’d made up.
I padded to the bathroom, yawning as I relieved myself and brushed my teeth. The reflection in the mirror looked thoroughly ruined. Eyes puffy with sleep, lips kiss-swollen, neck blooming with dark marks. Mine. His. Ours.
My whole body bore the ache of being well loved last night.
I rinsed, spat, and shuffled out of the en suite, then tugged one of Maxim’s discarded shirts over my head and went to find him.
The scent hit me first. Coffee, butter, something warm and toasty. I followed it down the stairs to the kitchen.
Maxim had his back to me. Shirtless. Hair still damp from a shower. His back and chest were covered in bruises. Fuck. Had I done that last night? My face burned, but a feeling of pride filled my chest, remembering how I’d made him come three times last night.
He bent over the counter as he unpacked what looked like three full paper bags of breakfast.
I crossed the kitchen and flung my arms around him from behind, burrowing against the hard planes of his back. “You liar,” I mumbled into his skin.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Hm?”
“You said you’d be in bed when I woke up.” I pouted, deliberately dramatic. “I was hoping for snuggles.”
Maxim reached back and gave my ass a playful swat. “I am trying to be romantic, solnyshko, and you’re ruining it. You weren’t supposed to come down yet. I thought you’d be worn out after last night, so I’d have time to wake you up myself.”
“And how were you planning on waking me up?”
“Me soothing your hole with my mouth in apology for last night.”
Fuck, he was right. I’d ruined it. “There’s no apology needed. I and my hole thank you for the generosity you showed it last night.”
Maxim chuckled, turned around, and wrapped his arms around my waist, then lowered his head. His lips touched mine, gentle, coaxing, not demanding. The kind of kiss that didn’t need heat to leave me breathless. Just the warmth of him, the care behind it. He kissed me like he meant it. Like he felt it. Each brush of his mouth was unhurried, reverent, like he was learning me all over again.
He traced lazy circles at the small of my back with his thumb while he cradled my jaw with his other hand, and I melted into him without hesitation. The world quieted. All that remained was this—soft lips, a steady hold, and the quiet certainty that last night we chose each other again.
“Go back to bed so I can show you my romantic side,” Maxim said.
“Romantic?” I peeked over his shoulder at the logos stamped on the brown bags. “From Bakery House? Maxim, you ordered breakfast?”
“It’s good food. You said you loved it before.”
