Page 14 of Sold to the Bratva
I lean in close, close enough to let my breath kiss her ear. “Get on the bed,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “And spread your legs.”
She shudders and we circle in a silent dance until she’s flat on the mattress, legs splayed, eyes half closed. I lean over to snag the vibrator from beneath the sheets, and that’s when the alcohol on her breath hits me.
Maybe her compliance comes from pure need, but after our texts and her total lack of protest, I’m starting to realize she’s drunk. I won’t take advantage of her, yet that doesn’t mean I won’t help finish the quest she started.
“Let’s get something straight,” I say. “When you’re my wife, and you will be, I’ll give you unimaginable pleasure. You think you can crawl under my skin and shove me away, but it won’t work. You’re already there, Katya.”
She shivers when I say her name, arching toward the purple toy I’m dangling an inch from where she needs it.
“And one day, I’ll be under your skin. And you’ll be begging for this every single night.”
She moans and cups her bra-clad breasts, ratcheting my desire even higher. I’m not sure she even realizes she’s doing it. She’s wound tight and desperate for release. Who am I to deny her?
“When I make you come, you won’t be able to get enough of me.”
She opens her eyes, fury sparking. “I don’t want you,” she says, the protest half-hearted. “I never will.”
“Not yet,” I tease, switching on the vibrator and pressing it ever so gently against her clit.
Her body jolts, a raw scream tearing from her throat. For a second I think she might climax right there. She likes the dirty talk and the control I have over her. I ease back, teasing her, and she whimpers.
“I could erase every reason you’ve given yourself to hate me,” I say, gaze locked on hers. “I can make you forget your name. And when you’re mine, you’ll forget this flimsy little toy even exists.”
The moment the toy touches her again, her back arches and deliciously dirty words spill from her lips.
“Fuck,” she moans. “Don’t stop!”
I love the way she writhes and moans, but I’m all too aware she isn’t fully in her senses. Hell, neither am I, and I haven’t had a drop tonight. My cock painfully throbs against my zipper, yet tonight isn’t for me. She needs to feel exactly what she claims to despise. This teasing, testing game is meant to drive her crazy, make her burn for me until her whole body is on fire.
I keep my eyes locked on her face, studying every reaction. I don’t need to touch her with my hands tonight. I won’t until she’s sober. Not until she can give full, enthusiastic consent. Having her this way feels like cheating.
But the sight of her squirming beneath the toy, thighs quaking, breath stuttering with each pass, brands itself on my brain. The minute I get home, I’ll picture her exactly like this while I chase my own release. I’ll remember the sound of her juices squelching against the vibrator and imagine those same sounds as I imagine myself fucking her as deep as I can go.
Her hips roll, and I use the toy to nudge her panties aside before sliding it inside. She lifts into the touch, her whole body moving with abandon. She bites her lip and pinches her hard nipples, breathing in short, sensual gasps that make me painfully hard. I wish I could record those sounds and play them back like a lullaby. There will be time for that soon. This moment only confirms how much I need her.
It takes almost no time for her muscles to tense, the telltale signs of orgasm rippling through her. I smirk, proud I’m the one to push her over, but what spills from her lips as she falls apart nearly finishes me.
“Isaac,” she moans my name like it’s a confession. A surrender.
I grit my teeth. There’s no going back now. I adjust the toy’s angle, and she lets out a broken plea. Her hands twist in the sheets, her body grinding against the toy as she repeats my name over and over.
I can think only of how I won’t let this woman slip away. When she shatters, it’s exquisite. Silence in the air, thighs clenching, and then her whole body tipping over the edge before shecrashes into pleasure with a cry that blends fury and euphoria and belongs solely to me.
I remove the toy and don’t touch her again, no matter how loudly my body screams at me. I want to leave her desperate, panting, hungry for more. I hope this moment sears itself into her brain the way it has into mine, so that whenever she remembers it, she can’t help wanting me.
But I won’t abandon her after the seismic shift between us. I lean in and press a chaste kiss to her forehead. Her body shifts, hands flexing as if to grab me, kiss me, tether me. Even now she fights the instinct and lets her arms fall. She says nothing and won’t meet my eyes, but I know my point is made.
I pull back, tucking the toy into the pocket of my slacks, and straighten. She opens her eyes and her mouth to argue, but I press a finger to her lips.
“As my wife,” I say quietly, “you won’t need this anymore.”
She stares up at me, panting, lips parted, eyes half-lidded.
I move toward the door. Just before I step out, I glance over my shoulder. “Feel free to text me any time.”
Then I leave her there, flushed, trembling, undone.
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