Page 29 of Bratva's Stolen Bride
My name on her lips is the trigger I need.
My orgasm erupts, the base starting the wave of ecstasy that rolls up my length and then I’m pumping white fluid over her.
I don’t hold back. I spray her with it, exploding in ropes over her pussy. Her stomach. Those pert little tits I’d like to fuck. By the fourth pulse I shift forward and it sprays over her shocked face.
I roar as I come all over her, in a blatantly territorial claiming.
She isn’t my son’s. She’s not leaving me. She belongs to me, and I want everyone to know it. She’smineto protect.
It racks through me, releasing all the pent-up need from hours of wanting her. I come a copious amount, milking everydrop onto her skin. Somewhere in the waves of pleasure, there’s a truth that I can’t admit. This is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
Payton’s mouth is an “O” as she watches me, pink cheeked.
This time I sink down next to her on the sofa.
Bracing my forearm beside her head, I lean over her, and trail my hand down her neck to where her bikini top is rucked up. There’s a splash of white liquid there, and I smear it.
“I imagined this when I put suncream on you,” I grit out.
She whimpers softly. My lizard brain keeps my fingers moving. Massaging it in like I did earlier.
I continue down, my mind clear in the same way as it was when I chased her as I work my semen into her skin. Thoroughly.
I want it so deep into her it won’t wash off. So she feels me in her as I do her. I don’t know how, but there was a Payton-shaped space in my heart, and she slotted right into it.
“You’re so beautiful,” I mutter. I’m compulsively rubbing it into her stomach now, moving across her skin until she’s shiny with it everywhere.
Except, there’s some sprayed between her legs, and as I touch her there, her breathing goes ragged again.
I pause. It’s one thing to put my come over her belly and imagine that part of her growing with my child. It’s another to push that seed over the pretty folds of her pussy.
“Only just orgasmed, but you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” I say under my breath. “Do you want more?”
“Feliks, please. Touch me.”
I’m lightheaded with her words as I slide my fingers over her clit and she moans.
“Shall I finger you with this? Can you feel the slippery, dirty, naughtiness of it?” I rub her little bud and smile as she bucks her hips.
“Yes. Please.”
“Good girl for asking.” I intensify the pressure around her clit, feeling for exactly the right amount. “I like it when you use your words.”
“Oh!” She throws her head back.
I murmur my approval, and switch to Russian as I pour out the excessive thoughts I’ve had since we met. That I want her to have my children. Be my wife. That I’d lay down my life for her if needed, but I fear I’d do much harder things too.
I describe how she makes me want to be a better man, but at the same time, by taking what I most desire—her—I’m being my worst self.
She’s irresistible.
There’s a splash of semen on her face, and as she gets close to coming, I smooth it over her cheek and paint it over her lips.
Then her tongue wets her bottom lip, and I instinctively nudge my finger into her mouth.
And that’s when she cries out, a climax that sparks from me invading her.
I ease off for her, nudging at the side of her clit to draw out her orgasm more.
