Page 68 of Bratva Baby

“Up,” he says. “On your feet.”

Breathless though I am, I still find a comeback. “Bossy.”

“You get wet when I’m bossy.”

“I get wet when you breathe near me.”

He smirks. “That too.”

He stands and shucks his shirt off with a flex of muscle that makes my mouth dry up, then tosses it to the floor and reaches for my waist, hauling me against his bare chest. Heat radiates from his skin. He tastes like sweat and lust and Sofiya, and I fucking love it.

“You’re blushing,” he murmurs.

“Shut up.”

He kisses me, tongue tracing the seam of my lips before he slips inside, letting me taste myself on him. I groan, and he breathes harder, bracing us both against the desk.

“You feel what you do to me?” he asks.

I do. His cock is rock-hard against my stomach, pressing through his slacks with shameless pressure. I slide my hand down and trace along the length, cupping him just to feel the sharp inhale that shakes his shoulders.

“That’s not fair.”

“Life is hard,” I throw back.

“You’re impossible.”

“You like that,” I say, stroking him once more before I drop to my knees.

His breath stops. “Sofiya.”

“Take your pants off.”

“You planning on begging?”

“I’m planning on owning your dick.”

“Sweetheart,” he grits, “you already⁠—”

I unbuckle his belt, tug his fly open, and shove his pants and briefs down with impatient hands, freeing him in one smooth pull. He springs out, thick and flushed, vein pulsing along the shaft, slick at the tip. My throat tightens.

I look up, meeting his gaze while I wrap one hand around him. “You complain about my mouth. Let me show you why you shouldn’t.”

“Always a teacher.”

“Shut up and let me use you.”

He grunts, bracing one hand on the desk behind me and the other on my shoulder, thumb running along my collarbone. I stroke him slowly, twisting my wrist, sliding along the length just to watch his jaw clench.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re trouble.”

“You love trouble.”

I lean forward and take him into my mouth, sliding my lips over the head, swirling my tongue around it before I sink lower, stretching my throat as he groans, deep and raw.

“Fuck, Sofiya.”

I take more, using both hands—one cupping his balls, the other stroking the slick base while my mouth works over him. He tastes familiar now, salt and heat, the faint tang of pre-come spreading across my tongue. I hollow my cheeks and suck hard, letting spit drip down to coat him, my other hand twisting, milking.