Page 69 of Bratva Baby

“Look at me,” he grinds out.

I glance up, mouth full of him, and the look on his face is primal. Sweat runs down his neck. He bites his lip, that scar at the edge of his mouth pulling tight, and when I hum around him, the sound sends him lurching, hips thrusting into my mouth.

“Fuck, yes—just like that. Good girl.”

I take the thrusts, letting him use my mouth, hollowing my cheeks to draw more of him in, breathing through my nose as he hits the back of my throat. Tears prick my eyes at the stretch, but he groans my name in this reverent, feral way that makes me moan with him, the vibration making his cock jerk against my tongue.

“Goddamn, you’re perfect,” he growls, fingers tangling in my hair. “I’m close.”

I pull back just enough to circle the head with my tongue, teasing the underside, then descend again, slower, deeper, swallowing around him until he snarls, hips shaking.

“Fuck—Sofiya, I’m gonna⁠—”

I tighten my grip at the base, holding him still, and pull off with a wet pop, stroking him with my hand while I lick his head in teasing flicks. He stares down with murder in his eyes.

“Cruel woman.”

Smiling, I lean in, lick up the vein along his shaft, then stand, kiss him again. He kisses back like it’s punishment, tongue stroking every inch he can reach while his hand slides between my thighs and finds me wet again, fingers circling, pressing.

“Bed?” I breathe.

“No time.”

“Anton.”

His eyes flash. “Desk, then couch, then bed. You’re getting all of it.”

“Greedy.”

“With you? Always.”

He spins me, bending me over the desk, my chest pressing against the scattered papers. His hand splays across my lower back, pinning me there, while his other hand glides under the open shirt and up to cup my breast, fingers tweaking my nipple until I gasp.

“Say my name,” he orders.

“Anton.”

“Again.”

“Anton.”

He groans, leaning forward to bite the back of my shoulder. I shiver, muscles clenching. His fingers trail back down, slip between my thighs, and he slides two inside me without warning.

“Ahh, fuuu⁠—”

“So tight,” he mutters, working them in and out, knuckles dragging against my swollen walls. “You want my cock.”

“Yes.”

“You’re dripping for it.”

“I know.”

“Beg me.”

“No.”

His rhythm slows cruelly.