Page 104 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

“Good, because I can’t wait.” I slide down the zipper of his trousers and touch him.

“Yeah, Sandrine, rub my cock.”

The length of him bulges at an angle, and it’s a challenge to get my hand around it.

Feeling brave, I step back and lift my dress over my head, taking my bra with it. And now I’m standing in front of Kirill with just a very narrow set of panties.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he says, rolling one of my nipples between two fingers.

His tongue swirls around the nub until he moves to the other breast. I close my eyes, feeling nervous. I don’t want him to stop. I have to get over my shyness. We’ve done this before.

“Are you wet for me?” he rasps. “Are you wet for your pakhan?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He steps back to shuck his pants.

When he removes his pants and lowers his briefs, he fists his cock. Wetness beads on the tip, a pearly drop sliding down the shaft. His cock is huge and thick. It hangs heavy and dangerous between his legs.

“Will that fit?” I ask without thinking.

He laughs. “Not only did I fit so perfectly inside your cunt, but you also fit my kid through it.”

“What if I’m not tight enough anymore?” I recall him saying we never had sex again after I gave birth.

He narrows his eyes on me. “Have you been using a giant toy to pleasure yourself this whole time?”

I swat him. “No.”

“So a small one?” He smirks.

“Nothing,” I annunciate.

“It’s okay if you did. So long as no other man touched you. It’s been a long time, Sandrine.”

“It’s been the same for you.”

“I’ve kept myself satisfied.”

I consider asking who he thought of, but that’s not fair. Instead, I inhale nervously as I drink him in. Kirill is the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on, with a body for sin.

“What about the rest of me?” I stroke my stomach. “I woke up with these thin white slivers but never knew what they were from.”

His fingertips dust over my stomach. “Those are stretch marks. They’re from birthing my daughter.”

“And you’re not grossed out? You’re freaking perfect, Kirill.”

“You think these marks make you less beautiful?” He drops to his knees and kisses the marks I’m suddenly desperate to hide. “Look at me, Sandrine.”

When I do, his expression is almost offended.

“Don’t ever be ashamed of these.” His hand spreads possessively across my waist. “These scars are from carrying my child.” He kisses one of them. “You gave me Violet.”

I swallow, shaking my head, not knowing what to feel.

“Gave us Violet.” His gaze darkens. “If anything, they make me want you more.”

“You’re not real, are you?”