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Deck the Halls with Bratva Brawls

Page 67

by Gianni Holmes

Yuriy slapped a palm to his chest dramatically. “Amazing. Roles reversed. I’m over here being the serious, responsible adult worried about your welfare, and you’re making jokes about being full of my cum. I don’t like this timeline.”

He stepped in behind me, and before I could tell him to back off, he wrapped his arm around my waist—not sexual, just steadying—and herded me toward the toilet. “Come on, I’ll help you piss and take a shower.” He flipped the toilet lid and took hold of my cock, but I brushed his hand aside.

“I’m not that helpless.”

He sighed. “Fine. Be shy, as if you didn’t love me sucking on your clit last night.”

The breath whooshed from my mouth. Fuck. He was making me hard and delaying my pee.

“Must you call it that?”

“Why not?” he murmured, stamping a kiss between my shoulder blades. His lips trailed lower, then up again, lazy and warm. “You love the way I feminize your dick. Don’t think I can’t see you getting hard.”

His teeth grazed the back of my neck, soft, teasing, infuriatingly affectionate. Usually I sat when peeing but I’d be damned if I’d let Yuriy see that.

I shook my head and tried to focus, which was becoming damn near impossible with him breathing down my spine like he couldn’t keep his mouth off me. His fingers skimmed the ridge of my backbone, tracing it like he was learning me by touch. The bastard even nipped at my nape, light enough to tease, firm enough to make me shiver.

He was so damn casual about all this—dragging an older man to bed, screwing his rival, defiling his brother’s father-in-law—like it was a recreational hobby. And of course he didn’t even blink at the sight of my dick, which looked twice as tragic in its flaccid state.

He had no shame. Or too much confidence. Probably both. And the worst part? Somewhere between the kisses, the touches, and the way he acted like my body was a playground built just for him…I didn’t hate it.

Yuriy’s hand slid down my stomach, over the faint bruise he’d left last night, and then he wrapped his fingers around my cock like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A low sigh rattled out of me. “Yuriy.”

He rested his chin on my shoulder, lips brushing my ear as he aimed me with the kind of focus usually reserved for disarming bombs. “Relax, babe, and pee. Let me take care of you.”

“I am relaxed,” I muttered, even though my lungs refused to cooperate, but finally, a steady stream hit the bowl.

“Mm.” His breath warmed my neck as he whispered, “Look how good you can be for me.”

My pulse stuttered. “Are you trying to fuck? Because⁠—”

Yuriy chuckled against my skin, a low, pleased sound that somehow tightened everything inside me. “Is that really the only time I’m allowed to be romantic? When I want to get you into bed?”

“You tell me,” I grumbled. “I’m new to… this.”

A rival holding my dick while I peed and whispering praise like it was foreplay.

He hummed thoughtfully, still guiding me, still touching me like he could read me through his fingertips. “For the record, I don’t do this with everyone.”

I snorted. “No? You don’t treat all your sex buddies to fancy hotels and… whatever the hell this is?”

“Never. I never cared if any of them returned. Hell, half the time I forgot their names before they put their clothes back on.” He glided his hand up my spine, surprisingly gentle. “But you, Stanislav… You’re different. I’d bring breakfast straight to your pillow every day if it meant I could get my hands on you again like last night. I’d spoil you rotten if it’d get you back under me and let me play your body like my fiddle.”

I froze.

He seemed not to notice but trailed his lips over the side of my throat, throwing me entirely off-balance. How was it that he needed convincing last night, but this morning, he was so committed?

The stream slowed, then stopped, and Yuriy gave me a little flick, then stroked my dick—gentle, almost sweet. “That’s such a beautiful clit. I’m tempted to suck on it.”

“Yuriy—” Why did I call his name when I was at a loss for words?

He released me and chuckled. “Get in the shower, Stanislav. I’ll wash you myself.”

His palm cracked against my sore ass, snapping me out of my stupor. I hissed and grabbed the counter, glaring over my shoulder.

“Son of a bitch.”