Page 115 of Bratva Baby

I open my eyes. The skyline stretches endless, glowing through the rain, a city that used to spell threat and ambition. Now it’s ours. Not because he wanted a throne, but because we needed somewhere to build a safe life for our child, for each other. The thought tightens something in my chest. He feels the shift, drives into me harder, deeper, as though he wants to hammer the point home physically as well as verbally.

“I’m here,” he says against my shoulder. “I’m not letting anything touch you.” He punctuates each word with a thrust that nudges against the spot inside me that flashes like a live wire. Sparks shoot up my spine. My mouth opens on a soundless gasp.

“Anton.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t stop.”

He lifts one hand, slides it up my body to wrap around my throat from the front, fingers pressing lightly on the sides, thumb stroking my jaw. My pulse beats frantic under his grip. He whispers in my ear. “Feel that? Your heart’s racing. Let me move it where I want.” He squeezes just enough to make the world narrow, to make every nerve sharpen on the thrust of his cock. I moan, the sound strangled by his hand.

He releases my throat, brings his fingers to my mouth. “Suck.” His voice leaves no room for argument. I open, take them in, tongues swirling around the digits drenched in my slick from earlier. He watches, eyes burning, and groans when I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard. He slides them out, trails them down my breast, pinches a nipple, then drags them further south to find my clit again.

“Hold on,” he orders.

I brace and he thrusts faster, slamming me against the glass with each stroke. The frame rattles. The hand on my clit moves ruthlessly, circles sharp and exact, the other hand clamping my hip so hard I know I’ll wear his imprint tomorrow. The combined pressure builds, the coil returning with vicious speed.

My head tips back against his shoulder. He kisses my jaw, my ear, whispers filthy encouragements. “So fucking tight. So wet. You love when I fuck you against the window. You love that someone might look up and see us. Say it.”

I shake my head, breathless. He bites my shoulder again, harder. “Say it.”

“I love it,” I gasp. “Goddamn you.”

“Good girl.” He rubs faster. “Come.”

I explode. There’s no buildup this time, only the immediate, violent release that tears a scream from my throat. My knees buckle. He catches me, keeps thrusting even while I quake around him, milking his cock with every pulse. The fall seems endless. The glass fogs as I gasp for air. He rides me through the aftershocks, voice turning savage.

“That’s it. Give me everything.”

He doesn’t let up. The grip on my clit softens but doesn’t stop, coaxing, prolonging. My body trembles, thighs shaking uncontrollably. I push back into him, begging without words for more. He answers with guttural curses, thrusts turning erratic as his own release builds.

“Turn around,” he growls. He pulls out, spins me by the shoulders, and pushes me back against the glass, facing him now. My chest heaves. He looks feral—hair mussed, eyes wild, jaw clenched. His cock glistens with my slick.

“Knees,” he commands.

I sink down. The cold tile bites my kneecaps, grounding me as I wrap my hand around his cock. He hisses through his teeth when I stroke. “Open,” he orders. I take him into my mouth without hesitation, tasting myself on him, swirling my tongue around the head before sliding down as far as my throat allows. He groans, head tipping back.

“Fuck, Sofiya.” His hand fists in my hair, guiding, pulling me down until his shaft hits the back of my throat. I breathe through my nose, swallow, let him fuck my mouth. He thrusts slow, measured, and I meet each push with a moan that vibrates around him. Spit slicks my chin. He watches me, eyes molten, lip caught between his teeth.

“You look so good like this,” he growls. “My wife, my queen, on her knees for me.” I hum, the sound earning a desperate curse. He holds my head and thrusts a little faster, hitting deep. My eyes water. He loves that. He slides out, letting me catch my breath, then feeds himself back in. I hollow my cheeks, suck hard, and the vein along his shaft jumps.

He gentles, pulls me up again by my hair, kisses me like he needs my mouth to survive. I climb up his body, wrap my legs around him, and he lifts me easily, pressing me against the glass again. His cock nudges my entrance and I sink down onto him, both of us groaning as he stretches me again. I cling to his shoulders, digging nails into muscle, while he rolls his hips slowly, letting us both drown in the pressure.

He carries me away from the window and across the room, each step still inside me, every motion a reminder of how much we’ve learned each other’s bodies. He lowers us onto the couch in the sitting area, laying me out and crawling over me like a tide. The rain-hazed city remains in the background, but now the room closes in, intimate and dark.

Anton braces on his elbows, thrusting deeper now, the couch springs groaning under the rhythm. My legs hook around his waist, ankles locking at his lower back. He pumps harder, sweat slicking his chest, eyes never leaving mine. Every stroke sends a fresh wave of heat through me, even my overstimulated body begging for more.

“You’re a miracle,” he says, voice rough, every word punctuated by a push. “You gave me a daughter. You survived me. You still want my hands. My mouth.” He kisses me, crushing, feral. “Marry me.”

I blink up at him, brain stuttering. “We already live together.” I gasp when he thrusts particularly deep, hitting a spot that makes me see glass-sharp stars.

“That isn’t enough for me anymore.” His hand slips between us, rubbing my clit again because he knows I’ll answer quicker when my body is melting. Manipulative bastard. Perfect, manipulative bastard.

I laugh breathlessly, even as he rides me. “You always did know when I’d agree to anything.”

“Say yes,” he whispers. “Please.” The word is almost silent. He thrusts again, deeper, and his control frays. I feel him shaking, perched on the edge, refusing to fall until I do.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Obviously, yes!”