Page 49 of Bratva Baby

“No,” I say, defiant, but my body betrays me by already moving, climbing onto the mattress and bracing on all fours. “Fuck you for ordering me.”

He strips his belt, his pants, his boxer briefs, cock springing free, thick and pulsing, veins cording the length. My mouth waters. He drags the belt through his fist, the leather whispering, and something dark rolls through me.

“You don’t like orders?” he asks.

“I like control,” I throw back, looking over my shoulder. “If you want me down, you fight me for it.”

He tosses the belt aside and crawls onto the bed, looming behind me. His palm smacks my ass, sharp and hot. I gasp, and he rubs the sting with his fingers. “You’re flushed,” he notes, voice wicked. “You’re wet again just from the sound.”

“I’m mad,” I growl.

“You’re both,” he corrects and slaps me again, harder, the crack echoing. “Say you want more.”

“Go to hell.”

He spanks me again, even harder, and heat blooms across my cheek. I whine despite myself. “Say it,” he insists.

“Fuck you,” I hiss. “More. Happy?”

He laughs, breathing ragged. “Ecstatic.” He smacks my ass twice more, then catches the waistband of my panties with both hands and rips them clean, shredding the lace and tossing the scraps aside. Cool air hits my soaked slit and I tremble.

He spreads my cheeks, glides his thumb down to my cunt, collects the slick, and coats the head of his cock with it. He nudges the tip at my entrance, teasing. “Still angry?” he asks.

“Yes,” I snap, pressing back. “Stop talking.”

He slams into me in one relentless thrust. I scream, “Fuck!” He fills me to the hilt, thick cock stretching me, hips slamming into my ass. He doesn’t pause, banging into me over and over, the bed frame slamming into the wall with each brutal stroke. My breasts bounce, nipples scraping the sheets, and I moan, “Ahh. Anton, yes.”

“Listen to yourself,” he grits. “You’re dripping. You love it when I handle you like this.”

“I hate you,” I gasp, pushing back to meet his thrusts, the friction exquisite. “I hate how good you fuck me.”

“Lie all you want,” he says, slapping my ass again mid-thrust. “Your pussy tells me the truth.” He drives deeper, relentless, the sound of flesh hitting flesh loud and wet. “You feel that?” he demands. “Feel my cock owning your tight little hole?”

“Yes,” I sob, overwhelmed. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He leans over me, chest to my back, one hand gripping my hair and yanking my head up. “Say my name.”

“Anton,” I whimper.

“Again.”

“Anton.” I’m panting, drooling, desperate. He growls and kisses the back of my neck, tongue hot on my skin, then sinks his teeth into my shoulder hard enough to bruise. I cry out. “Ahh!”

“That’s mine,” he snarls against the bite. “They’ll see it in the morning and know you were screaming on my cock.”

He slams into me faster, deeper, his balls slapping my clit, sending sparks shooting through me. “You getting close?” he pants. “You going to come for me like a good girl?”

“I’m not your girl,” I chant, but my body is betraying me, clit throbbing, orgasm coiling. “Fuck—yes—keep fucking me⁠—”

He snakes his hand around and slaps my clit, sharp and perfect. I convulse, screaming, “Anton!” The orgasm detonates, my cunt clamping down on him, pulsating, milking his length. He roars, hips stuttering, and I feel him swell, then pour hot cum deep inside me, flooding me.

“Jesus, Sofiya,” he groans, shuddering. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”

He stays buried inside, breathing hard, hands still gripping my hips. I collapse onto the mattress, cheek pressed to the sheet, body limp. He pulls out slowly, his cock sliding free, cum dripping down my thighs. I whimper at the loss.

He rolls me onto my back and braces himself over me, kissing me hard again, owning my mouth as thoroughly as he owned my body. I taste sweat, blood, lust. He pulls back, eyes dark. “Still angry?”

“Yes,” I whisper, even as I reach up to anchor him to me. “But I’m not done.”