Page 26 of Brutal Bratva’s Owned Hostage

Dmitri stared at me like my frustration had grounded him more thoroughly than anything else that entire night. He reached up slowly and touched my face, his thumb brushing tentatively against my cheek, like he expected me to pull away.

I didn’t.

Then he rose to his feet. Something in his expression softened in a way I still wasn’t used to seeing on him. The space between us collapsed slowly. And then we were kissing.

The kiss was not playful or rushed. It carried exhaustion, relief, and something deeper. I felt the emotional weight of it before I felt anything physical at all. The thought of how easily I responded to him despite everything I knew about the life he actually lived and the violence that had put that wound in his side in the first place scared me a bit. But it didn’t stop me.

We moved toward the bedroom without breaking apart, his arm wrapped around me, mine careful of his injured side. The two of us moved together in the practiced way I assumed couples learn without ever discussing.

“Dmitri, you shouldn’t,” I started, breaking off the kiss as he lifted me toward the center of our bed. “You’re wounded. And I have legs.”

He took off his trousers like he didn’t actually hear me.

“I’m fine,” he answered, already kneeling over me and pulling my dress up.

“Wait, wait,” I called, my voice urgent enough to make him sit back.

I sat up, too, facing him.

“You have a wound, and it’s on your side. We shouldn’t,” I said, gesturing between us.

“I’m fine, Val. But I understand your worry, and I promised to never force you, so,” he said, and I caught his eyes flicking towards his rigid length that was hard enough that I could see its outline through his boxers, “we’ll wait until the wound heals.”

“Well, I didn’t say that,” I started, my boldness renewed as I saw his eyes follow mine and watched them glow with hunger.

“What are you saying, Val?” he asked, his eyes now on my black lace bra and panties.

“Lie back,” I told him, motioning towards the space beside me.

“Val?” he asked, doing as I said anyway.

I crossed my body over his, kneeling over his knees.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know. I want to,” I interrupted. “Besides,” I added, pulling his boxers down once, freeing his cock, “this needs to be taken care of.”

I sighed slowly, the sight of his veined, thick length up close hitting me for the first time.

He opened his mouth to voice another point when I wrapped my right hand around him, stroking up in one move. His mouth released a low groan instead. Then I went up and down, my confidence increasing with every stroke.

“Oh, fuck!” he whispered when I bent forward and wrapped my lips around the tip of his dick, swallowing the precum.

His fingers threaded through my hair, guiding my movements as I picked up pace.

“Damn… keep going, just like that, baby,” he praised, lifting his hips in concert with my movements.

I took him to the depth of my throat, and the shortage of air made me gag, my whole face going hot. I didn’t need to look up to see how much he liked that; his hips falling to the bed for a second as he lost control told me enough. So, I did it again.

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” he warned, his hand leaving my hair like he was releasing me.

But I kept sucking and pumping his dick.

“Val—”

“Come,” I told him.

And then he did. He let go with a groan that sounded raw. He came in my mouth, and I took it all.