Page 102 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

“Right there. God, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He pulls back just enough to push two fingers into me, curling them up hard while his tongue works my clit, and the noise it makes is obscene, wet and greedy, and I can’t decide if I want to sink into the mattress or grind myself against his face until I break.

“That’s it,” he says, wrecked, his mouth glistening when he looks up at me. “Come on my tongue. Let me feel it. You’re fucking mine.”

I shatter.

My whole body convulses as the orgasm crashes through me. Roman doesn’t stop; he keeps his fingers moving, drawing out every last tremor until I’m limp against the bed, legs hanging uselessly off the side.

He stands, and I can see the evidence of his arousal straining against his pants. I reach for him, but he catches my wrist.

“Not yet.” His voice is strained. “Turn around.”

I blink at him, still hazy from the orgasm. “What?”

“Turn around.” This time it’s not a request. “Hands on the mattress.”

I hesitate for just a moment. Then I turn, pressing my palms flat against the cool surface. My skirt is still bunched around my waist, my ass exposed.

I hear the sound of his belt, followed by the rustle of fabric. Then his hands are on my hips, positioning me, and I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance.

He pushes inside me in one long, slow thrust.

I moan, my fingers scrabbling against the sheets. He’s so deep like this, so impossibly full, that I can feel every inch of him. My body is still sensitive from the first orgasm, and the sensation borders on too much.

“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. “You feel incredible.”

He starts to move, pulling almost all the way out before thrusting back in. Each stroke is slow, controlled, as if he’s determined to make me feel every inch of him.

“More,” I gasp. “Harder.”

“No.” His hand slides around to my front, settling low on my belly. Right over where our child is growing. “I’ll give you what you need, but I’m not going to hurt either of you.”

His restraint only makes me want him more. I push back against him, trying to take him deeper, and he responds by pinning me down with his hands.

“Stay still,” he orders.

Then he starts moving faster.

The change in pace steals my breath. He’s still not pounding into me the way he might have before, but there’s a new intensity to his movements.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.” The words come out broken, punctuated by his thrusts. “Only yours.”

His hand slides lower, his fingers finding my clit. He circles it in time with his thrusts, and I feel another orgasm building.

“That’s it,” he says. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

I do.

My whole body shakes as I clench around him. He follows me over the edge a moment later, his hips stuttering as he spills inside me with a groan.

We stay like that for a long moment, both of us trying to catch our breath. His forehead is resting on my shoulder, and I can feel his heart pounding against my back.

Finally, he pulls out. I feel the loss of him immediately, an emptiness that makes me want to pull him back. Except he’s already turning me around, pulling me into his arms.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice still rough.