Page 73 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

He unfastens my bra, his hands hot against my skin. He takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, then harder.

I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair. The pleasure is sharp, intense, a current that runs through my entire body.

He moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention. I’m writhing on the desk, my body aching, desperate for more.

“Nikita,” I pant. “Now.”

He lifts his head, his eyes burning with a dark, possessive fire.

“Patience, Freya,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

He kneels in front of me, his hands hooking under my knees and pulling me to the edge of the desk. He drags my pants and panties down in one rough motion, leaving me bare and exposed.

He looks up at me, his eyes roaming over my body. I feel vulnerable, exposed, but also… powerful.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

He leans forward, his breath hot against my core. I hold my breath, waiting.

He doesn’t make me wait long. Nikita’s tongue flicks out, tasting me. I gasp, my hips bucking. He chuckles, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me in place.

He licks me slowly, deliberately, exploring every fold, every crevice. It’s exquisite torture. I’m writhing on the desk, my hands gripping the edge, my knuckles white.

“Please,” I beg. “Please, Nikita.”

He looks up at me, his eyes dark with lust. “Please what?” he asks.

“Please… let me come.”

“Not yet.”

He goes back to his ministrations, his tongue circling my clit, his fingers sliding inside me. I’m so close, so close…

He pulls away, and I cry out in frustration. “Nikita!”

He stands up, unbuttoning his jeans. He frees himself, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s big, thick, and so hard it looks painful.

He positions himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine. He smiles, a slow, predatory grin.

And then he pushes inside.

The stretch is intense, a burning pleasure that borders on pain. He fills me completely, his hips flush against mine.

“God,” I gasp. “You’re so big.”

“You can take it,” he murmurs, his voice strained.

He starts to move, his strokes slow and deep at first, then faster, harder. The desk rocks beneath us, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing in the quiet room.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust. It’s wild, primal, a desperate clash of bodies and wills.

I can feel the pressure building, a tight coil in my belly. I’m so close, so close…

“Come for me, Freya,” he growls, his voice a command. “Now.”

His words are my undoing.

I shatter, my body convulsing around him, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over me. I scream his name, my nails digging into his back.