Page 88 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“Fuck patience.”

He chuckles, a low, dark sound. Then he drops to his knees.

I look down, my breath catching in my throat. He’s looking up at me, his eyes dark with intent. He reaches for my belt, unbuckling it with agonizing slowness.

He drags my pants and panties down, pooling them around my ankles. I kick them away, impatient.

He leans forward, his breath hot against my core.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs.

“For you.”

“All for me.”

He licks me.

I cry out, my head falling back. The sensation is electric, sharp pleasure shooting through my veins. He holds me open with his thumbs, his tongue exploring every inch of me.

It’s slow, exquisite torture. He’s not rushing to the finish line, only savoring the journey.

I thread my fingers through his damp hair, holding him to me. “Don’t stop.”

“I don’t plan to.”

He sucks on my clit, and I see stars. My toes curl, my back arching. The pleasure builds, a slow, relentless wave.

“God, Nikita…”

“Let go, Freya.”

He slides a finger inside me, then two. He curls them, finding that spot that makes me come undone.

I shatter. My orgasm rips through me, tearing a scream from my throat. My body convulses, my vision blurring.

He works me through it, his tongue and fingers relentless, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

When I finally come down, I’m limp, boneless. I slump back against the cabinets, my chest heaving.

He stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks incredibly pleased with himself.

“You taste like sin,” he says.

“Shut up.”

He laughs, unbuttoning his shirt. I watch him, my eyes roaming over his chest, the hard planes of muscle, the scars that map his history.

He pushes his pants down, freeing himself. He’s hard, thick, and ready.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

He pushes inside me. The stretch is intense. He’s big, and he fills me completely. I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained.

“Yes. Move.”

He starts to move, his strokes slow and deep. He’s holding back, restraining the beast I know is lurking just beneath the surface.