Page 91 of The Bratva Betrayal

She sucks me off like she’s trying to get me to go crazy, and I’m almost there.

The pressure builds until it’s a physical ache. A white-hot tension coiled in my gut that threatens to snap.

Every wet, sliding motion of her tongue, every desperate gulp as she takes me deeper, is a nail in the coffin of my restraint.

I feel my pulse thundering in my cock, the head pulsing against the back of her throat, and the way she's claiming me right here, right now is driving me insane.

I don't just want to come; I want to be ruined by her.

I want to erase every trace of Misha from my mind and replace it with the sensation of her lips molding around me.

I stop fighting the urge to take control and instead lean into the depravity of it.

I wrap my hand firmly around the back of her head, my fingers digging into the roots of her hair.

I force her to take every single inch, guiding her rhythm with a brutal, demanding pressure.

I want to feel her struggle for air. I want to hear her muffled, wet whimpers as she hits her limit, only for me to shove her just a fraction deeper, forcing her to accommodate me fully.

"That's it," I growl. "Take it all, Lisichka. Show me how much you want to break me."

She responds by swirling her tongue around the head of my cock, flicking it with a precision that makes my hips jerk.

She knows what she's doing.

She uses the suction of her cheeks to create a vacuum that feels like it's pulling my soul out through my shaft.

I speed up, my hand on her head becoming more aggressive, driving her onto me in a fast, punishing pace. I can feel the buildup reaching a breaking point, that precarious edge where pleasure borders pain.

"I'm going to... fuck," I hiss, my knuckles white as I grip her hair.

She feels the tension in my thighs and the way my breath hitches.

She doubles her efforts, her throat tightening in a series of rhythmic contractions that milk me relentlessly. She sucks harder, her tongue working overtime, determined to draw every last drop out of me.

I lose the battle. My back hits the wall with a heavy thud, and I let out a choked roar.

I pump into her mouth in thick, hot bursts, my vision blurring as I spill everything into her.

Even as I tremble, she stays right there, swallowing every bit of me, her eyes locked onto mine with a triumphant, predatory glint.

She doesn't stop until the last spasm fades, licking the remnants from the tip of my cock with one final swipe of her tongue.

Then she pulls back slowly, a thin string of saliva and cum connecting her lip to the head of my cock.

She stands up gracefully, smoothing out her dress and adjusting her hair as if she hadn't just spent the last three minutes on her knees.

She reaches over and gently zips my pants back up, her fingers lingering for a second on the fabric.

She leans in, her lips brushing against my ear, her voice a low, teasing velvet.

"Think about it."

Before I can find my voice or grab her arm, she turns and slips out of the closet, leaving me alone in the dark, trembling and undone.

And fucked.

It’s only a matter of time now.