Page 41 of The Bratva's Nanny
I curved my ankles behind his back, wrapped my arms over his shoulder, and pulled him in, giving him the green light to take me as much as he wanted.
He groaned and bit down on my shoulder, definitely leaving a mark, but more importantly, he whispered sultry foreign words in his native tongue.
I didn’t know what they meant, but they pushed me further up to the peak.
His hips bucked more fiercely, and his rhythm faltered.
He was close, but I was already falling, bursting like a full water tank dropped from a twenty-story building.
With a small cry, I convulsed around him, bucking wildly, moving myself onto the hard length of his shaft. I kissed his lips, gasped in his mouth, and vibrated when my orgasm left me in long squirts.
When my convulsions slowed to a stop, and I relaxed under him, Roman went rigid and rasped, “On pills?”
Pills?
My mind blanked for a second before I understood. Birth control pills. I shook my head again, and he swore under his breath.
Gripping my hips and seemingly frustrated, like a man with the frantic urge to release, he pulled out of me with urgency, slid his cock onto my belly, and came all over me.
He stared at me.
I stared right back. Over a hundred unspoken words were exchanged in that heavy, awkward silence.
He collapsed on the bed, lying on his back, his chest heaving and his breath ragged. I was gasping, still too stunned by the feel of his thickness on me to speak.
I didn’t bother facing him. But from the periphery, I saw him stare at the starry ceiling lights. I stared at the lights, too, fascinated by how fast my world spun. One minute, we were talking about loans and debts, and the next….
He had me breathing his scent, sucking the skin on his shoulders, and biting my lips to hold myself from screaming his name.
The experience was one of a kind—new and exhilarating. But as they say, every rose has its thorn. What happened between us cracked something, leaving me feeling naked, like a turtle without its shell. Vulnerable to the most random attacks.
I knew he felt it, too; his contemplative silence spoke more volumes than his words ever did.
I chased the intrusive thought aside, not wanting to think about it.
This—whatever this was—was just sex and nothing more.
The side of the bed dipped under his weight when he kicked his legs off and sat upright. This time, I stared at the broadness of his back and the flex of his muscles when he stood up.
The ink running from his elbow to his wrist was a lot clearer now, and he just appeared a thousand times hotter.
When he looked at me, the agenda in his eyes was already pronounced before he said anything.
“We’re going to get you cleaned up. And then, we go again.”
Chapter Eleven – Roman
I got up at the sound of rain on the rooftop and a rapid ambush of wings fluttering against the glass window.
Fucking birds.
Groaning, I slanted against the headboard and watched her.
She slept peacefully on her side, in a fetal position, with her knees bunched up and the white sheets drawn up to her chin. Her small pouty lips, partly open, drew uneven breaths, and her brows twitched against her forehead at intervals.
A sight to behold; that’s what she was.
Almost an illusion, straight from the pages of a mid-century erotic book, where the maidens had fair skin, pink, perky nipples, and sweet pussies that a scoundrel of a man could fuck all day long.