Page 42 of The Bratva's Nanny
That scoundrel of a man was me, and just thinking about my maiden, who tasted even better than any of those mid-century prudes, got me growing hard again.
I could go again with her, all night long. Once, twice…ten fucking times, and I’d want to go again.
Pity I’d worn her out. She’d crumbled after her fourth orgasm, snuggled up to my side, and was out like a light.
Last night had been better than the figments of my imagination that had given me sleepless nights. Her body, the curves and perfect lines, and the way she’d stifled her moans and dug her nails into my back until I thought she’d draw new tattoos, permanent ones….
My lips curved to the side.
Wouldn’t I have loved that?
I remembered everything, from her smell, the mixture of vanilla fragrance and sweat, to the vivid images of her dripping, soaking wet pussy quaking, pulsating with each touch, to the perfect form of her ass in my hands.
Fuck.
The heated groans from her lips. Her sighs, soft whimpers in my ears, and how so fucking beautiful she was when she clenched and let go.
My cock swelled underneath the sheets, and I stroked it, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside her warmth again.
Slipping my fingers through my hair, I tore my eyes from her. Even looking away physically hurt. She was irresistible, so tempting that it made my blood simmer.
How was it even possible?
It’d been less than a week, and thinking about the termination of her contract had already set me on edge.
What was it going to be?
I envisioned a life with her outside my walls, away from my watch, being happy with someone else. Going on walks, making him brownies, kissing him senseless, like he was the oxygen she fucking needed to survive. And worse, wrecking his bed.
Beset with a torrent of rage, I gritted my teeth.
A shrill ring started at the corner of the room, slow at first, then rose in a steady crescendo before the nightstand buzzed as the alarm on her phone blared.
Her lashes fluttered. She stirred, puckered her lips, and stretched her arms above her head. It was the funniest, most childlike thing I’d seen in a while.
I found it adorable.
I found her adorable.
She reached out to the nightstand, beat her hands down in search of the shrieking phone, and finally turned off the vibrations. Waking up seconds later, she blinked like she didn’t know where she was.
A blink after, and her eyes met mine.
Crimson traced her cheeks, and she pulled the comforter up to the tip of her nose, grasping it tighter. Many emotions crossed her face at once: embarrassment, timidness, anxiety. But there was not a sliver of regret.
She looked away, mumbling as she got to her feet, “It’s time to wake Polly up,” with her back turned to me. “If I don’t…she’s going to be—”
I yanked the fluffy fabric to myself, hauling her down to the mattress. It bounced under her weight, and the comforter slipped from her grasp, leaving more than enough for my eyes to feast on.
She’d left as many prints on me as I had on her. Her collarbone spotted faint pink glows, and so did her nape. And her shoulder. And a spot just above her right breast. I wanted to squeeze the soft mound again, take it in my mouth, and suck hard until my name left her lips.
When I returned my sight to her face, it was amusing to see her shaking with annoyance. She lunged for the comforter, and I held it away from her reach.
She stamped her foot like Polly would have. “Roman….”
“Yes, Maria?” Mirth seeped into my tone, and she was visibly taken aback, not expecting the sudden switch, the hint of playfulness.
Maria licked her lips and stuttered, “I have to leave.”