Page 42 of Bratva Bidder

He leans down, slow but unhesitating, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that steals every ounce of rational thought from my head.

The taste of vodka and something undeniably masculine floods my senses. His kiss is deep, possessive, demanding everything I have to offer and promising nothing gentle in return. I gasp softly against his mouth, my fingers clutching at his shirt, trying to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

He breaks away just enough to murmur roughly against my lips, “Tell me to stop.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m too breathless, too confused, too overwhelmed by the sudden, consuming hunger that flares white-hot between us.

And when I don’t push him away, his lips trail downward, tasting my jaw, my throat, lingering on the sensitive pulse beating wildly beneath my skin. His hands slide beneath my dress, warm palms against my thighs, parting them slowly, deliberately. I tremble in response, my breath shallow, my body arching toward his touch even though I know I should be pushing him away.

“Konstantin—” My voice is barely audible, more breath than sound.

“Shh, let me taste you,” he whispers, his voice dark velvet against my skin. “You drive me fucking insane.” He bites softly at my neck, making me shiver beneath his touch.

I barely recognize my own voice when I whisper, “Then stop.”

But instead of pulling away, he sinks lower, lips trailing down my collarbone, teasing along the edge of my neckline until his mouth brushes against the swell of my tits. Heat pools low and intense between my thighs as he cups one breast firmly through the thin fabric, his thumb stroking deliberately over my nipple until it tightens into an aching peak.

I gasp, arching instinctively into his touch, my head falling back. Every nerve in my body screams for more, for relief from this unbearable tension he’s created.

As if sensing my desperation, Konstantin pushes me gently back onto the bed, dropping to his knees between my parted thighs. He slides my dress upward, slowly baring my skin inch by inch until I’m fully exposed beneath him, my cunt throbbing under his hungry stare.

“Fuck, Nadya,” he growls softly, his voice rough with need. His breath is hot against my inner thighs, sending tremors through my muscles. “You’re already so wet.”

I moan softly as his fingers part me gently, teasing and exploring with unbearable patience before his tongue finally finds my clit. A breathless cry escapes me, my hips bucking up toward his mouth, seeking more pressure, more friction.

“Please,” I whisper, the word spilling out without thought or permission.

His grip tightens on my thighs, holding me wide open and immobile beneath him as he continues to lick and suck hungrily at my sensitive clit. Every stroke of his tongue sends white-hot sparks through my veins, every flick pushing me closer to a breaking point I don’t even know if I can handle.

“You’re mine,” he growls, dragging his tongue firmly over my swollen clit, his eyes locked possessively on mine. “Say it.”

When I don’t respond immediately—too lost in the sensation—he slides two fingers into my cunt, curling them deliberately against the spot that makes me see stars.

“Say it, Nadya,” he demands roughly.

“I’m yours,” I gasp out, my voice breaking, hips grinding desperately against his hand and mouth. “God, Konstantin—please?—”

With a satisfied groan, he devours me fully, his mouth and fingers working me mercilessly, pushing me closer and closer to the edge until my thighs tremble uncontrollably around him. Pleasure coils tighter, deeper, until suddenly, violently, it snaps.

I come hard, clenching around his fingers, my entire body arching and shuddering beneath him as I cry out his name, completely undone by his touch.

When the last tremors fade, he slowly withdraws his fingers, pressing one last gentle kiss against my oversensitive clit. He looks up at me then, his dark eyes burning with possessive satisfaction and something softer, more complicated.

I lie there, utterly spent, breathing ragged, chest heaving, my tits rising and falling sharply beneath his lingering gaze.

He doesn’t stop.

Not yet.

Konstantin rises from between my thighs, his mouth and jaw slick with the evidence of what he just did to me. His gaze drags up my body—over my trembling stomach, the rise and fall of my chest, my flushed, heaving tits—and settles on my face like I’m something to be devoured all over again.

He leans over me, bracing a hand on either side of my head, and captures my mouth in another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, drugged with heat. I can taste myself on his tongue. It makes me even wetter.

My legs fall open beneath him instinctively. I feel the press of him through his pants—hard, heavy, straining. My body aches for more, for all of him, and for a second, I stop thinking altogether.

I want him. I want him so badly it hurts.

But then?—