Page 54 of Bratva Daddy (Underworld Daddies #1)

"Not yet," he said, and his voice had gone rough again, dark with his own need. "TYou have to show Daddy how badly you want to be completely his."

I was shaking now, full-body tremors that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the man standing before me, fully in control while I stood nearly naked and desperate.

The panties felt like both protection and torment, a barrier that kept me from what I wanted most while reminding me that even my surrender was something he controlled.

"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for.

"Soon, little one," he promised, guiding me backward toward the bed with hands that barely touched me but commanded my movement absolutely. "But first, Daddy wants to see you in the position you learned. The one you've been practicing."

Present. He wanted me in Present position, bound and displayed and begging. My knees nearly buckled at the thought, at the promise implicit in his words. We were nowhere near done. We were just beginning, and I was already so wound up I might shatter at the first real touch.

"Yes, Daddy," I managed, my voice barely sound, already moving toward the bed where the next part of our scene would unfold.

My knees found the mattress with practiced ease, muscle memory from weeks of training taking over even as my mind spun with anticipation.

Present position—knees spread to shoulder width, hands behind my lower back with fingers laced, shoulders back, chest out, chin up.

The position that displayed everything while giving nothing, that made me vulnerable while keeping me strong.

"Beautiful," Alexei murmured, circling the bed to observe from every angle. "My perfect little one, presenting herself so prettily."

The praise washed over me like warm honey, making me arch slightly, seeking more. But I held the position, knowing that breaking it would mean starting over, would mean proving I could be good before he'd continue.

He moved to the toy chest I'd carefully stocked, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

When he turned back, rose-gold silk ropes dangled from his fingers, catching the soft light like liquid metal.

The same color as the walls, as the overall aesthetic I'd chosen.

Everything coordinated, even my bondage.

"You thought of everything," he said, approaching with the ropes coiled loosely in his hands. "Even made sure your restraints would match your décor. Such an organized little girl."

He guided my arms up, positioning my wrists against the disguised restraint points in the headboard's scrollwork.

The silk whispered against my skin as he wound it around, not tight enough to hurt but secure enough that I couldn't pull free.

The decorative ironwork I'd chosen specifically for this purpose now served its true function, holding me open and available for whatever he decided I deserved.

"Test them," he commanded, and I pulled against the bonds, feeling how they held firm but didn't bite. Perfect tension, perfect control. "Good. Now you're exactly where Daddy wants you."

He returned to the toy chest, and when he turned back, my breath caught. In one hand, a bottle of lube. In the other, a plug—rose gold like everything else, sized to stretch but not punish, with a jeweled base that would nestle between my cheeks like decoration.

"Have you ever?" he asked, though from the way he studied my face, he already knew the answer.

"No, Daddy," I whispered, fear and arousal tangling in my belly. "Never."

"Then we'll go slow," he promised, settling on the bed beside me. "So slow you'll be begging for it by the time I'm done preparing you."

His hand skimmed down my spine, making me shiver and pull against the restraints.

When he reached my panties, he finally—finally—slid them down, leaving me completely exposed.

The air felt cool against my soaked flesh, and I knew he could see everything—how wet I was, how swollen, how desperately ready.

"Stay in position," he reminded me when I started to close my legs slightly. "Present means completely open, completely available."

The first touch of lube made me gasp—cool and slick against sensitive skin I'd never imagined anyone touching.

His finger circled slowly, spreading the wetness, letting me adjust to the foreign sensation.

I was trembling constantly now, pulling against the silk ropes not to escape but to ground myself in their hold.

"Breathe, little one," he instructed, and I realized I'd been holding my breath. "That's it. Nice and deep. Let Daddy take care of you."

One finger pressed gently, barely breaching, and my whole body clenched in response. He stayed still, letting me adjust, whispering praise that made me relax despite the strangeness of the invasion. When I softened, he pressed deeper, working me open with patience I didn't know he possessed.

"You're doing so well," he murmured, adding more lube, making everything impossibly slick. "Such a good girl, letting Daddy prepare you properly."

A second finger joined the first, stretching me wider, and I moaned at the intensity of it.

Not pain exactly, but overwhelming sensation that made every nerve ending fire at once.

He worked me slowly, thoroughly, until my hips were moving without my permission, seeking more of the strange, intense feeling.

"I think you're ready," he said, withdrawing his fingers and leaving me empty and aching.

The plug was cool against my entrance, hard and unforgiving where his fingers had been warm and flexible.

He pressed it forward slowly, letting me feel every inch as it opened me wider than his fingers had.

Just when I thought I couldn't take more, it slipped fully inside, the base nestling against me exactly as designed.

"Oh God," I gasped, the fullness unlike anything I'd ever experienced. Every tiny movement made it shift inside me, sending sparks through my entire body.

"Good girl," he praised, moving to kneel at the foot of the bed. "Now Daddy's going to taste you. But you don't have permission to come. No matter how good it feels, no matter how much you need it, you wait for Daddy's permission."

His mouth started at my ankle, just the lightest brush of lips against skin. Then the inside of my calf, tongue tracing patterns that made me pull against the restraints. By the time he reached my knee, I was panting, the plug making every sensation ten times more intense than usual.

He worked his way up my thigh with excruciating slowness, sometimes using his tongue, sometimes just breathing against my skin until I whimpered. When he finally reached the apex of my thighs, I was shaking so hard the bed frame creaked.

"Please," I begged before he'd even touched me properly. "Please, Daddy, I need—"

"Shh," he soothed, and his breath against my soaked flesh made me cry out. "I know what you need. But did Daddy say you could have it?"

His tongue finally, finally made contact, just the lightest swipe across my swollen clit, and I screamed.

The plug made everything more—more intense, more overwhelming, more impossible to control.

I was already on the edge from that single touch, teetering on the precipice of an orgasm that would probably kill me.

Then he pulled away.

"No!" The word tore from my throat, desperate and raw. "Please, please, I was so close—"

"I know," he said, pressing kisses to my inner thigh while I writhed in my bonds. "That's the point. You get close, but you don't go over. Not until Daddy decides you've earned it."

He returned to my center, this time using his tongue in long, slow strokes that had me babbling incoherently.

Pleas, promises, his name, Daddy, God—everything poured out of me in a stream of need.

The plug shifted with every clench of my muscles, adding sensation that threatened to overwhelm me completely.

Again, he brought me right to the edge, tongue circling my clit with perfect pressure, and again he pulled away just as I was about to shatter.

"Did Daddy say you could move so much, baby girl?" he asked, and I realized I'd been thrashing against the restraints, trying to chase his mouth. "Did Daddy give you permission to feel this much?"

"No, Daddy," I sobbed, tears streaming down my face from the intensity of denied release. "I'm sorry, I can't help it, it's too much—"

"Tell me what you want," he commanded, hovering so close I could feel his breath but not his touch. "Use your words. Tell Daddy exactly what you need."

"I need to come," I begged, dignity abandoned entirely. "Please, Daddy, I need your mouth on me, need you to let me come, I'll do anything, be anything, just please—"

"Anything?" he asked, and danger colored that single word.

"Anything," I confirmed desperately.

"Then be still," he commanded. "Complete stillness while Daddy tastes you one more time. Move even slightly, and we start all over."

It was an impossible ask with the plug inside me, with his mouth returning to my oversensitized flesh, with orgasm coiled so tight in my belly I could taste it.

But somehow I held myself frozen, every muscle locked in place while he tortured me with pleasure, while he used his tongue to map every fold, every ridge, every desperate inch of me.

"So good," he murmured against me, and the vibration nearly broke my control. "My perfect little girl, trying so hard to obey. But you still don't have permission to come."

I sobbed openly now, beyond words, beyond thought, existing only as nerve endings and need.

The plug made everything impossibly intense, made every swipe of his tongue feel like it reached all the way through me.

I was going to die like this, strung between ecstasy and denial, forever on the edge of a release he wouldn't grant.