Page 55 of Bratva Daddy (Underworld Daddies #1)

"Soon," he promised, pulling away one final time, leaving me empty and aching and destroyed. "Very soon, little one. But first, Daddy needs to be inside you."

He moved between my bound arms with predator's grace, covering my body with his own, and I felt the hot length of him pressing against my entrance.

The position put us face to face, his weight balanced on his forearms beside my head, trapping me between his body and the mattress while the silk ropes held my wrists firmly above.

"Look at me," he commanded, and when our eyes met, he entered me in one slow, devastating thrust.

The sensation with the plug was indescribable. I was so full, stretched in ways I'd never imagined, every nerve ending firing at once. I screamed, or maybe sobbed, pulling hard against the restraints as my body tried to process the overwhelming intensity of being filled so completely.

"Breathe," he instructed, holding himself still inside me despite the way I could feel his control trembling. "That's it, little one. Breathe through it."

I gasped for air, drowning in sensation, the plug and his cock creating pressure that bordered on too much but stopped just short of pain. Everything was heightened, every tiny shift sending shockwaves through my system.

"You were made for me," he said, beginning to move with deliberate slowness that made me want to scream. "Every perfect inch of you, created just for this."

The pace he set was torturous—long, deep strokes that made me feel every inch of him, made the plug shift and press in ways that had me seeing stars.

But it wasn't the physical sensation that was destroying me.

It was his eyes, locked on mine, seeing everything—every flash of pleasure, every moment of overwhelm, every desperate need written across my face.

"Moya malenkaya," he murmured, Russian endearments falling from his lips like prayers. "My little one, taking Daddy so perfectly, so beautifully."

I couldn't form words anymore, could only whimper and gasp as he continued his measured devastation.

The silk ropes held firm as I pulled against them, needing something to ground me as pleasure built to impossible levels.

The plug made everything more—more intense, more overwhelming, more perfect than anything had a right to be.

"Every part of you is mine," he continued, his voice a low growl against my ear. "This body that responds to my touch, this heart that races when I'm near, this brilliant mind that chose me despite everything."

His pace was increasing now, slightly faster, slightly harder, and I could feel my orgasm building like a tide that would drown me when it finally crashed. But I still didn't have permission, was still held on that knife's edge of almost but not quite, and the denial was going to kill me.

"I will spend the rest of my life showing you how cherished you are," he promised, and something in his control cracked, letting me see the raw need underneath. "How loved. How absolutely essential to my existence you've become."

"Please," I managed to gasp, the only word left in my vocabulary. "Please, Daddy, please—"

"Not yet," he said, but his own voice was strained now, his thrusts becoming less measured, more desperate. "Hold on for Daddy just a little longer."

I was sobbing openly, pulling so hard against the restraints that I'd have bruises tomorrow, my entire body wound so tight I could feel myself shaking apart. The fullness was overwhelming, the dual sensation of plug and cock making every thrust feel like it reached my soul.

He shifted angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting that perfect spot inside me with every stroke while the plug pressed just right, and I screamed, beyond words, beyond thought, beyond anything but the desperate need for release.

"Now," he commanded, his hand reaching between us. "Come for me now, baby girl."

His fingers found the base of the plug just as his next thrust hit that perfect spot, and he pulled it out in one smooth motion that coincided with his command. The sudden emptiness combined with the continued fullness of him inside me, the shift in sensation, the relief and intensity all at once—

I shattered.

The orgasm ripped through me with violent intensity, my entire body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me.

I screamed his name, Daddy, Alexei, God, I didn't even know what was coming out of my mouth.

The silk ropes were the only thing keeping me anchored as I flew apart into a million pieces of light and sensation.

"Clara!" His own control finally, completely broke, my name tearing from his throat in a roar that was nothing like the controlled Pakhan, nothing like the dangerous man who ruled through fear. This was raw, primal, the sound of a man claiming and being claimed in equal measure.

We stayed frozen like that for long moments, both trembling with aftershocks, his weight pressing me into the mattress while the silk ropes still held my wrists. Finally, he lifted his head, kissing me with a tenderness that made my eyes sting with tears.

"My perfect girl," he murmured against my lips, then reached up to untie my wrists with gentle efficiency.

The silk fell away, and immediately his hands were there, massaging the slight marks, making sure circulation returned properly. He gathered me against his chest, rolling us so I was sprawled on top of him, held secure in his arms while my body continued to tremble with residual pleasure.

"Come," he said after a few minutes, when I'd stopped shaking quite so hard. "Let's look at your city."

He carried me to the windows, wrapping us both in the cashmere throw from the bed.

Manhattan spread out before us, millions of lights creating constellations that belonged to us now.

We'd earned this view, this life, this freedom through blood and sacrifice and choices that should have destroyed us but had somehow led us here instead.

"It's all yours," he said, arms tightening around me as we watched the city pulse with life below. "The whole world, if you want it."

And standing there, forty floors above the city that had tried to cage me, held by a man who'd stalked me to save me, I believed him.

The charity, the connections, the power we were building together—it was all possible now.

Viktor was in prison, the Kozlovs were finished, and we were free to be whatever we chose.

"I don't want the whole world," I said, turning in his arms to look up at him. "Just this. Just us. Just the life we're building one day at a time."

"Then that's what you'll have," he promised, and kissed me again as Manhattan glittered below, witness to our unlikely happy ending.

We stayed there watching the city until dawn started creeping over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink that matched the walls of my special room. Free. We were finally, actually free.

T hanks so much for reading!