Page 17 of Bratva's Secret Girl

“Yes,” he replies, laughter in his tone. And when I look up into his face there’s that indulgent smile that’s familiar from all the closing times at the café we’ve spent together.

I reach out tentatively, and stroke one finger up his length, lightly bumping each of the metal balls, and he hisses when I reach the top.

“Too much?” I whip my hand back.

“No,” he says hoarsely.

Very carefully, I ghost my fingertips over the bulging head where opaque liquid is just visible at the tip before the spray washes it away.

Then I return to the barbells. The contrast of the velvet of his skin and the smooth, warm metal is unexpected. It’s altogether more erotic than I could ever have dreamed.

I wasn’t into men with piercings. Honestly, I didn’t even know this was possible. But I’m compelled. There’s something so brash about it. Nothing says strength and resilience like bars of metal through your most sensitive body part.

He lets out a soft groan as I brush the top barbells with my fingertip.

“Did it hurt when you had it done?” I ask, looking up into his face. I have to crane my neck, because he’s so tall compared to me. His short black beard has water droplets in it, emphasisingthe strands of silver that thread his temples, and his dark eyebrows seem to sluice water from his eyes.

“Pain is not something that bothers me.”

That’s a yes. My gaze drops again to his shaft, where the skin is taut and strained, and a vein bulges. I run my thumb around the tip.

“Does it hurt now?” I check.

There’s gentle amusement in his smile as he replies, “Quite the opposite, malishka. With your fingers on me, it feels very good.”

“Ohh,” I breathe. I’m glad.

“And I’m told it’s very pleasurable for a woman, too.”

“What, being pierced?” I ask, alarm thrilling down my veins.

He chuckles. “Maybe. But I meant riding a cock that has these metal bars rubbing inside of your cunt.”

Excitement and jealousy skitter over my skin. I really don’t like the idea of Maxim with anyone else.

“So your…” I have to force the words out. “Previous lovers liked your piercings?”

“No.”

Wait, what? They didn’t enjoy it?

“They never found out,” he continues smoothly. “I had the Jacob’s Ladder done—that’s what they’re called, or frenum piercings—because sex with partners was becoming tiresome, and I was looking to make using my own hand—alone—more stimulating. My knowledge about how it is for a woman is purely academic.”

“Oh.” The joy of knowing he hasn’t had anyone in his bed for years battles with fear that maybe he doesn’t want me either. My hand falls away and I look at the defined muscles on his side that dip his waist into a “V”. I feel so awkward.

“Hayley.” His fingers grip my chin and tip my head until I’m gazing into those silver-grey eyes again. “I didn’t invite anybody else. Haven’t for years. But I invitedyou.”

A bolt of electricity goes down my spine.

“Now, put your hands on your boss’ intimidating cock, like a good girl.”

I reach out, because saying no to Maxim is impossible. I’m shaking with anticipation and adrenaline and sheer elation. And some fear. Because I’ve never done this before, and what if I get it wrong?

I wrap my hands around his erection—or try to—and he jerks and lets out a grunt.

I gasp.

“No, no,” he reassures me. “That feels good, malishka.”