Page 31 of Bratva’s Vow (Bratva’s Undoing #2)

I was on my feet in an instant, my chair scraping violently across the floor. I stumbled over the edge of the rug and broke into a run. His laughter filled the house. Fucking finally. I’d missed that sound.

I caught him halfway up the stairs, snatching one hand around his waist, gripping his thigh with the other, and lifted him clean off the steps.

He gasped and shrieked a breathless laugh, kicking his legs wildly, but I was already moving, already claiming.

I hauled him up into my arms, bridal-style, and carried him through the hall like a prize I’d won.

He clung to me, still breathless, lips ghosting along my throat, voice hot and sweet against my ear. “You’re gonna punish me for that, aren’t you?”

My cock strained against my pants. “You have no idea. ”

I kicked the bedroom door open and carried him straight to the bed.

Dropped him into the center.

He bounced once, then stilled, watching me with flushed cheeks and parted lips.

So goddamn beautiful it made something primal claw up inside me to claim him.

He sat there, breath coming quick, legs parted slightly, lace framing him like a gift I hadn’t earned. The soft lighting caught on the sheen of his skin, and his chest lifted with each inhale, every one tighter than the last.

I kneeled onto the bed, crawled over him, slow and deliberate.

His lashes fluttered as I caged him in, one hand braced beside his head, the other sliding up his thigh. He moaned quietly when I leaned in, lips brushing his cheek, his jaw, his throat.

Then I kissed him.

Not hard.

Not fast.

But deep.

Possessive.

A kiss that said, “You’re mine. You ran, and I still came after you. I will always come after you.”

He opened his mouth to me like it was instinct, like he was starving for it, and I took full advantage. Our tongues met in a slow, filthy dance, wet, consuming. He whined into my mouth, rocking his hips up in a desperate plea for friction.

“Please,” he panted when I broke away just long enough for him to breathe. “Maxim…”

His voice cracked, wrecked and needy.

And I almost gave in right then.

Almost tore the lace off him and buried myself inside him until he forgot everything that wasn’t me .

Instead, I pulled back.

His eyes widened in disbelief as I climbed off the bed.

“Wh-where are you going?”

I didn’t answer him but stood at the foot of the bed, grabbed the hem of my shirt, and yanked it over my head in one fluid motion. His eyes followed the movement like he was hypnotized. I didn’t rush. I wanted him to look. To watch.

I let the shirt fall to the floor and reached for my belt, slowly unbuckling it with deliberate precision. The leather slipped free with a soft hiss.

Wren’s gaze dropped to my hands.

I popped each button on my trousers one at a time, then pushed them down my hips, letting them slide to the floor. I stood there in nothing but my briefs, the outline of my cock obvious, straining, the fabric damp at the tip.

He let out a soft whimper.

“Enjoying the show?” I asked, my voice low and rough.

He nodded, barely inhaling.

I grabbed the silk restraints, the butt plug, and the cock cage I needed. Returning to the bed, I took the ties and motioned for him to shift up to the head of the bed.

“Turn over.”

Without a word, he rolled over onto his stomach with his arms raised. I loved his obedience. His back rose and fell in staccato rhythm as I tied the silk around his wrists, securing him to the headboard.

“You should tie me up more often,” he whispered over his shoulder.

Fuck.

He was perfection wrapped in skin as soft as the silk around his wrists and a perfect backside ready to be fucked. I pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss to the back of his neck. He gasped, head falling forward .

“Maaaax…”

I bit his shoulder, firm enough to leave a mark, then kissed the spot, slowly making my way down the curve of his back.

He writhed beneath me, panting, moaning, bound wrists twisting in the restraints as I traced my mouth along his spine. Every flick of my tongue, every graze of teeth, had him arching and gasping like he didn’t know whether to beg or cry.

I slid my hands down, gliding over the swell of his ass, the lace soft and tight beneath my palms.

“God, you’re perfect,” I whispered. “You know that, sweetheart?”

His hips jerked.

I dragged my teeth across the top of one cheek and felt him tremble.

“So fucking beautiful like this. Every inch of you made to be mine.”

He let out a broken little sound that shot straight to my cock.

I trailed one finger down the seam of his ass, slow and deliberate, pausing behind his balls, teasing the sensitive strip of skin there.

His breath hitched.

I peeled the lace down, leaving the delicate fabric tangled at his upper thighs just where I wanted it. A hint of what he wore for me. A reminder.

His ass was bare and flushed and perfect.

I spread his cheeks slowly, deliberately, loving the way his breathing shifted, the way his muscles tensed. His hole clenched as the cool air hit it, puckered and pink and needy.

“Still so tight,” I murmured, kissing the curve of one cheek. “But you’ll open for me, won’t you? You always do.”

“Yes. ”

“That’s my good boy.”

I grabbed the plug, the one with the jeweled end, sleek and black and the right size to remind him he was mine. I slicked it with lube and brought it to his entrance.

Wren shifted his hips, nervous and eager at once.

“Breathe, solnyshko. I’ve got you.”

I rubbed slow circles around his rim, watching him twitch, curling his fingers in the restraints.

He let out a shaky exhale as I teased him with the tip, applying the barest pressure, circling slowly, coaxing.

A mewling sound escaped him.

“There it is,” I murmured. “That sweet little flinch.”

I ran my palm up the small of his back, grounding him, letting him feel me. I kissed the back of his neck, then pressed my cheek to his shoulder and exhaled slowly against his skin.

“Shh… breathe. Let it happen. Let me in, baby.”

The muscles beneath me flexed, tight and trembling.

I kept the pressure steady, not pushing too hard, rocking the plug against him with slow intent. Soft circles, then a little deeper.

“That’s it,” I coaxed. “Don’t fight me. Let me open you up like you’re meant to be.”

He moaned, high and breathy, his forehead resting against the pillow.

I saw every ripple in his body, every flicker of sensation. He clenched his hands in the restraints, legs shaking slightly where they were spread wide for me. I reached down and palmed his ass, thumbs spreading him wider.

“You always take me so well,” I whispered. “I love watching you soften for me. Every time I stretch you open, it’s like your body remembers who it belongs to.”

He sobbed softly, caught between pain and pleasure .

“Good boy,” I praised, kissing his spine, letting the plug push a little deeper.

He gasped, lifting his head off the pillow for a second, then dropping it again.

I paused. Rubbed his lower back with one hand. Murmured low reassurances in Russian against his skin.

When he relaxed, I pressed in again. Inch by inch, steady, unrelenting.

“There you go. You’re doing so fucking well for me, Wren.”

Another gasp. Another twitch of his thighs.

I traced my fingers along the inside of his hip. The plug slid in another inch.

“Just like that. Let it stretch you.”

When the widest part pressed against him, I paused, holding there, letting his body adjust.

He whimpered, breath caught in his throat.

“You feel that? That stretch is mine. That ache… that’s me claiming you.”

He let out a broken cry, and I kissed the back of his neck again.

Then slowly, so slowly I pushed the plug in the final inch.

It seated with a soft, wet sound, the jeweled end settling flush between his cheeks.

He was panting. Trembling. Utterly undone.

I reached around, gently cupped his cock.

Still hard. Still leaking.

He moaned, the sound long and low.

“That’s it,” I murmured against his ear. “You took it so well, kroshka. Just like I knew you would.”

I kissed the corner of his jaw and whispered, “Now… I need that pretty cock of yours soft by the time I finish my shower.”