Page 43 of Konstantin (Marinov Bratva #1)

Straightening up fast, I move toward the pool table like nothing’s wrong. My body quivers with nerves as I pretend to line up a shot, my heart racing just as the door creaks open.

Konstantin.

His eyes meet mine, cold and calculating. For a moment, he just stands there, watching me with that unreadable expression. And then a smirk slowly spreads across his face, like he knows exactly what I was doing.

“Having fun?” he asks, his voice smooth, laced with something dark and playful.

But it’s the blood that catches my attention first. His shirt is torn, crimson staining the fabric in large patches. His face is bruised, the cut on his lip still fresh, and there’s a deep gash along his cheek.

“What the hell happened?” I ask, rushing over to him. The concern is instant, the anger and fear for him rising within me.

“Just a little sparring between brothers.” His mouth tilts up.

I take in the state of him and my brow curves. “That looks like more than just a friendly fight.”

“Are you worried about me, moya l’vitsa?” His voice is smooth like whiskey as his hand reaches up, fingers grazing my cheek and sending a shiver through me.

“I am.” The words slip out before I can stop them. I don’t even try to hide it.

His gaze sharpens, the smirk curling at his lips as he watches me, studying me like I’m a challenge he can’t resist. Then, without warning, he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear, his breath hot on my skin.

“So make me feel better, then.”

The air between us crackles, like a storm ready to break.

“How shall I do that?” My finger trails down from his chest, dragging slowly until it reaches the outline of his hard erection.

He stiffens under my touch, making a wicked thrill race through me.

“I’m sure you can come up with something.” His voice pulls with something low and rough, a growl barely hidden beneath the surface.

There’s that hunger again—the same hunger that pulls me in and forces me to give in, even when I know it will consume me. His eyes are on fire, dark with need, and for a moment, the world around us disappears. It’s just him. Just us.

I can’t escape the pull. And I don’t want to.

Before I can second-guess myself, I drop to my knees in front of him, holding his gaze without breaking it. My fingers go straight to his belt, his jaw tensing as I unbuckle it with teasing precision.

“Blyat,” he growls, his hand tangling in my hair like he’s already unraveling.

I tug the belt free, his zipper following. When my fingers stroke over him through the fabric, his cock jerks—hard, heavy, and barely restrained.

“How many times have you imagined this?” My lips graze the skin just above his waistband. “Me on my knees. Wanting to please you and suck you dry.”

He mutters something in Russian.

“Too many times to count, malyshka.” His voice is heavy with arousal as he brushes his knuckles along my jaw.

“I’ve imagined your mouth wrapped around me, your eyes watering while you fight to take more.

The way you’d sound while you struggled to make it fit, to breathe with every inch of my cock stuffed down your pretty throat.

I’ve thought about the way I’d fuck you after, hard and fast, bent over this very pool table. ”

His grip tightens in my hair, tipping my head back while his gaze devours mine, hunger and control swirling in every line of his face. “And most of all, I’ve imagined how good it would feel when you begged me to do it all over again.”

My core throbs, wanting all of that. When I yank his pants and boxers down, his thick hard-on springs to life.

My fingers wrap around him, barely able to meet, and when he shudders at my touch, a thrill of dominance pulses through me. I’m the one who’s making the ruler of the underworld ache like that.

He watches my every move, eyes intense. Wanting, waiting for me to taste him.

I close the distance between us, my lips barely grazing his hardness, my gaze locked on his as my body hums with need. Seeing him like this, overcome with desire, makes everything burn hotter.

His body tenses as soon as the tip of my tongue traces the crown of his cock, a soft hiss escaping him. Fingers slip into my hair, pushing me down until I swallow him whole.

“Fuuuck!” A harsh, guttural growl escapes him as he keeps me trapped around him while I savor every inch .

His hand in my hair guides me deeper, but I don’t need it. I know exactly what I’m doing. His length hits the back of my throat, and when I gag, he groans.

“That’s it. Take it all, katyonak. Every inch of me is yours.”

My mouth tightens as I bob my head, his cock twitching against my tongue. My eyes stay fixed on him as he tilts his head back, his hand tangled in my hair, his body tense with power. He looks like a god in every sense of the word.

The taste and feeling of him fills my senses. The way he groans, the way he can’t stop himself from pushing his hard-on deeper. Every inch of him is a promise of things to come, and I’m not sure I can wait for it.

The faster I suck him, the tighter his fingers tangle in my hair, his control undoing with each flick of my tongue, each hollow of my cheeks around him.

He groans, low and guttural, the sound dragging desire straight through me.

I lick along the length of him, slow at first, then faster—relentless, greedy.

His hips jerk, and when I take every thick inch, he curses sharply in Russian, his whole body straining under the pressure until he spills down my throat, his grip tightening like he needs to anchor himself to reality.

He doesn’t pull away. He keeps me there, wrapped around him, until he’s given me every last drop. And even then, I want more. My lips are swollen, breath ragged, but I stay right there, licking along his crown, tasting every trace of him.

A deep rumble vibrates in his chest, and with a swift movement, he pulls me up, his grip stealing my breath before his lips smash into mine with a force that leaves me breathless.

This isn’t just a kiss. It’s a possession, wild and intense, driven by a desperate hunger.

His tongue meets mine, tasting himself, and it only drives him to kiss me harder.

My hands clutch his bloodied shirt, gripping on to him as I begin to lose myself.

His kiss overtakes me like he’s starving, like I’m the only thing that can sustain him, and I kiss him back with a depth I didn’t know I had, surrendering every part of myself.

My back slams against the pool table, and before I can even process it, he lifts me effortlessly, laying me back against the smooth surface.

The chill of the table contrasts sharply with the heat of his body as it presses into mine, his hands exploring every inch of me, tracing every curve he’s memorized.

He pushes up my dress, his mouth leaving a trail of heat down my throat, his breath tattered against my skin. His hand rests on my stomach, his palm warm and steady.

“I’m not done with you yet, malyshka . Not even close.” And from the fire in his eyes as he stares down at me, I know he means every word.

The next moment, he’s pulling me to the edge of the pool table, my legs falling open beneath his touch as he tears my panties to shreds. His mouth wraps around my clit, sucking hard, his fingers thrusting inside me, and I lose all ability to think or do anything besides feel.

I bow beneath him, a moan slipping past my lips as he flicks his tongue around me, driving me higher with nothing but his fingers and his mouth, undoing me piece by piece.

My hands grip the end of the table, heart racing. It’s too much. Not enough. I can’t think. I can only feel—the sharp rush of pleasure, the burn of throbbing need twisting inside me.

My head tips back as his tongue grazes faster, teasing me to the edge before he slows. The faint scrape of something against my thigh makes me blink down just in time to see him with a pool stick in hand, a slow, dangerous smile growing as he strokes it.

“What are you?—”

The words barely leave my lips before he slides the stick inside me, the sudden rush of sensation crashing over every nerve, overriding my thoughts and stealing my breath. My legs tremble uncontrollably, as if I’m caught in the wake of a tidal wave I didn’t see coming.

And when he pushes it further into me, my body answers before I do, writhing beneath his touch, chasing the release only he can give me. He thrusts the stick into me, and my walls clench, need spiraling, wanting more.

I reach for him, needing him closer, needing more, but he’s already ahead of me, already working me deeper, faster, taking me beyond my limits with ruthless precision.

My cries echo as he teases me, slowing down the tempo, my core dripping for him.

“Please don’t stop. I need more.” My voice is nothing but a wrecked plea.

“Then take it.” He forces more of it inside me, fucking me with it while the thumb of his other hand strokes my clit. He’s not gentle, the way he punishes me, the way he elicits every moan, each one of them his.

When I come, it rips through me like lightning—a harsh, electric pulse that leaves my body shaking. I cling to whatever I can hold on to as the aftershocks roll through me, his name the only thing I remember how to say.

He doesn’t give me a second to recover. The stick hits the floor with a loud clatter, and then he’s on me, the tip of him nudging into me as his body presses against mine, his eyes fixed on me like I’m the only thing that matters. His hands grip my hips, and in one hard thrust, he’s inside me.

My gasp is swallowed by his mouth as he starts to move, slow at first, then faster, rougher, until all I can do is beg for mercy that never comes.

His rhythm is punishing and perfect. There’s nothing gentle about it, which is what I need.

Every thrust sends me closer to the edge again, every kiss deeper, more consuming.

I can’t think. I don’t want to. I want to drown in him.

He mutters something low in Russian, sweat slicking his skin, his hands possessive on my waist as if he’s anchoring himself to the very depth of me.

I reach up, fingers threading through his hair, and whisper, “Harder, baby.”

His teeth snap, chest rising higher before he pumps his hips even faster. The sound of skin on skin fills the room as he drives us both to the edge, until I’m begging without shame, until his mouth finds my neck and he groans, “Tessa,” like it’s the only word he’s ever known.

When we come together, it’s violent. A quiet explosion that leaves us tangled, breathless, and utterly undone.