Page 61 of Sexting My Bratva Boss
I swallow, turning back to the counter. “I hope you like cinnamon. I didn’t ask. I just… needed to do something. To take my mind off… I’m sorry I texted you,” I blurt out. “I think the hormones are affecting my dreams. They’re so much more vivid, and I was alone in the house. If this is weird or, Lev said you’re busy tomorrow, I can just go home…”
Turning away, I try to ignore the heat of embarrassment on my cheeks.
Home.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, I feel him behind me. Not touching. Just… looming.
And then his hand is on my hip. Firm. Possessive.
The mess is completely forgotten. I lean into him, my back pressed to his chest.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you,” I murmur. “I thought it was silly…”
“It wasn’t silly. I didn’t want to text.” His voice is low. Gravel and silk. “If I could destroy your nightmares, Audrey, I would. You know that?”
I nod, and he presses a kiss to the side of my neck, his beard scraping gently.
“You look… domesticated.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t ruin it. Honestly, I’m not much of a baker. I can manage this and maybe chocolate chip cookies.”
“No.” His hand slides up, pressing flat over my belly. “I mean it.”
I close my eyes. The kitchen smells like sugar, but he smells like danger. Like power. Like inevitability. And when he turns me around, when he lifts me onto the counter without a word, I don’t protest.
“Maybe,” he murmurs, his hands pushing up the apron, the lounge dress, “I can’t chase your nightmares away, but maybe I can make you forget them.” His mouth finds the curve of my jaw. He kisses me like he owns me—like this was always the plan. And Iwantit.
Konstantin parts my legs and breathes, “I love the way you look like this. Coming home to you, barefoot and…” His hand ghosts over my belly again, settles between my legs, knuckles pressed against my center. “I want you.”
I whisper, “Then have me.”
Without hesitation, I pull his shirt over his head, only vaguely intrigued that it’s a t-shirt and relatively dirty. He smells of salt, sweat, musk, and dirt.
The combination makes me wet.
Not knowing what he’s been doing to get so dirty, for his muscles to be so tight as I run my hands over them,makes me want him.I want the safety and the danger and the man who sends four armed men to walk me to a car.
His fingers undo the knot of the apron, and it falls to my waist. Another twist, and the button at the back of my neck is undone; mouth devouring mine, Konstantin pulls the dress down my shoulders, exposing my breasts.
They’ve been heavier lately, uncomfortable, and I flinch involuntarily. His dark eyes find mine, asking me to trust him.
Leaning forward, I give myself to him. Without question.
His hands cup my full breasts, gently, reverently. This isn’t the punishing, bruising massage that has turned me on before, the grip that owns me as he bounces me on his cock.
He kisses along my collarbone, his free hand sliding up the skirt of the apron and my dress, fingers hooking into my underwear. I’m so exhausted, foggy, turned on, that all I can do is groan and wriggle as he pulls them down my legs.
The he nudges between my knees.
“You’re sure?” I ask, glancing down at my flowered belly and the dirty counter.
Konstantin growls. He doesn’t seem to care that the work jeans he has on are about to get powdered, not when he flicks open the button, undoes the zip, and hefts his already hard cock into his hand.
I watch as he pumps it once, twice.
A glistening of precum drools at the tip. The sight makes my pussy clench, and I scoot forward on the counter eagerly, holding onto his shoulders.
Wrapping an arm under my ass, he heaves me up and manages to drop me on his cock in one forceful move. The sensation of being stretched and filled is so unexpected that I gasp, the nightmare disappearing from my mind, nervous system taken over by the surge of pleasure that rushes to my toes and the top of my head.