Bratva Prince (Bratva, #2)

by T.J. Maguire

“Is that all you’ve got, malyshka?” he taunted, driving forward with deep thrusts.

“I knew you’d like that. My perfect little fuck toy.”

“Yes, Aleksandr. Fuck, you feel so good.” “So do you, baby. So do you.”

One hand slapped onto the headboard as he fucked me ruthlessly, prolonging my own pleasure while he chased his own. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, his thrusts turning wild. Chaotic. Veins throbbed in the side of his neck, his muscles bulging and his jaw clenching. The sight of him alone was enough to get me started all over again.

“I don’t like hearing about you with other men. I don’t like thinking about you with other men.”

“Aleksandr.” He stiffened at my serious tone. “You need to let me go.” “Do I?”

“If you think I’m only here to get in your pants, you’ve drastically underestimated your value to me.”

“It’s not just about the physical things for me, Drea. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the physical side of things is—” a sinful grin curled on his lips, “—mind blowing.”

“But there’s more to it than that for me. Being around you soothes my mind, it quiets the storm raging inside of me. It brings peace to my soul. I could be having the worst, most frustrating day and seeing your smile—yes, that ...

“Aleksandr—” he kissed me, my words cutting off as he wrapped me in his arms and picked me up off my feet, his tongue diving into my mouth. I moaned, gripping his face tightly as I kissed him back with everything I had. We kissed like it was the last time we’d ever see each other, full of love and passion. And then he was gone.

I smashed my lips to hers in a brutally punishing kiss, pushing my tongue deep into her mouth. I groaned at the feel of her, the taste of her. She was so unbelievably sweet. I kissed her like I

couldn’t survive without her, like she was my everything. Because she was.

“Thank you,” I murmured, placing soft, little kisses over her lips. “...

my words died as a knife plunged straight through Dayton’s throat.

Blood poured out of the hole in his throat quickly, forming a puddle around us. Fuck. FUCK!

“It’s alright kid. You’re going to be fine. Try not to talk.” I ripped fabric from the sleeve of my shirt and tried to apply pressure to the wound, but it was hard. The harder I pressed, the more he choked. Blood seeped out of his mouth, spilling down his chin. “I…don’t…want…to…die,” he cried softly, each word a struggle to get past his lips.

“You’re not going to die. You hear me? You’ll be fine. It’s okay. I-I’ll fix this.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,”

more I said it the more chance I had of it being true. Dayton’s cries never eased. He cried right up until the moment he took his last breath.

Noooooo

“Regresa a mí,” Come back to me, I repeated, holding his hand tightly. A tiny bit of light worked its way back into his eyes. He pulled me to him and I went willingly, climbing into his lap. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he buried his head into my chest, holding me tight.

“It is,” Aleksandr grunted. “It’s Father’s tracking chip. It’s been cut out of him.” I’m sorry, tracking chip? Surely I didn’t hear that right.

“Father’s been kidnapped.”

Twenty-seven. Our soldiers were good. One of ours would equate to roughly three of theirs. The rigorous training we put them through every day ensured that. But that didn’t matter if you were overrun with much higher numbers. If it wasn’t for the reinforcements that had arrived, this might have been one battle we couldn’t win.

It was an antique photo frame, and inside it was a picture of our family. The glass was smashed, blood staining the tiny little cracks that spread out across the broken surface like a spider’s web. My fingers hovered over the picture, sadness clutching my chest, threatening to overcome me. It was an old photo, back from

when my mother was still alive. Lukyan and Illayana were just kids. We were all smiling, even Father, which was a rarity in itself. We looked so…happy. Life was good then. We were all together. Happy. Healthy. Alive.

You helped us. Why?” “Because I love him.” Duh.

“You think you can just throw me aside and start fucking that Spanish suka with zero consequences? That I was just going to sit by and let that happen? I was meant to be Queen, Alek. Me! Not her. I’m the one that deserves it. I loved you! I would have made a great wife! But you never gave me the chance to be anything more than a—what did you call it? ‘A warm body for you to stick your cock into’.”

“That’s because there’s no substance to you, Mila. There never has been. I had no interest in getting to know you because there’s nothing about you worth knowing.”

“I did. Because if I did it myself, I wouldn’t have let you get in the car.” “Really? Why’s that?” “You know why.” “Tell me anyway.”

“Because I love you.” Her breath hitched. “I love you so much it hurts. It physically hurts to be without you, to not see you. To not speak to you. To think of you gone. You’ve managed to burn yourself into my mind, my soul. Branded yourself in my heart. So, now you own it.”

She hooked her fingers into her underwear and tugged them down. My cock throbbed in my pants as she lowered herself to sit on the edge of the desk, spreading her legs wide, her feet resting on the arms of my chair.

“You’re going to make it up to me,” she breathed, leaning forward and wrapping a hand around my tie. She tugged me towards her and I went willingly, completely enraptured by her. I’d do whatever the fuck she wanted. “You’re going to lick my pussy until I come all over your face. And then you’re going to do it again, and again.”

“Is this supposed to be a punishment?” I rumbled, running my tongue up the inside of her thigh. “Because I have to be honest with you malyshka, it sounds more like a fucking dream.”

“Oh, but it is a punishment baby. Because afterwards there’ll be no fucking. I’m gonna make you walk around with my taste on your tongue all day, your cock so hard it hurts, and you’ll be given no relief. Not until I’ve decided you’ve earned my forgiveness.”

Her mouth-watering taste flooded my mouth and I drank it all in, my tongue moving in slow, languid circles over her pussy. A shudder ran through her and she breathed out a sigh of pleasure, her head tipping back.

The way her clit pulsed inside my mouth, the slickness between her folds. Everything about her turned me on. It made me so fucking hard I just wanted to pound into that tight, little pussy until my come was dripping out of her.

I flattened my tongue and ran it from her ass to her clit in one, long stroke.

Drea cried out in pleasure, so I did it again and again, groaning when her pussy got even wetter, moisture coating my li...

“Dios, you’re gonna make me come already. You and that fucking tongue,” she groaned, her chest heaving. I kept the same rhythm, moving my tongue up and down, up and down. Drea grabbed a fistful of my hair and ...

“Fuck Aleksandr, yes. Yes, baby.”

The sexy, little sounds she made as her clit pulsed on my tongue. Drea let me go and slumped back, panting breathlessly. She propped herself up on her elbows and smirked, eyes flicking down to her pussy and back up. “Again.”

So I went right back to it, latching my tongue onto her pussy again. This was both the best and the worst goddamn punishment of my life. But fuck, I enjoyed the hell out of it, because there was nothing better than making Drea come over and over again. And it was even better that I got to taste it all.

“Oh, and what a brutal uppercut!”

cheering in the background. “I don’t think he’s going to get back up from that one folks! Oh wait, he’s going to try again! What a fight!” A set of big hands grabbed a man’s face and twisted sharply, breaking his neck. “And, we have a winner!”

He dropped the dead man in his arms and turned to face the camera. My breath caught in my throat. “Your winner, ladies and gentleman, The Bratva Butcher!”