The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

"What you want me to do," she moans, her eyes closing all the way as she loses herself to the erotic pull of this moment. I release the end of the belt and let the tail fall to the floor, walk up to her, then thread the belt between her legs. I lift, encasing her bare, wet pussy in the leather.

"You said you don't like this," I whisper in her ear, just before I nip her lobe and suckle it between my lips.

"I don't like it," she moans. "It hurts."

I lift the belt and slide it between her folds. She rocks against it wantonly, needing more pressure.

"Sometimes things that hurt, hurt good," I whisper, biting her earlobe and lapping the punished skin while I grab her heated ass cheek and squeeze. Her squeal of pain becomes a moan of pleasure. "You know this. This is not news to you, and yet you deny it."

Her telltale moan underscores my point. I drop the belt and bring my hand between her legs, raking my thumb through her slick folds.

"Naughty girl," I chide. She's swollen and wet and so fucking needy. "You lie when you tell me you don't like this." I pause, my hand suspended on her pussy, and don't give her any more pleasure. "You don't want this, angel? Are you sure?"

I keep my hand between her legs but cease all friction.

"I didn't say I didn't like that," she protests. "I don't like the pain."

"Don't you?" I ask. I hold my left hand pressed up against her pussy and slowly ease one finger in her channel. I lift my right hand and smack it against her ass. She moans, her pussy clenching my finger.

"I don't," she says, but her lips are curled up in a smile, her eyes wide and lust-filled.

"You sure?" I ask, raising my palm while I work her pussy but this time not spanking. Her arms encircle my neck and she wiggles her ass to me. "Tell me what you want."

"I... Oh, God," she says, moving on my fingers. I stroke and fondle, letting my thumb push against her clit.

"Tell me," I say in her ear, gently squeezing her heated ass. "Is this what you want?"

"I... I want more."

I lift my palm and strike her ass again, relishing the clench of her pussy on my fingers.

"More what? Beg me."

"That," she pleads.

I slap her ass again, harder, while fingering her pussy.

"That?"

"Yes. God, yes, sir."

"Good girl," I approve. "That's it, angel. You want me to spank you while I finger you?"

"Yessss," she pants.

I work her pussy while I slap my palm on her ass, firm, steady strokes while she moans in pleasure. I continue working her pussy and spanking her until she groans her release, her body clenching while she climaxes. Her body slumps against mine, weakened with ecstasy, her hips grinding against my hand.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I groan, when her hands come to my jeans and she fumbles with the clasp on my pants. She effortlessly frees my cock and pushes my pants down, anchoring herself around my neck.

"You want my cock, don't you?" I groan in her ear.

"Mmhmm," she groans, like she's lost the ability to speak.

I had Rothsky put her on birth control because I love the feel of her tight, slick pussy clenching my cock. So when she takes me out, I lift her up and her legs straddle mine. My cock meets her entrance and when I feel her slick and wet, I groan.

"Fucking beautiful. Fucking stunning. Jesus Christ."

Her chest presses up against mine as our bodies meld together as one. And when I reach the pinnacle of pleasure, my orgasm ripping through me as she throws her head back, the words I love you rise in my chest. I close my mouth. I can't say that to her. Not now. Jesus, ever?

"Beautiful," I whisper, and now the compliment seems so fucking pale in comparison.

"Yeah," she says. It's a quiet, sacred moment, shared between the two of us with thoughts we can't give voice to. The past few days we've grown closer... dangerously, perilously closer.

And I can't fucking let that happen.

I can't forget why I'm here or who she is.

I can't forget my Taya.

And then her lips meet mine, and I forget everything. Fucking everything but Olena. My world. Keeping her safe. Keeping her with me. The taste of her mouth and soft, fragrant skin. Her silky hair and sweet voice. What she's done for me. How she bends to my will like the willow tree, graceful and strong, never breaking with my ferocity.

"Tell me?" she whispers. "You're holding back from me, Maksym. We share this intimacy, we have a mutual purpose, and I'm growing to—" but her voice trails off and she bites her lip.

"Tell you what, Angel?"

I hope it's something I can give her. Because right now, I want to give her anything she asks for. I want to show her the words I can't bring myself to speak.