The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

“Yes, sir,” she screams. “Yes!”

I release her nipple and watch with pleasure as the tight bud reddens and swells. Leaning down, I brace myself with my hands by her side and lap my tongue along the punished flesh. I pull the nipple into my mouth and suck, watching her eyes go wide and her lips part.

“What are you doing?” she says in a hoarse whisper.

I release her breast and lock eyes with her. “Pleasure or pain, Sadie. Both are on the table. The choice will be up to you.”

Her beautiful brow furrows and her lips pucker. “You’re a monster. Twisted. Sick. Why would I choose pain?”

She has so much to learn.

“Be quiet, now,” I order quietly. “I’d like to truly look at you now that you’re not dwarfed by that ridiculous clothing.”

I ignore her sputter of protest, and begin my careful, meticulous inspection. I run my hands over her shoulders, feeling her strength and soft skin. Her body is tense, like a spring, but I continue. The soft hollow of her neck begs to be touched and kissed. I imagine how beautiful her breasts will look dotted in beaded wax and adorned with raspberry-colored teeth marks. I moan, my hard cock throbbing against her thigh.

So fucking beautiful. So fresh and new and virginal.

I flick a thumb over one nipple and inhale the sweet, heady scent of her reluctant arousal. I release her breasts. Next, I smooth my palms over her thighs, kneading the soft, tender skin. She trembles beneath my touch.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Then why do you shiver?”

“You terrify me,” she whispers. I like that she gives me the truth.

I lift her legs and bend her knees so her thighs part and I get a full view of her pretty pink pussy. I can’t help but groan, my mouth watering to devour her.

“I understand terror,” I tell her. “But I haven’t done much to scare you—yet.” She hasn’t been whipped. Hasn’t seen the inside of a cage. She’s never seen me truly angry.

Shaking her head, her eyes meet mine. “You abducted me,” she whispers. “That isn’t scary?”

I shrug a shoulder.

Leaning down, I lay kisses from her belly to the tops of her thighs, then back again, wafting in the fragrance of her arousal and need. If I touched her right now, she’d be soaking wet for me and she’d hate that she was.

For a few moments, as I continue my exploration of her beautiful body, she doesn’t say anything. I move down the length of her leg, cradling first one then the other in my hand.

“Beautiful,” I murmur.

“What is your job here?” she asks.

“I’m the enforcer,” I tell her. “Avtoritet.”

“What does that mean?” she whispers.

“I believe the best word in English is authority.”

She swallows. “Not a surprise. And what exactly is your job description?”

“I basically run our organization,” I say. I can’t help it. I lean down and lap my tongue along the inside of her thigh and groan. She’s damp with arousal even here.

Her breathing is ragged and hitched. “You… run it,” she chokes out. “Do you lead people?”

“Of course. I often assign jobs.”

“And if they don’t do them, you punish them,” she says with more than a little disdain. “Do you beat them?”

“Yes.”

“Torture them?”

“Yes.”

She pauses, then, “Kill them?”

“When necessary.”

A bell rings, indicating our food has arrived and interrupting her interrogation. I don’t bother instructing her to stay, as I know she has nowhere to go, and I’m curious if she’ll try to run. It’s better if she attempts this now, while I can respond with my full attention. I lock my bedroom door behind me with a casual swipe of my hand along the panel. It’s better for her if she stays confined for now. Every entrance and exit to this suite is securely fastened, my bedroom no exception.

Lydia, the youngest and quietest member of the staff, stands on the other side of the door when I look through the peephole. “Leave it there,” I order, then watch as she quickly obeys before I get our food. When I come back in my bedroom, Sadie is gone. I stifle a chuckle. So predictable.

“You have until the count of ten,” I say nonchalantly. “If I have to come fetch you, you’ll sleep behind bars tonight.”

I place the tray on the table and begin counting out loud. “One. Two. Three…”

On seven, she slides open the closet door and walks timidly in the room, wearing one of my robes.

“Take it off,” I order, buttering a roll. “And come sit down.”

“People don’t eat food naked,” she protests.

I look up from my plate. “You do.”

Frowning, she obeys, then pulls out a chair, but a tsk of disapproval freezes her in place.

I beckon to her. With a curious glance, she slowly walks my way, and when she reaches me, I slide her onto my lap.

“Kazimir,” she fusses, squirming, but a sharp spank to her thigh settles her.