The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

Though her lips pinch together, her nostrils flare. She takes in a deep breath before she says through gritted teeth, “You’ve never struck me across the face, and even though you can be mean, I don’t see you ever doing that.”

I blink, thinking about what she says. No, I’ve never slapped her face, but she has no clue what I’m really capable of. I’m no better than Dimitri. If she thinks I am, she’s mistaken.

“Not yet, I haven’t,” I say, though I would never strike her pretty face. Even though I won’t admit it to her, I’m not the type of man that would. I’d rather take my belt to her ass or punish her with my cock in her tight asshole. My eyes fall to her fingers stained in blood, and I remember what Dimitri says he saw.

“Sadie,” I ask, probing. I no longer fear the sight of blood, but it always stirs something in me. Something savage and violent. I grip her wrist so tight she winces when I ask, “What happened to your fingers?”

Her lips clamp shut and she turns away from me. I give her a little shake.

“Answer me,” I demand. But she won’t.

Now that I see she’s unharmed, I’ll have to extract the answers from her. I get answers from men with other methods. With women, I have my preferences.

With grim determination, I flip her over my lap and lift one knee so her ass is perched high in the air.

“Answer me,” I tell her, my palm resting on the swell of her beautiful ass.

She lies still before she shakes her head from side to side. I set my jaw, lift my hand, and crash it down on her ass. But her eyes are closed and she isn’t saying anything.

“I need to know,” I warn her with another hard smack. “Tell me!” I give her four rapid swats, but she refuses to say a thing. I can make this a lot harder for her, though.

Restraining her against my lap, I lay my elbow across her lower back to keep her in place while I drag her clothes down and bare her. Though she tries to writhe against me, she’s no match for my strength.

“I can do this all day,” I tell her, my palm stinging with every smack on her naked skin. Her ass is hot to the touch and flaming red. “You fucking tell me.” I punctuate my words with hard smacks that imprint on her perfect skin in angry red, but she staunchly refuses to submit.

I can’t keep from growling at her resistance. I could spank her all day, but I have other ways to break her iron-like will. With a firm push, I part her thighs.

“Kazimir!” she pleads, panic in her tone now. “Don’t!”

“Tell me,” I order, my fingers poised at her entrance.

But she clamps her mouth shut.

I glide three fingers through her folds, pumping firmly. “Now,” I order, but all she does is moan.

With one hand pushed on her lower back, I finger her pussy with hard strokes of my fingers. Her arousal coats my hand, making my cock stir under her belly. “Do you want my cock there?” I bend my head and growl in her ear. “Do you?”

She shakes her head and begs. “Stop,” she whispers. “Please. Fine! I’ll tell you. Just stop touching me there. You’re violating me!”

I roll my eyes.

“We’re not on one of your politically correct college campuses,” I say with derision and a rueful smile. “What you call violation I call foreplay. Are you going to tell me?”

She pauses too long, so I slam my hand against her ass again.

“I hate that cuff on my leg!” she says. I blink in a second of confusion.

What?

Then realization dawns on me. I lift the cuff of her pants and reveal her torn, angry skin, where she clawed at the tracking device I snapped on her. A new wave of anger rises in my chest. I let the fabric fall, pin her down on my knee, determined to give her a sound spanking she won’t soon forget. She hollers and twists, but I hold fast, one leg draped over both of hers.

“Don’t you ever harm yourself like that again,” I lecture, delivering smack after smack. “You belong to me and you do not harm what belongs to me. Ever.” I spank her until she slumps across my lap and she’s crying softly, but don’t release her until she gives me what I want.

“Do you understand me?” I ask, my hand poised to strike again.

“Yes,” she wails, sniffling.

Frowning, I pull her clothes back on her and turn her upright on my knee. I expect she wants to march away from me and nurse her wounds apart from me, but I won’t let her. To my surprise, though, she doesn’t push away, but burrows herself on my chest. She sniffles a bit, but isn’t crying outright.