The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

He playfully slaps my thigh again, and my body responds with longing. “Mmm,” I groan.

“I won’t spank you until the doctor tells me I can,” he says decisively.

“Kazimir,” I whine. “That isn’t fair.”

Then he’s gone. His warmth, his strength, his masculine scent. Standing over me, he mutters, “You want to be punished? No sex,” he says, turning away with a twinkle in his eyes.

“No!” I yelp, sounding desperate. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop begging. I’ll be patient.”

The towel falls the floor as he lunges back at the bed, silencing my shriek with a savage kiss, the hard length of him pressing between my thighs. “Yes,” I moan. “Oh, God, yes. Please.” I close my eyes when he kisses me, allowing myself to drown in sensation when he palms my breast, plays with my nipples, and his tongue slides against mine. I missed this so much, my throat feels tight and tears prick my eyes, so when the doorbell rings, I groan.

“Who’s that?” I ask. “God, it’s been weeks and we can’t have a minute to ourselves?”

I’m muttering and groaning to myself, but he’s already pulling on a pair of pants and walking bare-chested to open the door. One of the men he works with stands in the doorway. They have a brief, tense conversation in Russian, and just as Kazimir dismisses him, the doctor shows up.

Oh for crying out loud. I sigh, but then I remember I can ask the doctor about what’s safe so I perk up a bit.

Kazimir greets the doctor, and escorts him into the bedroom. The doctor comes often, takes my vital signs, listens to the baby’s heartbeat, and checks to see how I’m doing. I get the feeling that this isn’t normal prenatal care, but something Kazimir demands above the norm.

After Dr. Rothsky’s finished with his examination, I wave my hand to Kazimir. “Please don’t forget to ask him what’s okay for us to do,” I say. “You know.” I flush. Kazimir rolls his eyes but his lips twitch up, and he talks to the doctor in Russian as he leads him to do the door. A few minutes later, he returns to the room with a downcast look.

“What?” I ask, sitting up in bed.

“Seems we have to be safe and gentle during your pregnancy,” he begins. “No pain, nothing dangerous, and missionary sex is likely the safest position.”

“What?” I say. “I think the medical practices here must be outdated. There’s no reason—”

But my voice trails off because he’s laughing. Really laughing. His eyes twinkle with merriment, his shoulders shaking with it.

“I’m teasing,” he says. “Unfortunately it looks like you’d better behave yourself. There will be no free card offered just because you’re carrying my child.”

“Oh?” I ask, excitement weaving its way through my belly.

“Oh,” he responds with a sage nod. “I have to be sure not to constrict your air ways, so bondage is fine with limitations. Soft ropes and no loss of circulation.”

“Got it,” I say as he undresses and his cock springs free.

“I’m free to spank your ass,” he says, a warning glint in his eyes, “though eventually over my knee will get uncomfortable and we’ll have to arrange pillows. But he says a little spanking is actually good, because the hormones released afterward have a calming effect.”

“I see,” I whisper as he leans down and drags his tongue along my hardened nipple.

“I won’t overdo it,” he says. “But I know how to deliver a good, thorough spanking that will make you behave yourself.”

“That you do,” I agree, my voice pitching off to a groan when he clamps down on my nipple with his teeth.

“On your knees,” he orders.

He’s kneeling over me now, arranging my limbs so that I’m face down on my knees, with my ass in the air. “So tell me, sweet girl,” he says with a growl. I feel his cock pressed hard up against my ass and I push against it, earning me a hard smack and a growl. “Have you been naughty?”

I stifle a groan while I grind against his cock. “I’ve been terrible,” I say with a mock confession. “I even touched myself when you weren’t looking.”

His hand crashes down on my ass, not as hard as he’s spanked me in the past, but it’s enough that I squeal and arch. “Did you?” he asks. “Did you make yourself come?”

I don’t answer. I want a spanking. Hell, I need one. And I’m teasing him anyway. I never touched myself.

“Answer me,” he says, delivering a few sharp smacks to my upper thighs and the underside of my ass. He hasn’t lost his touch. My backside throbs and heats from the smacks of his palm, but I need more. I’m so swollen and ready, one swipe of his tongue or fingers would send me soaring into release.

“No,” I cry out when he spanks me again. “I lied. I never touched myself. You’re the only one who does.”