The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

“What’s different?” Her voice is husky.

I push her knees up, spreading them wide and settle between her legs. “Now I can have you.”

She tries to snap them shut around my ears. “I didn’t say that.”

I lick into her, and she gasps, tightening her thighs even more. I grasp her legs and stroke my palm up and down one of them. “I didn’t mean it that way. Only that you’re an adult and Igor’s dead.” The truth is, I didn’t even let myself look at her the night I found her in my room. I mean, I saw, but I forced my mind to ignore what I saw. I didn’t even sprout a chub because I knew it would be wrong.

So wrong.

I ease her knees back open and tongue her, tracing around her pink bits, then sucking her clit between my lips.

I try to work my index finger inside her, but she’s tight as hell. She whimpers slightly. When I look up to read her face, I find her expression slightly alarmed.

Goosebumps shoot out on my arms as it hits me—my bride might be a virgin after all.

“W-weren’t you going to punish me?” Her cheeks flush—whether it’s excitement or embarrassment I can’t be sure.

I know she’s diverting my attention, but I fucking love that she asked. It’s the second time she’s reminded me of her punishment. I’m thinking she loves the idea as much as I do. Punishment probably seems safer to her now than letting me conquer that pussy of hers—especially if she’s a virgin like I’m starting to suspect.

I smirk. “I was going to wait until morning when you were sober, but if you want your spanking now, I’m happy to deliver.”

I don’t give her a chance to respond, I just tuck my hand under one side of her hips to roll her to her belly. She spreads her legs a little, like a good girl. I give her ass a few smacks and rub.

Fuck. Sasha is a good girl. She may play bad girl all day long, but at the end of it all, she kept this pussy pristine because Igor told her to lock it up. She fooled me. She fooled everybody. But the sex-tease act was a manipulation. Underneath it all, my bride is an innocent.

She even fooled Igor because he flat-out stated she wasn’t a virgin.

He was an ass.

I dip my fingers between her soft thighs and rub. Her pussy weeps, greedy for attention. I spread the moisture up to circle her clit and back again. Then I deliver several hard smacks. “That’s for letting that mudak touch you,” I tell her, using the Russian word for asshole instead of the English. “That is the part I won’t be quick to forgive.” I stroke again, teasing her entrance with the tip of my finger before working it inside.

She spreads her legs wider, tipping her ass back to give me better access. “I was about to give him the elbow when you arrived.”

I slowly pump my finger as I slap her ass a few times with my free hand. “That better be fucking true.”

She moans. “It is.” Her accent’s grown thicker.

I ease out of her and warm her ass again with another flurry of spanks. I start light and gradually increase the power behind the spanks until she starts to squirm and reach back. I clasp her wrist and bend her arm behind her back. “That’s for making me get on a fucking plane to chase you.” I slap the backs of her legs, and she cries out, cursing me in Russian. Her porcelain skin glows pink with my handprints, and I can’t deny the surge of possessiveness I experience admiring it.

I slide my middle finger between her legs at the same time my thumb dips between her cheeks to nudge her back pucker. She squeezes her ass cheeks up tight against the intrusion.

I slap her ass with my free hand and continue to work my middle finger past her tight entrance and apply pressure with my thumb. I prod her cheeks open and drop a little saliva between them to aid my progress.

“What are you—oh!” Sasha gasps as I breach her back hole, too. She pants, her hips rocking to take my middle finger deeper. I lean on my shin beside her, to get in close, working my digits in both her holes. I alternate, filling her pussy, then her ass as she writhes and moans incoherently. I work my free hand under her hips to find her clit and she bucks, opening her legs even wider. She’s beautiful—fully surrendered, yielding, responsive. I try to get a second finger inside her tight entrance while I circle her clit.

“Maxim.” She sounds alarmed. She must be close to orgasm.

“That’s right, caxapok.” Say my fucking name. I’m simultaneously shocked by how far we’ve come since yesterday and stunned at how right it feels. How satisfying it is to hear my reluctant bride croak my name in that desperate, needy tone.