The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

More.

He climbs over me, a tube of something in his hand. He pushes my top knee open and rubs a couple drops of whatever is in the tube over my clit. I blink at him, wanting him to go on, to massage that place until I go off, but he doesn’t. He looks down at me, studying my face. “Do you need a blindfold, kitten?”

My first instinct is to snap no. Like he issued a threat not a true question. But it occurs to me that he’s not against me when we’re in bed. This is the man who seems to know my body better than I do. He played me like a fine instrument at Black Light.

So I answer truthfully. “I-I don’t know.”

He nods. “I think you might.” He leaves the bed and returns with one of his ties, which he wraps around my head and secures in the back. I sink my head down on the pillow.

“Comfortable, kitten?”

I nod.

“Good. Because I intend to take my time with you this afternoon.”

“I-I have work to do,” I say. It’s true, I always have work to do. It’s also true that there’s nothing pressing.

“It will wait,” Ravil says.

Whatever he rubbed on my clit starts to send hot and cold sensations through all the sensitive nerve-endings. A tingling spreads through my entire genital area.

Yeah, I’m definitely not going to work right now. Or any time soon.

Ravil slaps my ass.

I jump, surprised at the sensation. Damn. He was right. The blindfold heightens everything. Helps me settle in. I sink into the scene, knowing there’s nothing I can or need to do. Ravil is in charge and—in this scenario—I trust him.

His fingers wrap around my knee, and he lightly trails his lips up my inner thigh again. I shiver at the sensation, pleasure blooming everywhere. He opens my labia and trails his tongue around my inner bits. I moan softly. It feels so good. Every time he touches me, my body comes alive.

It’s like I never even had sex before Ravil. Sure, I did the deed, but it was mechanical. Vaguely satisfying. Nothing at all like this.

This is hedonism—something I’ve never allowed myself. I don’t drink too much. I don’t overeat. I don’t take vacations, even though I know I should.

My parents instilled in me the belief I had to work hard and prove myself at all times. That’s what they did. That’s what my older brother, the NASA engineer did.

And I was told I’d have to work even harder because I’m a pretty woman. I’d have to prove myself over and over again. In college, through law school, at my father’s firm. Especially there—so no one would think I was handed the position through nepotism.

But Ravil doesn’t make me prove my worth. Not when I’m tied up, blindfolded and at his mercy.

Here, I am his to punish. His to pleasure. All I need to do is surrender. Receive. Enjoy.

“Ravil,” I find myself croaking, rolling my hips and needing more than just his tongue.

“Tell me about your orgasms, kitten.” Ravil says, removing his glorious tongue from between my legs. “Are they mostly vaginal?” He tucks a couple digits inside me and strokes my inner wall.

Another moan falls from my lips. It feels so good.

“A-as opposed to what?” I manage to pant.

“Clitoral or cervical. They say there are three kinds of orgasms.” Suddenly he’s up by my head, trailing butterfly kisses along the column of my neck. “Four if you count this region.” He arrives at my jaw and kisses me harder there, then nibbles my ear.

Shivers run through me in all directions—up and down my spine, along the insides of my legs, in the arches of my feet, down my arms.

“Ravil,” I croak again.

He strokes down my cheek—I think with the backs of his fingers. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his accent thicker than usual. “I love it when you say my name like you’re dying to be fucked.”

I lick my lips. “Please.”

It didn’t take me long to get from slapping him to begging.

“Surrender, kitten. You’ll get your pleasure when I decide.”

“I know,” I say faintly.

He chuckles and kisses the bobbing of my throat, then the notch between my clavicles, then the center of my breastbone.

He strums my right nipple lightly with the pad of a finger. There’s a patience with which he approaches my body that intensifies everything. He doesn’t just pinch or lick right away. Just lightly touches until it stiffens and lengthens under his touch.

“Soon these beautiful breasts will provide sustenance to our son. Benjamin.”

My body shivers in response. I plan on breastfeeding. At least a little. Pumping for certain, to leave milk with the nanny when I’m at work. But Ravil speaking of it now while I’m in this receptive state, in touch with my body, makes me almost crave the act. Like my body knows and believes the beauty of it. As perfect and pleasurable as sex. As natural and easy.