The Player (Chicago Bratva 8) - Page 35

I want to thank Flynn. I also want to try again. To erase the presence of the cigar man in the room. In our sex life. Under my skin.

I crawl down under the covers, straddling Flynn’s legs.

“You don’t have to, Nadia. I don’t care if my dick gets sucked or not. I’m good.” He reaches for me. “Let me taste you.”

“I want to.” I fist his cock, which instantly firms in my grip. “I really need to do this.”

“Turn around, then,” Flynn urges. “Sixty-nine. Sit on my face.”

I laugh because it’s not something I’ve ever tried.

I’d had sex before I was enslaved. A few boyfriends. But I guess there’s still a lot I don’t know. Flynn probably knows everything.

It’s embarrassing, but I change position, kneeling over his face. Even though it’s dark, I squeeze my eyes shut tight, willing the memories back, chanting in my head, This is Flynn, this is Flynn, this is Flynn.

He grips my thighs and tugs me down to his mouth, his tongue parting my flesh. I moan at the contact. My clit is already sensitized from our earlier round, and my ass jerks at the zing of sensation that shoots straight to my core.

Flynn works me with enthusiasm, sucking at my labia, tonguing me in at least five different ways. It makes it easy to surrender to the sensation. To forget the thing I’m most afraid of–my past overtaking the present.

It’s easy to open my mouth and take the head of Flynn’s cock into the pocket of my cheek. As I grow more confident, more secure, I angle it straight back. I’m on top. I’m in control. No one will choke me. This is for Flynn.

This is also for me.

My pleasure matches his. Giving and receiving at the same time.

I sink into the moment. There isn’t the desperate edge to reach a finish line that we had before. There isn’t even a proving to myself that I can do this.

I’m already doing it. I already have done it.

There’s no pressure to perform. I can actually slow down and enjoy. I take my time, licking around the head of Flynn’s cock, flicking my tongue along the slit. When I take him deep into my mouth again, he groans against my flesh and starts licking with more animation.

Happiness slips in.

A slice of glory.

I haven’t orgasmed yet, but the feel-good hormones have already rushed to my brain, bathing it in pleasure. Love. Bonding.

“Nadia?” Flynn’s voice is deep and raspy with lust.

“Da?”

“Can I fuck you, babe? I want to get on top and fuck you good.”

“Yes,” I breathe. “Pozhaluysta…please.” I scramble off him and turn around on the bed.

He gets up on his knees and meets me in the middle, looping an arm behind my back and kissing me with the gloss of my juices on his lips. “Just say no if it doesn’t feel good, okay?”

I nod my head. I already know that won’t happen. I’m so ready for him. I want to feel everything he wants to give me.

“Lie down on your belly, Peaches,” he murmurs.

When I do, he grabs a pillow and lifts my hips to slip it under them. Then he climbs over me. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

I hear the snap of a foil wrapper as he puts a condom on, then he stands on his knees between my thighs and lowers his body over mine. His cock nudges at my entrance. I tip my ass up to take him.

He goes slowly, but I’m so wet and ready, there’s no resistance. Especially after our first session. He feeds his length into me, inch by inch until his loins hit my ass. The head of his cock strokes my inner walls in the perfect place.

It feels wonderful.

Perfect, even.

He blankets my body with his entire form, sliding an arm under my ribs, so he’s holding me in an embrace as he snaps his hips to drive into me.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs against my ear. “Are you good?”

“So good,” I breathe, opening my legs even wider.

He nibbles along my neck, the seductive tenderness balancing out the animalistic force with which he fucks me. It’s a little wild and rough but still very personal. Intimate. Our two bodies work in concert to drive us both to the precipice.

I start to cry out, and Flynn slows, brushing my hair back from my cheek to see my face.

“Don’t stop,” I moan. “Please. I need more. Please.”

“I’ll give it to you, sweetheart.” He slides the hand underneath me down between our legs and finds my clit. One pinch, and I’m shrieking, hurtling over the edge into oblivion.

I shatter and come back together. Shatter again. I spin. No, the room spins–I float.

I’m flying, like the wish from the rainbow grasshopper was granted to me instead of Flynn.

Or maybe he’s flying, too.

He hasn’t finished yet, though. He waits until my muscles stop clenching and squeezing around his cock, and then he rises up on one arm to brace himself above me and pounds into me. “Are you okay?” he pants, still thinking about my comfort.

Tags: Renee Rose Chicago Bratva Romance
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