I come again.
With a groan, he thrusts into me three more times, pushing deep and holding there, his head dropping to my shoulder. He gathers me in his arms, rolling to the side, still buried inside me with his leg thrown over mine. I’m enclosed in this fortress of beautiful flesh and muscle and for the first time I can ever remember, I feel safe.
Reality returns when Cameron gently pulls his cock out of me. He looks down, frowning. “Ah, shite. I didn’t intend to hurt you. Or are you on your cycle?”
It takes me a minute to realize what he’s saying. “You didn’t know I was- this was my first time.” Saying ‘You didn’t know you deflowered me?’ seems painfully awkward, given what we’ve just done.
His expression changes from startled to remorseful in seconds. “Sweet Jesus, I should have been more careful with ya’. I’d forgotten that the Bratva girls are expected to be pure, which is the stupidest feckin’ thing.”
I forget my embarrassment. “Really? You wouldn’t have demanded your wife be, you know…”
“Virgin?” he finished. “Why the hell shouldn’t you have the same right to decide who you want to fuck and what you like? The only reason these old bastards insist on a virgin is because they’re shite in bed and don’t want her to have anything to compare their flaccid dicks to.”
I have no frame of reference for this. I know other girls in my position, all of us expected to be untouched while the men in our Bratvas were allowed to be as whorish as they liked.
Strolling into the bathroom, he returns with a soft cloth, cleaning me despite my embarrassed protests that I could do it myself. “All that said,” he muses, eyeing my center, “I dinna’ expect how it would feel to be the only man inside you. Good.” He leans forward and very gently licks me. “Feral.”
My hand falls to the back of his thick hair as he gives me another long, slow lick. “Poor, swollen cunny. Let me make you feel better.”
Cameron does, his insistence on ‘making me feel better’ wrings another orgasm from my exhausted self. He’s being exceptionally sweet, maybe to make up for taking my virginity, though I didn’t think I could have possibly enjoyed it more.
Rolling me to my side again, he settles against the curve of my ass. “I’m going to be your only, wife. But I promise to show you so many things.” His voice deepens alarmingly and I give a little groan. “You’ll have plenty of time to decide what you like.”
Chapter Twelve
In which there is a war council and we are introduced to Bad Cat.
Cameron…
Yawning as I log onto a Zoom call with my brothers, I eye my coffee and hope the caffeine kicks in as quickly as possible. Staying up all night with a beautiful woman was easier at twenty-two than it is at thirty-two.
Not that I regretted a moment of it.
“Morning brothers,” Cormac says, “Dougal and Lachlan, ya’ both look like you’re still scuppered. Sobriety is mandatory for all future meetings.”
“We’re not!” Lachlan protests, “We were up all night covering that shipment from yer wife’s da’. The arsehole pissed off the Blackwoods and they were planning to take it as retaliation.”
“Now, we’re drinking,” Dougal says, handing him a lager and tapping his against it in a toast.
“That feckin’ gobshite,” groaned Cormac, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll give him a call and scare the shite out of him.”
When Cormac managed to break Mala’s arranged marriage to Don Accardi, the weaselly prick, he had to give her father - head of the Chandler Syndicate - access to our best shipping routes on the Atlantic. He’s been a thorn in our backsides ever since.
“We’ve been wanting to shove our feet up the collective arse of the Blackwood mob for years,” I say, “I don’t care what Chandler did, they know better than stepping foot in our territory.”
“And you, brother,” Cormac grins, “lookfar founert,near beat to shite. How are things with you and your lovely bride?”
Tucked up in bed with a broken pussy, courtesy of my cock.
“My wife is fine and none of your business. Moving on to our little project in Moscow, I might have a new ally.”
Cormac leans forward and even Dougal and Lachlan put their beer bottles down. “I ran into Nolan O’Rourke at the fundraising gala the other night.”
“What was the fundraiser for?” Lachlan asks.
“I dinna’ know,” I shrug, “but we donated to it. Back to O’Rourke. He bumped into Morana and me when we were dancing and made it clear he knew who she was. It shook her up a little.”
“O’Rourke’s a billionaire because his net worth is information,” Cormac says, “but he’s a feckin’ nightmare to deal with.”
