Page 24 of Scarred Bratva King

The kiss started as a taunt, a way to prove a point, but it shifts immediately. His mouth slams against mine with a hunger that takes me by surprise.

I gasp, giving him the opening he needs to deepen the kiss. His hand tightens on my waist, the other sliding up to cup the back of my neck, tilting my head to give him better access.

The room feels like it’s spinning, and I clutch at his jacket to steady myself. The kiss is fiery, desperate, and nothing like I expected. It’s not fake, not even close. And what terrifies me is just how good it feels.

He breaks away first, his breathing heavy, his forehead resting against mine. “Still think you’re the better actor?” he murmurs, his voice rough and laced with something I can’t quite name. “How real was that?”

I force myself to meet his gaze, even though my heart feels like it’s trying to beat its way out of my chest. “Totally fake,” I say, my voice breathless. “I didn’t feel a thing. Told you. You can’t act for shit.”

A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face, and I know I’ve just poked a tiger. “I see,” he says, stepping back just enough to give me space to breathe. “Let’s give them something real to talk about, shall we?”

Before I can respond, he leans in again, this time pressing his lips to my neck. The sensation is electric, sending a jolt straight through me. He nibbles lightly, just enough to leave a mark, and I let out a moan, my hands fisting in his jacket.

“Maxim,” I whisper.

He pulls back, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You want this to work?” he asks, his voice rough. “Then stop pretending.”

I push him back, needing space to think, to breathe. “What the hell are we doing?” I ask, my voice shaky.

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze never leaving mine. When he finally speaks, his voice is firm. “Acting.”

The bass from the music outside thuds faintly through the walls of the side room, a steady rhythm that matches the flutter in my chest.

His cologne—something dark and expensive—wraps around me, and I can’t help but inhale deeply, my pulse quickening.

“This has to look convincing,” he murmurs, his voice low, gravelly, and tinged with that Russian accent that always sends a shiver down my spine. His eyes lock onto mine, and there’s something in them that makes my stomach tighten.

“No one’s watching,” I breathe, though my voice feels too light, too shaky. This was supposed to be an act, a performance for the guests outside. A few moans, some heavy breathing, maybe a slammed hand against the wall for effect. But now his gaze is searing into me, and I feel like I’m unraveling under it.

His lips are inches from mine, and I swear I can feel the heat of his breath as he leans closer. “I am,” he says, his tone sharp, commanding.

His mouth presses into mine and, oh God, it’s so good. This kiss isn’t soft or tentative; it’s demanding, consuming, like he’s determined to claim every inch of me.

His tongue invades my mouth, deep and deliberate, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes me. My hands fly upinstinctively, clutching at his broad shoulders, the fabric of his suit smooth under my fingers.

He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me, and suddenly one of his hands leaves the wall to grip my hip, pulling me flush against him. I gasp into his mouth, feeling the hard press of his body against mine, and my legs nearly give out.

“You’re shaking,” he says, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak, his lips brushing against mine as he does. His voice is amused, but there’s an edge to it that makes my knees weak. “Never done this before?”

“I’m fine,” I say, though my voice betrays me, trembling just like the rest of me. “Just acting.”

He smirks, a faint tilt of his lips that’s equal parts dangerous and irresistible. “Liar.” Then his mouth is on mine again, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

I melt into him, my mind spinning, my body arching toward his without thought. One of his hands slides up my side, skimming over the curve of my ribs, and I shudder.

The dress I’m wearing—tight, crimson, and far too revealing for a proper engagement party—feels like it’s suffocating me.

Every brush of my skin against the fabric is electric, and when his fingers find the zipper at my back, I whimper in relief. He tugs it down slowly, deliberately, his lips still moving against mine, and the cool air hits my bare skin, making me gasp.

“Maxim—” I start, but he cuts me off with another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my head spin.

His hands slide under the straps of my dress, pushing it down my shoulders until it pools at my feet, leaving me standing in nothing but my heels and a matching red lace set that feels like it might combust under his gaze.

He steps back just enough to take me in, his eyes darkening as they roam over my body. “Fuck,” he mutters, and the raw intensity in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to my core.

His hands reach for me again, cupping my breasts roughly, his thumbs brushing over my already-hard nipples through the thin lace of my bra. I bite my lip to stifle a moan, but it doesn’t work.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the words go straight to my head, making me dizzy. “Be loud. Let them hear.” He unhooks my bra with practiced ease, tossing it aside before his mouth descends on one breast, his tongue circling my nipple before sucking it into the heat of his mouth.

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