Page 33 of Scarred Bratva King

I don’t hesitate. “Yes. I didn’t quite believe it last time.”

One hand moves to the back of my neck, pulling me into a searing kiss. It’s possessive, demanding, and I melt into it, my fingers tangling in his hair. He tastes like coffee and regret, and I can’t get enough. When he pulls away, my lips are swollen, and I’m breathing heavily.

He doesn’t give me time to recover. In one swift motion, he yanks my panties down, leaving me exposed. The cool air makes me gasp, but his hands are already there, spreading my legs wider as he kneels in front of me.

“Maxim—” I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp slap to my inner thigh. The sting is unexpected, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan.

“Be quiet,” he orders, his voice firm.

His mouth finds me before I can respond, and I let out a strangled cry as his tongue works its magic. He’s relentless, alternating between licks and sucks, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through me. My hands fumble for purchase on the table, gripping the edge as I struggle not to writhe under his touch.

“God, you taste good,” he mutters against me, his breath hot on my skin.

I whimper, arching into him, desperate for more. He hums in response, the vibrations making me see stars. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and I can feel myself teetering on the edge.

“Please,” I beg, my voice breaking.

He doesn’t stop, his movements becoming more precise, more intentional. And then it hits me—a crashing wave of ecstasy that leaves me trembling and gasping for air.

It washes over me and makes me crave him inside me. He doesn’t let up until I’ve ridden out the last of my climax, only then pulling back to press a kiss to my inner thigh.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s standing, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease. His pants fall to the floor, and then he’s lifting me again, positioning me on the edge of the table. There’s no hesitation as he pushes inside me, filling me completely.

“Look at me,” he demands, and I obey, locking eyes with him. The connection is electric, and I can’t look away even if I wanted to.

He starts slowly, rocking into me with deliberate strokes that make my toes curl. But it doesn’t stay that way for long.

Soon, he’s pounding into me, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. Each thrust drives me closer to the edge again, and I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Maxim,” I gasp.

“Say my name again,” he growls, his pace unrelenting.

“Maxim,” I repeat, louder this time as I stroke my clit, trying to reach another high. My moans are enough to push him over the edge, and I feel him shudder as he spills inside me.

I hit my own climax an instant later, crying out with joy, collapsing against him, on the verge of tears.

He pulls out, helping me off the table and handing me my discarded clothes.

We dress in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging between us.

Just as I’m smoothing out my skirt, the door flies open. Dmitri strides in, his expression grim.

“What?” Maxim snaps. “We’re trying to eat in here.”

Dmitri’s eyes are bulging with anger. “Marco’s been spotted,” he says without preamble.

Maxim’s entire demeanor shifts, his earlier softness replaced by cold determination. He nods, grabbing his jacket and tossing me a brief glance. “Stay here,” he orders.

And just like that, they’re gone, leaving me alone at the breakfast table.

17

MAXIM

The stench hits me the moment I step inside the club. It’s not even noon and the place is already full of drunks. Perfume, sweat, stale beer—a cocktail that suits Marco perfectly.

The music pounds, too loud and too aggressive. Neon lights flicker, throwing cheap reds and purples across the room. Half naked dancers sway on raised platforms, their bodies twisting and writhing to grab attention.

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