Page 48 of My Bratva Stalker

I can’t.

Because if I say it—

If I admit it—

I lose.

He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.

His eyes are molten, dark, completely wild. And so goddamn beautiful. Intoxicating. Seeing a man like him, fucking hungry for me.

“Say it, Marie. Say you don’t fucking need me.”

I whimper, panting, trembling.

His cock pushes in, stretching me, burning, making me take every hard, thick inch.

I scream, my back arching, pleasure slicing through me like a blade.

He groans, deep and guttural, as he bottoms out, pulsing deep inside me.

He grunts, “so fucking tight.”

Then he slides out, before thrusting deep again,shoving himself inside me balls deep.

I sob, clawing at his back, my legs wrapping around him.

“That’s it, baby. Take it. Take every fucking inch.”

His hips roll, his cock dragging against my walls, hitting me deep, stretching me open.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

The pressure builds, unbearable, devastating.

“Say it, printsessa. Say you need me.”

I shake my head, panting.

He slams into me, burying himself to the hilt.

I cry out, body spasming, pleasure blinding me.

His fingers dig into my hips, his voice low and dark.

“Say it.”

Tears burn my eyes.

My lips part.

And I break. “I need you.”

The words fall from my lips. Barely a whisper.

His breath hitches. His jaw clenches. Then his hips snap forward, fucking me harder, deeper, rougher.

“Fucking love you, baby.”

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