Page 23 of My Bratva Stalker

I don’t know if I can breathe.

My body is wrecked.

My legs trembling, my skin flushed, my pussy still pulsing from what he’s done to me.

From how he’s marked me.

Filled me.

Made me his.

Viktor lifts me like I weigh nothing.

His strong arms wrap around me, steady and possessive.

I melt into him, letting my head rest against his broad chest.

His heart is pounding.

His skin is hot.

His scent—clean sweat, masculine musk, and something purely him—wraps around me, making me dizzy.

He carries me into the bathroom, the air thick with steam.

I should be embarrassed. I should be shy.

I’m bare, dripping with his cum, my thighs slick with the proof of what we just did. But he doesn’t look away. Doesn’t give me a chance to retreat.

He just steps into the vast shower, the hot water cascading over both of us from multiple heads .

I sigh as the heat soothes my sore muscles.

Viktor shifts, setting me on my feet.

I wobble. He grips my waist, steadying me.

“Easy, printsessa.”

I swallow hard, nodding.

His fingers trail over my back, down my spine, slow and deliberate.

I shiver, not from the water, but from him.

The way he touches me.

The way he owns me, even now.

His palms glide lower, over the curve of my ass, gripping, squeezing, parting.

I gasp, my pussy clenching painfully.

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest.

“Still sensitive?”

I nod, my breath shuddering.

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