Page 40 of My Bratva Stalker

I just attack.

Fists flying, nails clawing, body thrashing as I fight him with everything I have.

“You fucking bastard!”

Viktor grunts, catching my wrists, trapping them with one hand.

His grip is iron. Unshakable. Completely immovable.

I kick, but he shifts, parting his thighs so I land between them, where he’s caging me tighter.

Fuck!

I’m breathing hard, panting, my heart slamming against my ribs.

I yank, twist, try to break free, but it’s no use.

He’s too strong. Too big.

“You done, printsessa?” he rumbles, voice deep and dark.

I snarl, yanking again.

“You—are—a psycho!”

His grip tightens just enough to remind me who’s stronger.

“And you’re still mine.”

My entire body shakes with fury.

“I hate you!”

“No, you don’t.”

I try to kick him again, but this time, he moves first.

In one brutal motion, he flips me on my back against the leather seat, caging me under him.

His legs trap mine, his body presses me down, pinning me effortlessly.

My breath catches.

Because I can feel him.

Everywhere.

His heat. His size. The thick, unforgiving length of his cock pressing against my belly. The scent of him. His devilishly handsome face. I whimper, disgusted by the spark of heat curling deep inside me. He smirks. Because he knows.

“You’re shaking, printsessa.”

His deep voice drags over my skin like fucking velvet. His free hand trails down my arm, my waist, my thigh—slow and deliberate.

My muscles tense, my breath catches. But I don’t stop him. I can’t.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, pressing his hard cock against my stomach.

“Feel what you do to me?”

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