Page 41 of My Bratva Stalker

I bite my lip, fighting back a whimper.

Viktor chuckles, fucking pleased with himself.

“Feel how fucking hard I am for you? How fucking desperate?”

My cheeks flame, my pulse hammering. Because I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.

His hand slides lower, slipping under my dress.

I push back, but he shushes me, palm pressing against my inner thigh, forcing me open.

“Don’t fight me, baby. You know how this ends.”

My lungs squeeze.

“Fuck you!”

He grins. And even knowing he’s a deranged stalker, a man who ran after me, and won’t let me leave of my free will, I can’t help but be affected by how beautiful he is. His golden complexion, thick dark hair with its silver strands, that straight, masculine nose, his full lips, high cheekbones, and navy eyes.

“Oh, you will,” Viktor rumbles sensually.

His fingers skim my panties, slow and teasing.

I gasp, my hips jerking, thighs snapping shut, but he holds me open.

His eyes darken, locked on mine, watching my every reaction.

His voice drops, rough and hungry.

“You’re wet, printsessa.”

I freeze, fucking mortified.

He groans, dragging his fingers over my soaked panties.

“So fucking wet for me.” His tone is almost reverent.

Tears burn my eyes. I don’t want this. But deep down I know I do. I fucking do. And I hate myself for it.

“Say it.”

His voice is low, demanding, primal.

I shake my head violently, my lips pressed tight.

He growls, rubbing circles over my clit, pressing against my throbbing bud.

Pleasure slams through me, hot and unbearable.

“Say it, baby.”

I shake harder, refusing to give in. But my body doesn’t lie. My hips buck against his hand, chasing the friction. My breath shatters, a needy moan breaking free.

Viktor’s grin turns lethal.

“That’s my good girl.”

His fingers dip lower, pushing inside me, stretching me, curling.

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