Page 42 of My Bratva Stalker

I cry out, my legs kicking, but he just holds me down, working me. Deep. Slow. Relentless.

“That’s it, baby. Take my fingers. Get ready for my cock.”

My clit pulses. My thighs tremble.

The knot inside me pulls tighter, tighter, too tight.

I can’t—

I can’t—

His thumb presses down, his fingers stroke deep—

And I break.

I sob as my orgasm slams into me, my body shaking, convulsing, pleasure flooding every nerve.

Viktor growls, watching me come undone.

“Fuck, look at you. So fucking pretty when you break for me.”

Tears slip down my cheeks. and he kisses them away. Slow, soft, heartbreaking.

He won. My body betrayed me. No matter how much I hate him— No matter how much I want to escape— I belong to him. And we both know it.

Viktor

She’s limp in my arms. Not from fear. Not from defeat. But from pleasure.

Her body is wrecked, trembling, still pulsing from what I did to her in the car.

I carry her through the house, straight to my bedroom.

She doesn’t fight.

Not physically.

But I can feel it—the battle still raging inside her.

The need to resist.

To hold on to the anger, the resentment, the lie that she doesn’t want me.

But I’m about to tear that lie apart.

I set her on the bed, watching as she sinks into the sheets.

Her lashes flutter. Her chest rises and falls too fast, like she’s still trying to catch her breath.

She’s not looking at me. And I don’t like that.

I grip her chin, tilting her face up.

Her eyes lock onto mine.

Wide. Full of too many emotions at once.

I see the war inside her.

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