Page 44 of My Bratva Stalker

“You feel that, baby?”

She nods, breathless.

I thrust deeper, burying myself to the hilt.

“That’s me. Inside you. Where I belong.”

Her lips tremble. Her nails digging into my shoulders.

“You’re mine, Marie. Now and fucking always.”

When she finally falls apart under me, crying out my name, shaking in my arms—

I know I’ve won.

Marie

I wake up warm. Too warm.

Something heavy and hard is wrapped around me.

There’s heat at my back. A steady, deep breath against my neck. A strong arm caging me in, possessively.

I freeze.

No.

No, no, no.

Because for one blissful moment, I felt safe.

And that’s the biggest lie of all.

His scent surrounds me. Dark spice, masculine, rich and familiar.

My thighs clench, a dull ache pulsing between them—a reminder of how he touched me soft and tenderly. Of how I let him. Of how he made love to me like I was the only thing that ever mattered to him.

My chest tightens, heat prickling my skin. Because I can’t trust any of it. Can’t trust him. Can’t trust myself.

I shift against him, my breath catching when his grip tightens, pulling me closer.

His lips brush my shoulder, it’s barely a touch, but my skin burns.

A slow, deep inhale of his nose buried in my hair.

Then, a quiet rumble against my back.

“Mmm… my sweet girl’s awake.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my pulse racing.

Don’t melt. Don’t break. Don’t let him in.

His hand moves, sliding over my stomach, fingers splaying across my skin, warm and firm. He nuzzles against my neck, his lips dragging over my skin, slow, lazy. ALready making me feel warm all over.

His voice is still rough with sleep, deeper, softer. Dangerous in a different way. A way that makes me want us. But I can’t let that happen. Can’t let him win again.

I grip his wrist, trying to shove his arm away.

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