Page 43 of My Bratva Stalker

The one she’s losing.

The one she’s about to surrender to.

I slide my hands down her body, slow and deliberate.

She shudders.

Her breath hitches when my fingers reach the hem of her dress.

I lift it over her soft curves, past her round, full tits, dragging it over her head.

She’s bare for me, now.

My gorgeous, perfect girl.

I exhale, slow and heavy, because fuck—I could look at her forever.

“Viktor…” she whispers, barely audible.

I press a finger to her lips.

“Shh, printsessa. No more talking.”

I slide my hands over her body, memorizing every dip, every inch, every perfect curve.

She whines, squirming, trying to fight it. But her nipples harden under my palms. Her thighs press together.

She’s fighting herself now. And she’s losing.

I kneel between her legs, lowering myself until I’m flush against her body.

My cock is hard, thick, pressing into her soft belly.

I cup her face, thumb brushing her plump bottom lip.

“I’ve claimed you, fucked you—” I pause, letting my words sink. “But tonight, I’ll make love to you.”

Her breath stutters. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

And this time, she doesn’t pull away.

I kiss her. Slow. Deep.

It’s not a battle. Not a demand.

Just her and me, with nothing left between us.

I feel her surrender in the way she melts into me.

The way her fingers tangle in my hair.

The way her legs part, inviting me deeper.

I push inside her, slowly, sinking into her heat inch by mind-blowing inch.

She gasps, clinging to me, her body stretching, taking me in.

I growl, pressing my forehead to hers.

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