Page 45 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

My eyes snapped open.

My office.

This was wrong. He was my client. He wasengaged.

“Miron, this is crazy. You’re crazy,” I rasped.

His lips left mine only so he could press his forehead against mine, his breath harsh and unsteady.

“I know. You deserve better,” he murmured hazily. “But allow me to show you just how much better.”

I thought I was strong enough to be rational and to pull away—to walk out of those doors and not look back. But I was wrong. I let my walls fall.

For once, I allowed myself to want.

I swallowed, my hands still fisted in his shirt. “Show me.”

His grip tightened, as if he’d been waiting for me to say it. And when his lips crashed into mine again, I knew there was no turning back.

I moaned into his mouth, shut my eyes, and threw my head back when he greedily grazed my collarbone and bit on the skin below my ear.

“Hazel,” Miron growled my name into my hair, like a man drunk with maddening desire and insatiable need. And hearing my name on his lips lit up a torch inside me, which burned with an equal hunger.

Trembling hands slid under my dress, and he gripped my hips, his palms scalding hot against my skin when he lifted me from the ground and wrapped my legs around his waist.

His feet moved, and his lips were everywhere, tasting and taking. And I gave with equal fervor. Cupping his cheeks, I captured his firm lips, sucking each one at a time. He tasted so much better than strawberry jam.

I heard a door slam shut behind me and opened my eyes briefly to see him move to a king-size bed at the center of a bedroom.

Gently, he lay me on it and moved back with the darkest gaze to unbutton his shirt, neither of us saying anything.

I knelt on the bed, matching his speed as I hooked my fingers under my dress and lifted it over my head. I was left in a bra and a flimsy thong that barely covered my ass. My breasts grew heavy in my bra, my nipples tightened with want, and my arousal dampened the thin material between my legs.

He watched me as he took off his pants, and when his cock sprung out, I gaped.

Miron was mouthwateringly huge.

An ache settled between my legs, making me squirm when he hadn’t even laid a single finger on me. Yet.

“Take off the bra and lie down on your back.”

It was an order, but I didn’t refuse. Reaching for the hook, I unclipped it and let the bra drop to the foot of the bed. Then, I lay back and spread my legs for him, watching as he joined me on the bed in a hungry daze.

He nestled between my thighs, fisted my thong, and slipped his hand through it to cup my sex. Moaning, I arched my back, pushing my pussy deeper into his hand.

So much heat. So much need.

One of his hands pinned my wrists above my head while his mouth found my breast, sucking gently.

I devoured the sight of his chiseled cheeks, the rippling muscles of his chest and arms as he hovered above me. He looked perfect in a way I considered otherworldly.

Miron was not the type of man I’d pictured for me. He belonged to another circle, the type his fiancée obviously rolled with: high-class, powerful, commanding.

It probably wasn’t ideal for me to think about her while he feasted on my breasts like he’d been starved. But I couldn’t help it.

But seeing him now, holding me and touching me like he worshipped me, made me feel an immense amount of pleasure that crashed through me, inside me, until I was quivering, jerking, twitching—believing that there might have been a world where we existed together.

He squeezed my nipples and journeyed lower, kissing the faint stretch line marks scattered above my hips, his fingernails digging harshly into my thighs.

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