Page 12 of Claimed and Bred By the Bratva

"This might hurt at first," I warn, even as my control frays like rope under too much strain. "But I'll be gentle."

She nods, dark eyes glazed and luminous. "I know. I trust you."

Those three words shatter what's left of my control—trust, when she has no reason to. No one in my life has believed in my goodness for decades. Nobody put energy into making me smile. Ismailovs don't need to smile. We need to take control, seize power, and defeat enemies. What else matters? She said I was a good man. I'm not. That I have her in my bed when it's the last place she should be is proof of that. But I'm not letting her go.No. The fact that I need one person to believe in me, to see some good in me, surprises me. I don't deserve her. I've earned hell. And I'll accept my place when it's my time. But until then, I'm keeping this bit of heaven.

I try to enter her slowly. I swear on my mother's grave, I try. But she's so tight, so snug, and when her heat envelopes the head of my cock, something primitive takes over. The civilized man disappears, leaving only the beast. I drive forward in one brutal thrust, tearing through her innocence and burying myself to the hilt. Her scream pierces the air—not pleasure this time, but pure pain—and reality crashes back with the force of a sledgehammer. I freeze, horrified by my loss of control, by the tears streaming down her cheeks, by the way her whole body has gone rigid beneath me.

"Fuck. Amani, I'm sorry."

I start to pull out, but her hands grip my shoulders with surprising strength. "Don't," she whispers through her tears. "Don't leave me."

"I hurt you."

"It's okay." She blinks, sending fresh tears trailing down her temples. "I knew it would hurt the first time. But I wanted it to be you. From the very first moment, it had to be you. Just... give me a minute."

But it's not okay. Nothing about this is okay. I was supposed to be gentle with her, supposed to make her first time something beautiful. Instead, I took her like the animal I am. Like she's just another body instead of the only light in my darkness. I sit perfectly still, letting her body adjust to the invasion. All while wrestling the monster roaring inside me to claim her. I press soft kisses to her face until her breathing evens out. Each tear that falls is another nail in my coffin, another reminder that I destroy everything I touch.

"Talk to me," she pants. "Tell me something. Anything. Just... distract me."

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," I murmur against her temple. "The first time you smiled at me, it was like seeing the sun after twenty years of darkness. I went home that night and couldn't sleep. Couldn't think about anything but that smile."

Her body relaxes incrementally. "Really?"

"Really. I came back every day after that. Learned your schedule. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday shifts. Always the morning shift on Saturdays, afternoon on the others."

A watery laugh escapes her. "That's a little stalkerish."

"You have no idea," I mutter, then kiss her before she can question it.

When she finally relaxes completely, I move, slow, careful strokes that have her gasping. But it's not right. She's not enjoying this the way she should. I can see it in her eyes, feel it in the tension of her body. She's enduring rather than experiencing pleasure. The knowledge guts me. I reach between us, finding her clit with my thumb, rubbing slow circles as I move inside her. "Come for me again, angel. Let me feel you."

"I can't," she whimpers. "It's too much."

"You can. Relax. Breathe. Come for me, Amani. Come on my cock like a good girl."

She shakes her head back and forth on the pillow, telling me she can't. But I know she fuckingcan. I scoop her juices onto my fingers and press firmly on her clit, massaging the soft spot on the other side of her wall. Her body tightens, inner muscles start fluttering, and I increase the pressure until she's gasping my name. "That's it," I growl. "That's my girl. Come for me. Show me who you belong to." She shatters with a cry, body clenching around me so tight I see stars. The rhythmic squeeze of her orgasm nearly rips the beast free. I pull back and slam into her.Her pussy clings to me with each withdrawal, snagging me, but I fight it. Retreating and surging in a wild frenzy. She's chanting something over and over. Hell, she might be praying, but I don't care.Can't care. I press her thighs to her breasts, spreading her legs wider. I have to get deeper. Have to get all of her. More and more, I'm a freight train without brakes. And the entire time I'm pile-driving, her sweet pussy holds on for dear life and hugs me tighter. Tighter until I don't know if she's clenching and sealing us together or I am. Doesn't matter. The rhythm is gone. I've flown off the tracks and I'm lost until I bury myself deep and come flooding her unprotected womb.

The thought of it—of my child possibly taking root inside her at this very moment—sends aftershocks of pleasure through me so intense I have to lock my arms to keep from crushing her.

When it's over, when I can think past the haze of possession and satisfaction, I realize she's crying again. Silver tears she's trying to hide by turning her face into the pillow. "Hey," I say, turning her face back to me. "Talk to me."

"I'm okay," she whispers. "Just overwhelmed. That was..."

"Not how it should have been," I finish grimly. "Let me take care of you."

I carry her to the bathroom, her weight nothing in my arms. The en-suite is ridiculous—I know this. A bathroom the size of most people's apartments with a tub that could host a small party. But right now, I'm grateful for the excess as I run hot water and add salts that will soothe her soreness.

She doesn't protest as I settle us both in the warm water, her back against my chest. I wash her gently, reverently, paying special attention to the places where I was too rough. Amani winces—just slightly—and fresh guilt crashes over me.

"I'm sorry," I tell her again, lips pressed to her temple. "I lost control. It won't happen again." I promise her, even though I know it's a lie. Her pussy wrecked me once. I know it will again.

She's quiet for a long moment, then surprises me by turning in my arms to face me. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub, but neither of us cares. "Before was better," she whispers with a shy smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "When you were touching me… tasting me. Before… "

The simple words hit me like brass knuckles to the sternum.Before, when I was using my mouth and hands to bring her pleasure. When I focused on her needs instead of my desperate hunger to claim. "It can be better during," I promise her, cupping her face in my hands. "Let me show you. Please."

She searches my eyes for a long moment, then nods. I slowly worship her body with my hands and mouth until she's trembling with need, until she's begging for me again. But not this time. She's so fucking responsive. But I ignore her pleas and instead I map every sensitive spot, every place that makes her gasp or moan or rake my shoulders. Kissing the spot just behind her ear makes her shiver. Dragging my teeth along her collarbone makes her arch against me. She's ticklish on her ribs but sensitive on her hips. She makes the most beautiful sound when I suck her nipples—a kind of keening whimper that goes straight to my cock.

By the time I work my way back between her legs, she's practically vibrating with need.

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