Page 19 of Claimed and Bred By the Bratva

She opens her mouth to protest, question, or deny what we both know is inevitable, and her rejection snaps something inside me. Did she really think I was going to let her go? After everything?

No fucking way.

I crush my mouth to hers before she can voice whatever doubt is forming behind those dark eyes. The kiss is punishment and possession, a brutal claiming that has nothing to do with gentleness. She makes a sound—surprise, maybe protest—but I swallow it down, taking everything she might say and replacing it with my tongue in her mouth. When I finally let her breathe, she's gasping. Those cinnamon-painted lips swollen and red.

"Dimitri—"

"No." My hand fists in her braids, tilting her head back until she's forced to meet my eyes. "No more questions. No more doubts. You want to know what it means to be mine? I'll fucking show you."

I don't give her time to respond. Can't risk another attempt at logic or reason or any of the bullshit that might take her away from me. Instead, I show her with my body what words can't adequately express.

That she's mine. Only mine. Forever mine.

The t-shirt blocking me from her body gets torn away with enough force to pop seams. Her gasp of shock turns into something else when my mouth finds her breast, when my teeth close around her nipple, clamping down to ride the line between pleasure and pain.

"You thought you could walk away," I growl against her skin, moving to give the other breast the same treatment. "Thought you could talk yourself into leaving me."

My hand slides between her thighs, finding her already wet despite her protests. Or maybe because of them. My angel likes her darkness, whether she admits it or not. "I should have taken you harder that first night," I continue, working her with fingers that have memorized how to drive her wild. "Should have fucked you so thoroughly you couldn't walk, couldn't think, couldn't imagine a life without my cock inside you."

She whimpers, hips moving despite herself, chasing the pleasure I'm giving and withholding in equal measure. "But I was trying to be gentle." I bite the words against her throat. "Trying to be the man you deserved instead of the monster I am." I bite again, purposefully leaving my mark, "My mistake."

I pull my fingers away before she crests, ignoring her cry of frustration. "Tell me," I demand, hovering over her with my weight on my forearms. "Tell me you'll never try to leave again."

Her eyes are wild in the moonlight, pupils blown wide with desire and something that might be fear. Good. She should fear this thing between us. Should understand that there's no escape from what we are together. "Tell me," I repeat when she doesn't answer fast enough.

"I—" She gasps when I notch myself at her entrance, but don't push forward. "Dimitri, please—"

"Wrong answer."

What follows is a claiming unlike anything we've shared before. I take her with desperate hunger that borders on violence, each thrust designed to brand myself so deep inside her that she'll never wash me out. She cries out with each movement, nails raking down my back hard enough to draw blood, and the pain only fuels my need to possess every part of her.

"Mine," I snarl against her throat. "Every inch of you belongs to me. This mouth"—I claim her lips in another bruising kiss—"this body"—a particularly deep thrust that has her arching off the bed—"this soul. All mine."

By the time she comes apart beneath me, she's sobbing my name like a prayer, like a plea, like complete surrender. I follow her over the edge with a roar that probably wakes half the house, filling her with everything I am, everything I have, everything she'll ever need. We lie tangled together afterward, both breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction. She's trembling against me, and I pull her closer, some of my anger finally dissipating now that she's thoroughly claimed.

"Don't ever try to leave me again," I murmur against her temple. "I won't be gentle next time."

She nods against my chest, and I feel the wetness of tears against my skin. But when she speaks, her voice is steady. "I won't. I promise."

"Good girl." I press a kiss to the top of her head, the need to retake her already stirring in my blood. "My good, perfect girl."

Because she is mine. Completely, utterly, irrevocably mine.

And after tonight, she'll never forget it.

***

Hours later, I wake to her soft breathing against my chest, her body curved perfectly against mine in the darkness. The moon has shifted, casting new shadows across the room, and my body is already stirring with fresh need. Twenty years of perfect control, shattered by one woman. I shift carefully, not wanting to wake her yet, but my cock has other ideas. The warmth of her pressed against me, the scent of our earlier coupling still heavy in the air, has me hard and aching again. My hand moves without conscious thought, wrapping around my length in slowstrokes. I try to be quiet, but a low groan escapes when I think about how she looked beneath me earlier, how she surrendered completely.

"Dimitri?" Her voice is soft with sleep, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Need you," I growl, without pretense or pretty words. "Need your mouth on me."

Even in the darkness, I feel her tense. My innocent angel is still so new to all the ways I plan to claim her. "I don't... I've never..."

"I'll teach you." I guide her hand to wrap around me, showing her the rhythm I like. "Start with your tongue. Taste what you do to me."

She's tentative at first, her inexperience obvious but sweet. The first touch of her tongue to my tip has me gripping the sheets, fighting the urge to thrust into that perfect mouth. "That's it, angel," I encourage, threading my fingers through her braids. "Take more. You can do it."

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