Page 77 of Bratva's Intern

A sharp intake of breath escaped him as I stripped the last of his clothing away. His tight white boxers left nothing to the imagination.

He was beautiful.

How the hell had I thought him plain?

The studs through his nipples—a pair of silver barbells—glinted under the light. A sudden urge to take one between my teeth washed over me, and I lowered my head. Wren pushed against my shoulders, stopping me.

“Admit it wasn’t a business dinner,” he said softly.

We both knew it wasn’t. Why did he need to hear the words? I couldn’t formulate them.

Wren brought a finger to his mouth, wet the tip with histongue, and brought said finger to circle his nipple. My breath hitched, and my cock tightened in my boxers.

“Admit it, and I’ll stay the night. I’ll let you do whatever you want to do to me.”

“It wasn’t a business dinner.”

Wren’s lips kicked up into a smile. “Too easy.”

I shoved my head in the crook of his neck and ran my nose up the length of it, inhaling his scent. “I’m not the sort of man you play games with, Wren.”

“You’re so full of it.”

I pulled back to reprimand him, but Wren dug his fingers into my hair. None too gently either. As if he deliberately wanted to hurt me, he gripped the strands and slammed his lips to mine.

The heat between us surged, blistering, and before either of us could think, I cupped his ass and lifted him. He wrapped his legs around my waist, gasping and moaning into the kiss.

There was no more hesitation, no resistance. Just fire—hot, raw, all-consuming.

CHAPTER TWENTY

MAXIM

Wren’s kiss tasted nothing like the way he usually carried himself—shy, uncertain, and always wanting approval that he was doing a good job. And thank fuck because he put his whole heart into the kiss, confident, fierce even.

His lips moved over mine like we’d done this a thousand times. He pressed to the wall, clinging to me like a vine. The only thing holding him up was his legs twisted around my waist. His tongue was at war with mine, exploring every crevice, licking, and sucking on mine.

He tasted carnal. Like a bad decision I wouldn’t regret making. He tasted like the beginning of something huge.

My hands were too busy to help keep him upright. I couldn’t stop touching him and ran them over every expanse of smooth flesh—his biceps, his chest, his back, his waist, his ass.

Fuck, his generous ass. Perfect, soft globes that spilled outof my hands as I squeezed and separated and humped against him like an animal who couldn’t control its urges.

I wanted him.

I wanted him in the worst way.

I wanted him with an urgency I’d never experienced with anyone. It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just about wanting to shove my cock inside him—which I did. But that was normal. What wasn’t normal was the way I wanted to mount him, to fuck him, not just to come. No, I wanted to fuck him, to mark him, to own him.

The way animals did it in the wild.

I wanted to leave my scent on him.

This was beyond passion. This was pure, raw, animalistic need. It felt like insanity, like I was losing control, losing my mind. But at the same time, it felt right, like this was what I’d been waiting for without realizing it. I felt every pulse beat against my skin, heard every gasp of breath that escaped him as he clung to me.

As he knotted his fingers deeper into my hair, he tightened his legs around my waist as if to prevent any possibility of me slipping away. Wren was all in. He was surrendering himself to me willingly, and it drove me mad with a lust that I already knew would be insatiable. That I would keep coming back to him over and over, desperate to fill an ache that would only be temporarily satisfied before I needed him again.

I trailed kisses down his neck and across his collarbone, grazing that sensitive spot at the crook of his neck. He let out a shuddered gasp. The taste of his skin was like a drug.

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