Page 10 of Owned & Bred by the BRATVA

He wraps his arms around my thighs and yanks me forward, forcing my spine to arch as his tongue plunges deeper, flicking against a place inside me that makes my head snap back. I let out a strangled sound, half sob, half plea, and he hums in approval, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through me.

He eats me like he owns me.

Like this is just the first lesson.

My legs begin to shake, the tension building sharp and unbearable. I try to close them around his head, but he holds me open with a bruising grip, growling low like he’ll punish me if I dare deny him access.

“Maksim,” I gasp. “I—I can’t—”

“You will,” he rasps against my soaked skin. “You’ll come for me, Clara. Right on my tongue. Right now.”

And God help me, I do.

It rips through me, white-hot and blinding. My body jerks, thighs clamping around his head as the most almighty sensation crashes over me, wringing a cry from my throat so raw it barely sounds like my voice.

He doesn’t stop.

He licks me through it, sucks gently on my tender, oversensitive bud until I’m panting and twitching, too overwhelmed to even beg for mercy. My whole body sags, boneless and wrecked, but he lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing, carrying me across the room, through a door that leads to a bedroom. His bedroom?

I blink up at him, dazed and undone. “What are you—”

“You said no more running,” he says darkly, laying me down. “So now I get to show you what that means.”

He lays me on his bed. His mouth crashes over mine, all teeth and hunger, and I taste myself on his tongue with the heat of the whiskey. I moan into the kiss, fingers scrambling to undo the buttons of his shirt, but he’s already tearing it off. His body is hard and massive, muscles built and cut, a living weapon of a man, and all of it focused on me.

“Take it,” he says, sliding his cock along my soaked slit. “Feel what it’s like to befilled.”

I nod wildly, lifting my hips, aching for him.

And then he pushes in.

I cry out, shocked at the size of him, at the burn, at the stretch that feels like it might break me in half. But he holds still, one hand braced beside my head, the other wrapped around the back of my neck, his breath hot against my cheek.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls, voice ragged. “Like your body was made to take me. To keep me.”

My nails dig into his neck as I hold on for dear life through the pain of my hymen shredding to accommodate him, my legs are locked around his waist, hips tilted. He moves, slow at first, grinding into me, stretching me wider until all I can do is moan and cling to him. There’s no space left in my mind for shame or the pain of losing my virginity. No thoughts butmore, please, deeper. Now.

He begins to thrust harder, rougher, and I shatter all over again, whimpering as he pounds into me, each stroke hitting something perfect and devastating.

“This is what you needed,” he groans. “Not freedom. Not choices. You needed to beclaimed.”

“Yes,” I cry out. “Yes, Maksim—please—don’t stop—”

He snarls, bending to kiss me again, and I feel the change in him. The urgency. The way his movements grow frantic.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he says, voice guttural. “You’re going to take all of it. Every fucking drop.”

My whole body clenches at the words, the intensity of his need crashing into mine. I spiral again, crying out as another orgasm floods me, my vision going white at the edges.

With a final, brutal thrust, he spills into me, hips jerking, breath broken.

And in that moment, I don’t care about anything but the way it feels to behis.

Maksim

She collapses beneath me like she’s been broken open.

Her lips are parted. Her breath comes in short, shallow gasps. Her body trembles under mine, wrecked and slick and still clutching me deep inside her. Her eyes are dazed, unfocused, but they’re on me. Always on me.

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