Page 6 of Owned & Bred by the BRATVA

She’s upstairs now. Probably pacing. Maybe crying. I don’t care. I want her pliant, but I don’t need her happy. I need herhere. I need her body under mine. Her mouth forming my name. Her belly growing with my child. I need her so thoroughly claimed that she forgets she ever had a life before me.

I unbuckle my belt and pull it savagely from the loops, tearing open the fly of my slacks and wrapping my hand around my cock. I savor the squeeze, wishing it were her tight cunt, but for now, this will have to be enough. I let my mind take me back to moments ago, her big blue eyes, startled, unsure. The way her pupils became blown when I touched her. The way her mouth made that little “o” with a gasp. The same gasps I want to choke out of her when her mouth is stuffed with my hard cock. The throbbing at the base intensifies, my balls tightening as I thrust myself over the precipice.

It’s the strongest orgasm I’ve had for long time, knowing she is only a few rooms away. But I know it’s still just the tip of the iceberg. That when I finally have my way with her, it will be the best thing for us both.

Clara

I don’t leave the bedroom for a long time after I run.

I sit on the bed with my arms wrapped around my knees, staring into the fire as if it might explain the heat crawling beneath my skin. There’s no logic to what I’m feeling. No neat box I can stuff it into. I’m frightened, yes. But not of him hurting me. At least not in the way I was raised to fear.

I’m frightened of the way my body responds to his presence.

The way his voice lingers in my head, low and thick and dark. The way he looked at me like he wanted to eat me alive and savor every bite. The way I wanted… God, I don’t even know what I wanted. I just know I didn’t want to leave that room. Not at first. Not until the part of me that still remembers rules and shame and danger kicked in.

He said my father sold me to him.

I don’t want to believe it. But the certainty in his voice… the way he said it, calm and final, like a truth I’d already agreed to without ever being asked.

When I finally rise, it’s because I refuse to let him see me shaken. If he expects me to come down to dinner quiet and obedient, he’ll be disappointed.

I shower slowly. The water is hot and suffocating with steam, but it doesn’t wash him off. I can still feel his breath on my neck, the way he looked at me when I spoke out of turn, as if I’d donesomething precious.I dry my blond hair with precision. Apply a coat of mascara and swipe on some lip gloss.

The wardrobe is filled with clothes too fine, too soft, too revealing. I try on three dresses and toss each one aside, until I land on a dark slip with thin straps and a low back. It shouldn’t fit me. It should make me feel exposed, ridiculous, ashamed.

But it doesn’t.

It makes me feel like someone else. Someone bold. Someone who isn’t afraid of being seen.

When I walk into the dining room at precisely eight o’clock, Maksim is already waiting.

He’s seated at the head of a long table, the room dimly lit by candles and a single chandelier that casts golden shadows across the space. The fire is lit here, too, like it is in every room I’ve seen so far. Warmth without invitation, light without comfort. It’s all designed to feel intimate. Intentional.

Like him.

His eyes lift as I enter, and the effect is immediate. My skin tightens, my stomach flips. His gaze travels the length of me in one slow, unapologetic sweep, lingering on my hips, my collarbone, the way the fabric clings to the tops of my thighs.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

His voice is calm. Controlled. But his jaw tightens slightly when I sit across from him instead of closer. I count that as a win, even as my heart thuds louder.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” I say, lifting the linen napkin to cover my lap. I need something to keep my hands busy. Something to focus on other than the ache that stirs whenever he looks at me too long.

“I’m sure ofyou,” he replies.

I hate how easily those words slither under my skin.

“Will anyone else be joining us for dinner?” I try to sound confident, but he would have to be deaf to miss the strangled way my words come out.

“My brothers are all out on business, they will join us tomorrow.”

Brothers?

Dinner is served without a sound,no chatter, no footsteps, just silver trays carried by servers that appear and disappear behind polished doors. I barely touch my food. I’m too aware of him. The way he moves. The quiet intensity with which he watches me every time I lift my glass. Every time I shift in my seat.

“You’re not eating,” he says after a while.

“I’m not hungry.”

---