Page 89 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
“Do you have any idea,” he says hoarsely, “how fucking hard it was to let you go?”
I sit up, my hands reaching for the hem of my dress. “Show me how much you missed me.”
His hands are on me before I can pull my dress off, his fingers curling around the neckline and tearing the fabric with a sharp rip that makes me gasp.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he growls, pushing the torn dress down my shoulders, exposing my bra.
I should be scandalized by the destruction of my clothing, but all I feel is a wild, heady desire. My hands fumble with his shirt buttons, too impatient to be careful.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, and yank the shirt open.
“That’s my girl,” he growls, now shedding off my bra. I reach for his pants. Soon, we’re skin to skin and he’s towering over, drinking in the sight of my naked body while I draw lines across his arms and chest with my fingers.
He bends lower to trail slow, hot kisses up my stomach, up my chest, and I feel his hardness press against my stomach as he straightens himself over me.
“Tell me what you want,” he asks as he gently tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat to his hungry mouth.
“Don’t toy with me with these silly questions,” I gasp and reach between us to caress the tip of his cock. His teeth graze my neck when I do.
On seeing what it is I want, his hand slides between us and tests the wet heat between my thighs. He circles a finger at my entrance teasingly before pushing inside.
“You are so wet for me already,” he murmurs against my collarbone. “Did you think about this while you were away? Did you touch yourself and pretend it was me?”
I flush, remembering how I’d slipped my hand between my legs just last night, how I imagined Ilariy’s hands, his mouth, his cock.
“Yes,” I admit, and am rewarded with a second finger stretching me open.
His thumb finds my clit, circling with just the right pressure to make my hips buck. “Tell me,” he commands, his voice rough with desire. “Tell me what you imagined.”
“This,” I gasp as his fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. “Your fingers, your mouth... oh god, Ilariy, please...”
“Please what?” he teases, slowing his movements until I want to scream with frustration.
“Fuck me,” I demand, past the point of embarrassment. “I need you inside me. Now.”
A deep, triumphant possession flashes in his eyes, and then he’s positioning himself over me until the blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance.
“Look at me,” he says, and I do, meeting his gaze as he pushes inside in one long, smooth thrust that has both of us gasping.
For a moment, we’re perfectly still, joined, complete. I feel the stretch and burn of him filling me, the pressure that’s almost too much and not enough at the same time.
“I love you,” he whispers, and the words are as intimate as the way our bodies are connected. “I’ve never said that to anyone before, you know?”
My heart swells, and I reach up to cup his face. “I love you too, and it’s a first for me too.”
He begins to move then, slow at first. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him deeper.
“More,” I beg, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Harder.”
A savage grin crosses his face. “Turn over.”
I comply eagerly, rolling onto my stomach. His hands grip my hips, pulling me up onto my knees. I grab the headboard for support, arching my back in invitation.
The first thrust in this position drives the breath from my lungs. He’s deeper this way, hitting places inside me that make my vision blur.
“Fuck, Arina,” he groans, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to make me cum just from the pleasurable pain of it. “You feel so good.”
His pace increases, each thrust harder than the last, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. One of his hands snakes around to find my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts, and I feel myself climbing toward release.
