Page 13 of Kidnapped & Bred By The BRATVA
“Yes,” she gasps, clutching at my shoulders.
I push inside her with my fingers, slow, stretching, preparing her, while my mouth covers hers again. She moans, hips rocking, chasing the rhythm I set while I lick kisses down her jawbone, her neck, her collarbone, over the perfect peaks of her breasts and down. Down until my tongue sweeps over the bud of her clit and she jolts against my mouth. She tastes of both of us. I ravage her with my mouth until she is thrashing on the bed, screaming and panting my name. I lick up her sweet juices and suck the taste from her delicate lips.
When I can’t stand it any longer, I free myself, the blunt head of my cock pressing against her entrance. I pause, giving her a chance to stop me.
She doesn’t. She tilts her hips instead, guiding me in.
The heat swallows me whole, tight and perfect. I groan into her mouth, my control fraying as I sink deeper. She gasps, eyes squeezing shut, but her arms wrap around my neck, pulling me closer.
I move slowly this time, deliberate thrusts that draw out her cries, that make her body bloom around me. My hand slides into her hair, fisting gently as I take her mouth again, drinking every sound.
Her nails rake my back, her legs locking around my waist, and I know she’s mine in every way.
“You feel that?” I growl against her lips. “That’s me inside you. No one else. Ever.”
She whimpers, nodding, her body quaking beneath mine. “Only you.”
“I’m going to fill you every day until it takes. You hear me?”
“Yes,” she cries out, meeting my punishing pace thrust for thrust.
“And when your big and round with my heir, I’ll fuck another one into you…I’ll breed you so full you won’t remember the life you had before me.”
She whimpers another yes as her hands come up around my neck, clinging on for dear life as I push her closer and closer to the edge. Then she says the words that turn me inside out. “Fuck me, Roman. Ruin me. It’s only you, it will only ever be you.”
Her strangled words are like music to me. I drive deeper, harder, the bed groaning beneath us. Her head tips back, throat exposed, and I bite down, claiming her with teeth and tongue.
Her climax builds fast, her body tightening, trembling, until she shatters around me with a cry of my name. The feel of her pulsing, milking me, drags me over with her.
I bury myself deep, roaring as I spill inside her, my body shaking with the force of it. My forehead drops to hers, sweat mingling, breaths ragged. I don’t pull out. I want her so full of my cum so deep inside her it has no choice but to take.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. Just the sound of our hearts pounding, the heat of our bodies locked together. I pull her with me as I drop to the side and pull her close. My cock, still half hard, resting against her entrance.
I brush a kiss against her temple, softer than I meant. “Mine,” I whisper.
She doesn’t argue.
Olivia
The house feels different without the men in it.
Quieter, though not empty. The walls still hum with energy, with secrets, but there’s less weight pressing down on me when Roman and his brothers leave for whatever business drags them out into the night.
The wedding gown still sits in a lump of dirty silk and crumpled lace, mocking me. It looks wrong here, like a ghost that followed me from the church waiting to rise up and suffocate me. I go to it, run my fingers over the bodice, the stiff boning pressing back against me.
For years, everything I was taught came down to this gown. To the day I’d wear it and be handed over like property. And now? It’s nothing more than torn, limp, fabric. Useless. A reminder of chains I never chose.
I picture setting a match to it, watching it burn until the lace shrivels and the silk turns to ash. The image makes my heart race, makes me almost smile. But I’m not ready. Not yet.
Not until Roman’s home.
I shower in his huge en-suite and pull on one of his dark shirts, haphazardly buttoning it up. It falls all the way to my knees, thankfully, and I wonder when I’ll eventually get my own clothes. I slip out from the suite and wander the halls carefully, unsure if I’m meant to, unsure of the rules. A part of me expectsto be scolded for stepping out of Roman’s space, the way I used to be scolded for straying from my rooms at my father’s house. But no one stops me. No one tells me I don’t belong. But the mansion feels like it’s watching me.
Every wall, every corridor, every closed door seems to hum with secrets. I tell myself I’m just exploring, stretching my legs, but really I’m testing the boundaries, waiting for someone to stop me.
But no one does.
I trail my hand along the banister as I descend a narrow staircase that isn’t as polished as the grand one in the front hall. This part of the house feels older, dustier, as if it hasn’t been touched in years. The corridor bends sharply and ends at a heavy oak door cracked just slightly open.
