Page 8 of Kidnapped & Bred By The BRATVA
“I want—” My words break, ragged. “I want you to…”
“Say it.” His forehead presses to mine, his breath hot against my lips. “Say what you want, krasivy.”
My cheeks flame, my body trembling, but the truth tears out of me anyway. “I want you to ruin me.”
The growl he releases is feral, primal. He claims my mouth again, his hands finally leaving the wall to seize my hips, dragging me hard against him. His fingers bite into my flesh, staking ownership, and my whole body shudders with the need to give in.
He lifts me in one smooth motion, my legs parting to wrap around his waist instinctively. My back hits the wall again, but I don’t care.
His mouth leaves mine to trail down my throat, nipping, sucking, branding me with every kiss. I tilt my head back, offering more, desperate for him to leave marks that can never be erased.
“Mine,” he growls against my skin. “You were never theirs. Never his. Only mine.”
“Yes,” I breathe, not even hesitating. “Yours.”
His teeth graze my collarbone, sharp enough to sting. My body clenches in response, heat surging lower, flooding the thin cotton between my thighs.
He smells it. I know he does. His growl deepens, his hips grinding against me, and I whimper at the friction.
“Roman—please—”
He carries me across the room in long strides, tossing me onto the massive bed like I weigh nothing. My hair tumbles around me, my chest rising and falling as I watch him strip off his jacket, his shirt, every movement efficient, powerful, deliberate.
My breath catches when I see the rest of him, broad chest, muscles hard and scarred, tattoos dark across his skin. A map of violence and survival. And yet, he looks at me likeI’mthe most dangerous thing in the room.
He comes down over me, caging me in with his body, his weight sinking into the mattress around me. His mouth crashes to mine again, one hand gripping the back of my neck, squeezing, claiming me. My pulse pounds beneath his fingers, my arousal slick and undeniable.
His other hand slides down, searing heat through my stomach, my hip, until he finds the edge of my panties.
I gasp, arching into his touch.
“Wet for me already,” he rasps, dragging the fabric aside. His fingers slide through my slick folds, and I moan shamelessly. “You want this, krasivy. You want me to ruin you.”
“Yes,” I cry, hips bucking against his hand like I no longer have any control over my body. “Please.”
He doesn’t tease. He doesn’t wait. He slides two thick fingers inside me, stretching, filling, and I nearly cry out at the sensation. My body grips him desperately, greedy, hungry for more.
He curls them just right, his thumb pressing against my clit, and pleasure explodes through me. My back arches, a strangled cry tearing from my throat.
But he’s not finished.
His fingers leave me empty, and before I can beg, he shoves his trousers down, his cock springing free, thick and hard and terrifyingly perfect.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice gravel and fire.
I do. I can’t look anywhere else.
He pushes inside, slow but unyielding, stretching me until I have to work to bite back a cry from the pain, until I think I’ll break. The pain and the pleasure blur, sharp and exquisite, and when he’s finally seated deep, filling me completely, a sob of relief rips from my chest.
“Mine,” he snarls, slamming his mouth over mine as he begins to move.
The world shatters.
Every thrust is raw, urgent, relentless, his body claiming mine over and over. Every time he pulls his length outwards he drags the sharp sting of my virginity with him, and when he pushes back in its replaced with a delicious build-up of tingling pressure.
The bed rocks, the headboard slams against the wall, but none of it matters. All I feel is him, pounding into me, breaking me apart only to put me back together as his. I cling to him, nails raking his back, legs wrapped tight around his waist. I can’t get close enough, can’t hold him hard enough.
“I can’t—Roman—I—”
