Page 13 of Claimed By the Masked BRATVA
He slides down the bed, parting my thighs with firm hands. My blush deepens as I realize what he’s about to do.
“Sebastian—”
“Shh,” he interrupts, kissing the inside of my knee, his lips trailing higher. “I told you. I’ll worship and destroy you in equal measure.”
When his mouth finds me, I gasp. The sensitivity is overwhelming, every lick a lightning strike, every suck a demand. My hands clutch at his hair, trying to push him away and drag him closer at the same time. He growls against me, devouring, relentless, until I’m gasping, pleading, tumbling into another orgasm that leaves me boneless.
He crawls back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin wicked. “Mine,” he says again, kissing me so I taste myself on his tongue.
I collapse against him, exhausted, trembling, my body wrung out and spent. He pulls me into his chest, holding me close, one arm banded around me as though daring the world to try and take me.
For the first time in forever, I don’t feel alone.
And that’s what terrifies me most.
Because I came here wearing my sister’s dress, telling myself it was just one night, just a masquerade. Tomorrow I was supposed to go back to my lab, back to orchids and microscopes and the safety of solitude.
But with his arms around me, his seed still inside me, and his voice whispering mine against my skin, I know the truth.
There’s no going back.
Not after this.
Sebastian
She sleeps curled into my chest, soft and warm, her breath a steady rhythm against my skin. The city glows beyond the glass wall, dawn creeping over the skyline, but I don’t move.
I don’t want to.
For years, I’ve woken in beds warmed by bodies I didn’t care to remember. Models, heiresses, socialites, all of them perfect in their own polished ways, all of them forgettable the moment the door closed behind them.
But Caitlyn Murphy?
She’s unforgettable.
Even now, wrecked and marked, she clings to me as though her body knows what her mind hasn’t yet accepted, that she belongs here, in my arms, in my bed, in my life.
Mine.
The word hums in my blood, violent and certain.
I stroke a hand down her back, savoring the way she shivers even in sleep. Her skin is still flushed from the night’s ruin, her thighs sticky with my release. I should feel sated, but I don’t. The hunger gnaws, sharper than before, demanding more.
She stirs, eyelashes fluttering, and lifts her head to blink at me. Her hair is a tangle, her lips kiss-swollen, her voice a husky rasp. “What time is it?”
“Too early,” I murmur, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “Go back to sleep.”
Instead, she shifts against me, the movement sliding her soft body along my cock. I grit my teeth, groaning low in my throat.
“Sebastian,” she whispers, cheeks heating as she realizes what she’s done.
I roll her onto her back in one smooth motion, pinning her with my weight. “Do you feel what you do to me?” My cock presses hard against her stomach, thick and unyielding. “One night, and I’m mad for you.”
Her breath stutters. “I thought you’d be… done. Satisfied.”
“Never.” I kiss her fiercely, devouring her mouth. “You think I could ever get enough of you? You think I’ll let you walk out of here like nothing happened?”
Her eyes widen, lips parting on a protest, but I cut it off with another kiss, softer this time. My hand slides down her thigh, lifting it to hook around my hip, opening her for me. She’s sore, tender, but when I rub against her slit, she’s already wet again.
