Page 21 of Claimed By the Masked BRATVA
“Cold?”
His voice rolls through the silence, low and commanding. I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching me. Barefoot, shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Even like this, casual and unarmored, he radiates control.
“No,” I say quickly. “Just… looking.”
He pushes off the frame, stalking toward me with that unhurried predator’s gait. My pulse spikes.
“And what do you see?” he asks, stopping so close I have to tip my head back to meet his eyes.
I swallow. “Power. Control. Emptiness.”
His mouth curves faintly, dangerous and amused. “And now you.”
My stomach flips. “You make it sound like I’m… part of the décor.”
“You’re not.” His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face up. “You’re the center. The piece that makes everything else worth having.”
Heat rushes through me, flushing my cheeks. I want to argue, but his mouth finds mine before I can, kissing me with slow, devastating intent. My body melts instantly, my logic collapsing under the weight of his touch.
When he pulls back, I’m trembling.
“You’re still thinking too much,” he murmurs, sliding a hand under the hem of the shirt I stole. His palm skims my thigh, hot and firm. “I’d rather have you feeling.”
My breath stutters. “Sebastian—”
He smirks, stepping closer until my back hits the glass wall overlooking the city. His hand slides higher, cupping me through damp skin, and I gasp, clutching his shoulders.
“Do you remember the masquerade?” he asks, his voice a growl against my ear. “The way they looked at you?”
I shiver. Images flash in my mind; men in masks, their eyes lingering, hungry. I didn’t understand it then. I do now.
“They wanted you,” he says, slipping a finger beneath my panties, stroking slow circles that make my knees buckle. “But you’re mine. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I gasp, hips arching helplessly into his touch.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
His groan vibrates against my neck as he slides two fingers inside me, thrusting deep and steady. My head falls back against the glass, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He kisses the hollow of my throat, his teeth grazing my skin as his pace quickens.
I cling to him, moaning softly, the city sprawling out behind me as he ruins me again with nothing but his hand and his words. My climax crashes over me, sharp and sudden, leaving me shaking in his arms.
He withdraws slowly, licking my taste from his fingers with a growl that makes my cheeks burn. “Perfect.”
I collapse against his chest, panting, my logic scrambled beyond repair. He strokes my hair, soothing, even as his voice stays hard.
“You don’t belong to them. You never will. You’re mine now, Caitlyn. And I’ll kill anyone who forgets it.”
The words should terrify me. Instead, they sink into me like a vow.
I know I should protest. I should remind him I have a life outside these walls, a career, responsibilities. But the truth is, when he holds me like this, when he looks at me like this, I can’t imagine walking away.
And maybe that’s the most dangerous part of all.
Sebastian
Caitlyn sleeps tangled in my sheets, her hair a dark spill across the pillow, my shirt slipping down one bare shoulder. She looks fragile like this. Breakable. If the men from the masquerade saw her now, soft, unguarded, wrecked from my touch, they’d salivate. They’d imagine what it would take to make her tremble like this.
