Page 24 of Claimed By the Masked BRATVA
Now I’m standing in a glass palace overlooking the city, wearing Sebastian’s shirt, my thighs sore from his touch, my pulse still trembling from his kiss.
The scientist in me tries to quantify it. Hours since the masquerade: not even forty-eight. Instances of climax: too many to count. Variables introduced: power, danger, obsession. Outcome: unpredictable.
But the woman in me, the one who cried out his name until her throat was raw, the one who saw herself in his eyes and believed she mattered, doesn’t care about the math.
She only cares about him.
I lean against the window, staring at the city sprawled in neon below. It should feel overwhelming. Instead, it feels distant. Like the world beyond these walls has lost its claim on me.
“Thinking again?”
His voice wraps around me. I glance back to find him leaning in the doorway, shirt undone, hair damp from the shower. He looks dangerous and relaxed all at once, like a predator who’s already eaten his fill but wouldn’t mind another bite.
“I can’t seem to stop,” I admit, smiling faintly.
He prowls closer, every step unhurried, inevitable. “Tell me.”
“I was remembering the masquerade,” I say softly. “How strange it all felt. The masks. The music. Everyone pretending. And then you.”
His brow arches. “Me?”
“You didn’t pretend.” I turn to face him fully, my hands curling against the glass at my back. “You looked at me like you knew exactly who I was. Like you’d been waiting for me.”
“I was.” He stops in front of me, bracing his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. His eyes burn. “You don’t understand yet, Caitlyn. But that night wasn’t chance. It was inevitability. The moment I saw you, I knew you were mine.”
A shiver races down my spine. “You talk like I didn’t have a choice.”
He leans closer, his mouth ghosting my ear. “You did. You chose me.”
My knees weaken. God help me, he’s right. I could have walked away, could have told him no. But I didn’t. Something in me reached for him, long before my lips did.
I swallow hard, lifting my gaze to his. “And now?”
“Now,” he growls, sliding his hand beneath my shirt to cup my breast, “I remind you of that choice until you never forget it.”
His mouth claims mine before I can answer, deep and consuming. My body arches into him, traitorous and eager, logic scattering like ash in the wind. He presses his thigh between mine, grinding until I moan, my hips chasing friction.
“Sebastian—” I gasp against his lips.
“Yes, little botanist?”
“I can’t think when you touch me.”
“Good.” His hand slips lower, teasing between my thighs, already slick. “I don’t want you thinking. I want you remembering.”
His fingers slide inside me, slow and deliberate, his thumb circling until I’m gasping, clinging to him, every rational thought burned away. He kisses me harder, swallowing my cries, until I shatter against him, my body convulsing, my mind blank.
When I slump against the glass, trembling, he holds me steady, his forehead pressed to mine. “You see?” he murmurs. “This isn’t logic. It’s truth. You’re mine, Caitlyn. And I’ll never let you be alone again.”
Tears prick my eyes. Not of fear. Of release. Because for the first time, I believe him.
I pull his face down to mine, kissing him fiercely, pouring every tangled emotion into it. When I break away, breathless, my voice is steady. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
His groan is low, feral, as he lifts me into his arms, carrying me back to the bed. He lays me down gently, as though I’m something rare, and strips the shirt from my body. His gaze devours me, reverent and hungry all at once.
“You’ll never be alone again,” he vows, sliding inside me with one deep thrust that steals my breath.
The words echo in me with every stroke, every kiss, every touch. And as I cling to him, as he ruins me all over again, I realize this isn’t surrender.
