Page 9 of Claimed By the Masked BRATVA
She nods, dazed, but I tighten my grip. “Words, Caitlyn.”
“Yes,” she whispers, her voice shaky but certain. “I belong to you.”
The sound nearly undoes me. I want to bury myself inside her, claim her in the most primal way possible, but I force restraint for one more night. Not because she doesn’t want it, her body is begging, but because I want the first time to be a memory carved into her soul.
Instead, I trail my mouth lower, worshipping every inch, building anticipation until she’s shaking, whimpering, desperate. She’ll come undone under my hands before I ever take her properly, and when I finally do, there will be no part of her that doesn’t recognize me as the only man who can make her feel this way.
I lift my head, meeting her wide, desperate eyes. “This is only the beginning,” I promise. “By the time I’m finished, you won’t remember life before me.”
And the most dangerous part?
Neither will I.
Caitlyn
I don’t know when surrender happens.
One moment I’m standing in the suite, still trembling from the kiss that stole every breath from my lungs, and the next I’m on the bed, silk pooling around my hips, his hands everywhere. The world narrows to heat and pressure and the terrifying certainty that I’ve stepped past a line I can’t ever uncross.
Sebastian’s touch is nothing like I expected. I thought he’d be rough, hurried, greedy. Instead, he’s deliberate, mapping me like I’m territory he intends to keep, not just conquer. His palm slides down my side, slow enough to make me shiver, then back up to cup my breast through the lace.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and the way he says it makes my throat tight. Not a line. Not flattery. Just truth, raw and reverent.
My body arches into his touch before my mind can argue. A soft sound breaks from me, humiliatingly needy, but his eyes flare like I’ve given him the finest gift.
“No one’s touched you like this, have they?” he asks, voice low, rough.
Heat floods my cheeks. I shake my head. “No…not like this.”
His jaw tightens, and something fierce flickers in his gaze. “Good. Then I’ll be the first to show you what it feels like to be worshipped.”
The word worship sends a pulse of heat between my thighs.
He leans down, mouth trailing from my collarbone to the swell of my breast. Every kiss is slow, open-mouthed, as though he has all night to savor me. My nipples harden against lace, aching, and when his tongue circles one through the fabric, my back bows clean off the bed.
“Please,” I gasp, not even sure what I’m begging for.
He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against my skin. “Please what, little botanist?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, too shy to say it, but my body betrays me. My hips shift, thighs pressing together, desperate for friction.
“Ah,” he says, smug and tender all at once. His hand catches the mask still clinging to my face, tugging the ribbon loose. “This doesn’t belong here.”
My eyes fly open as he pulls it away, dropping it carelessly to the floor.
“There,” he murmurs, his gaze locking on mine, dark and consuming. “No more hiding. No more pretending. I want every part of you bare for me.”
Heat scorches my cheeks, but the intensity in his eyes roots me in place. I can’t look away. I don’twantto.
His hand slides down my stomach, pausing at the waistband of my panties. He looks at me, waiting, demanding trust without a word.
My breath trembles. I nod.
The first brush of his fingers over the damp cotton shatters me. I cry out, back arching, thighs falling open to welcome the pressure. He groans like the slick heat soaking through the lace is a victory he’s claimed.
“Already so wet for me,” he mutters, stroking slow circles that make my vision blur. “Do you have any idea how perfect this is? How perfect you are?”
I shake my head, incapable of words. Every nerve in my body is tuned to his touch.
