Page 8 of Claimed By the Masked BRATVA
I turn to her. “Come here.”
She hesitates for only a breath before crossing the space, drawn by a force she doesn’t yet understand. When she reaches me, I curve a hand around her hip, the other sliding to cup her jaw. I tip her face up and kiss her again, deep and slow, my thumb stroking her throat as if reminding her she belongs to me now.
She melts. Her fingers clutch my lapels, tugging me closer with clumsy urgency. She’s not graceful, not practiced, but she’s real. And it makes me want to ruin her.
“Better,” I murmur against her lips.
“Than what?”
“Than pretending I’m capable of restraint around you.”
Her answering gasp is sharp and sweet. I drag my mouth down her jaw, breathing her in, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot where her pulse flutters. She jerks, a helpless little sound escaping her throat, and my control frays another inch.
“Sweet,” I groan, nipping lightly before soothing with my tongue. “You make me want to worship and destroy in the same breath.”
Her hands tremble against me. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers, confession raw.
My cock throbs at the honesty. “You don’t need to do anything. That’s the point.”
I slide my palm down her spine, slow, deliberate, until I’m cupping her ass through the silk. I squeeze, pulling her againstme, letting her feel the rigid proof of what she does to me. She gasps, lips parting, eyes flying wide.
“See what you’ve done?” I growl, pressing harder. “One kiss and I’m ready to fuck you against the glass.”
Color blooms across her cheeks, shame and want tangled. “Sebastian…”
I grip her chin, forcing her to hold my gaze. “Say yes.”
Her breath trembles. “Yes.”
It detonates inside me.
I back her toward the bed, not hurried but unstoppable. She stumbles when the backs of her knees hit the mattress, catching herself on my chest. I push her gently down, watching her sink into the dark coverlet, her hair spilling like ink across the pillows.
She looks like something rare. A treasure I’ve unearthed after years of digging through filth.
“You’re overdressed,” I tell her, my fingers finding the zipper at her spine.
Her lips part, a small gasp, but she doesn’t stop me. I peel the silk down slowly, exposing inch after inch of pale skin, curves that make my cock ache, soft thighs I already picture wrapped around me.
“Fuck,” I breathe, running my hands over her. “You’re so beautiful.”
She flushes deeper, twisting as though she doesn’t know what to do with the attention. That hesitation makes me want to show her what she’s worth, to worship until she believes it.
I drag the fabric lower, revealing white lace panties that do nothing to hide the damp proof of her arousal. My blood roars.
“Do you have any idea what this does to me?” I murmur, stroking her through the lace until she arches helplessly. “How close I am to ruining you completely?”
Her whimper is broken, pleading. “Please.”
“Please what?”
Her throat works. “Please…don’t stop.”
I smirk, cruel and reverent. “Good girl.”
Her shiver is violent, as though the praise alone pushes her closer to breaking. I press my lips to her throat, branding her with my mouth, while my hand continues its slow torment. Every twitch of her hips, every gasp, every tremble is mine.
“Tonight,” I growl against her skin, “you learn what it means to belong to me.”
