Page 14 of Bought By the Masked BRATVA
His fingers dig into my hips, not rough but firm, like he is claiming me all over again, and I don’t resist. Instead, I lean in,pressing my lips to his collarbone, tasting the soap on his skin mixed with the clean rush of water.
I trail kisses down his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the muscles tense under my mouth. His breath hitches as I sink to my knees, the tile cool against my skin despite the heat surrounding us. The water beats down on my back, but I focus on him, on the way he towers above me, his hand coming to rest gently on my head. I’ve always hated giving head. I just never found myself wanting to do that. But with Liam, it’s different. Maybe it’s the control of knowing I can make him feel good. Maybe it’s that he has given me so much pleasure already that I don’t mind reciprocating. Whatever it is, I’m faced with his hard cock and all I want to do is make him lose his mind in my mouth.
I look up, meeting his eyes through the steam, and wrap my fingers around his length, stroking him once, twice, feeling him pulse in my grip. He groans softly, the sound echoing off the walls, and it spurs me on. I lean forward, taking him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the tip before I slide down further, as much as I can manage.
His fingers tangle in my wet hair, guiding me slowly. I set a rhythm, sucking and licking, hollowing my cheeks to draw out more of those low, guttural sounds from him. The water makes everything slippery, intimate, and I lose myself in the act. In the power of making him unravel.
He whispers my name, his voice rough and broken, and it sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between my legs. I take him deeper, my hands gripping his thighs for balance, feeling the tension build in his body as he nears the edge. But before he can finish, he pulls me up gently, his chest heaving, and crushes his mouth to mine in a kiss that tastes like need and restraint.
He spins me around then, pressing my front against the glass wall of the shower, the cool surface a sharp contrast to thewarmth of his body behind me. My breasts flatten against it, and I gasp at the sensation, the steam fogging the pane around my outline.
His hands roam over me, one sliding between my thighs to find me already wet and ready, his fingers teasing my clit in slow circles that make my knees tremble. I arch back into him, urging him on, and he positions himself at my entrance, thrusting in with one smooth, deep motion that fills me completely. The angle is perfect, and I moan, my palms flat against the glass for support.
He sets a steady pace, his hips slamming into mine, the water amplifying every sound, every slap of skin on skin. His arm wraps around my waist, holding me steady as he drives deeper, harder, his other hand tangling in my hair to tilt my head back for a messy, heated kiss over my shoulder.
The pleasure builds fast, coiling tight in my core, and I push back against him, meeting each thrust with my own urgency. He growls against my neck, biting down lightly, and it tips me over, my orgasm crashing through me in waves that leave me trembling and crying out.
He swipes at the glass above my head to clear the steam, and finds the mirror across from the shower reflecting us. He presses my back slightly, pushing my tits fully against the glass, then shatters, burying himself deep as he comes. His release is hot inside me, his body shuddering hard against mine as we both ride out the aftershocks, breathless and spent and satisfied.
Liam
She looks different in daylight. Softer, somehow, though the softness is deceptive. Beneath it, I can feel the same fire that made her walk onto that stage and dare the world to buy her.
Steam curls around her as she steps out of the shower. I grab a robe from the hook and hold it out. “Here,” I say. “I’ll get some clothes delivered up to the room.”
She smiles, small and tired, taking it from me. The fabric dwarfs her, slipping off one shoulder, and I have to look away before I forget how to breathe.
The television flickers on at my command, filling the suite with the sterile brightness of the morning news. A woman’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“Breaking story. An international warrant has been issued for Grace Casey, former political consultant, in connection with last week’s arms-deal leak…”
Her face flashes on the screen. My pulse spikes.
They used her old photo, the one from before. Dark hair. Controlled smile. Perfect mask. The person on that screen doesn’t exist anymore. The woman standing beside me, wrapped in a huge hotel robe, belongs to me now, whether she knows it or not.
I cross the room and pick up my phone, already scrolling through contacts. My voice stays level, but my hand is tight enough on the device that the casing creaks.
“Get me Aslan,” I say when the line clicks. “Now.”
Grace’s reflection wavers in the glass wall as she ties the robe tighter. She doesn’t speak. Maybe she knows better than to interrupt. Maybe she’s afraid of what she’ll hear.
“Pull the arrest warrant,” I tell Aslan. “Every copy, every database. If it’s already hit Interpol, you’ll clean it there too. No trace. I want her name off every list by lunchtime.”
He starts to argue. Something about jurisdiction, procedure. I cut him off. “You don’t understand. This isn’t business. This is personal.”
The words hang in the air long after I end the call.
Grace moves closer, her wet hair dripping onto the floor. “What did you just do?”
“I fixed it.”
“You can’t just erase a federal warrant, Liam.”
“I can,” I say quietly. “And I will.”
She shakes her head, incredulous. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.” My gaze locks on hers. “I know that you were framed. I know that the men who did it will keep coming until you’re buried or forgotten. And I know that won’t happen while you’re under my protection. But there are things I can do to make it all a whole lot easier.”
