Page 22 of BRATVA'S Avenging Bride
"You're avoiding the question."
"What question?"
"Do you want to go back inside?" I trace my fingers down her arm, catch her hand. "Or do you want to stay up here with me a little longer?"
She looks at our joined hands. At the city spread out below us. At the sky that's starting to spit rain.
Then she squeezes my fingers.
"A little longer," she says quietly.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that I've already won.
Katherine
I'm standing there with Matvey's hand in mine, the city lights flickering below us like a million tiny fires I didn't start. The rain starts to fall in earnest now, cool drops splashing against my skin and soaking into his jacket that's still draped over my shoulders. It smells like him. A dark cologne that makes my head spin.
I should pull away, should tell him this is moving too fast, that I'm not ready to let another man this close after everything.
But I don't. I can't. Because his kiss still burns on my lips.
The way he looks at me, like I'm the only thing worth living for, cracks something open inside me that I've kept locked tight for years.
He tugs me gently toward the center of the rooftop, where there's a wide, cushioned lounger tucked under a partial overhang. It’s probably meant for lazy summer nights that people like him actually get to enjoy. The rain patters on the metal roof above it, a haphazard symphony that somehow sounds beautiful.
"Stay with me," he says, his voice low and rough, like he's asking for more than just this moment.
The thought that I should run jumps into my mind. And I know I should push him away and build a new wall before he finds a way inside. But I’m so tired of being untouchable. Maybe this time I want to see what’s left when I stop running.
So, I nod, because words feel too heavy right now, and he pulls me down onto the lounger with him, his body settling beside mine, warm and solid against the chill.
His hands frame my face again, thumbs brushing the rain from my cheeks. Then he's kissing me once more, slower this time, deeper, like he's savoring every second. I melt into it, my fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer because I need to feel him. I need to know this is real and not some twisted dream born from smoke and survival.
He shifts, rolling us so I'm on my back beneath him. His weight presses me into the cushions without crushing me, and I arch up instinctively, my legs parting to let him settle between them. The hard length of him presses against my thigh through his pants, and a jolt of heat shoots straight to my core and has me gasping into his mouth.
"God, Katherine," he groans, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, nipping at the skin there until I shiver. His hands slide under the hem of my blouse, palms hot against my rain-damp skin, pushing the fabric up inch by inch. I help him, sitting up just enough to yank it over my head and toss it aside.
The cool air hits my bare breasts. I didn't bother with a bra in the penthouse, figuring no one would see. But he sees now, his eyes darkening as he stares, and instead of feeling exposed or ashamed like I have with every other man, I feel powerful. Wanted. His.
"You're fucking perfect," he murmurs, lowering his head to capture one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me cry out, my back bowing off the lounger. His tongue swirls, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks through me. I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him there because it feels too good to stop. He switches to the other side, lavishing it with the same attention, while one hand slips down to the button of my jeans,popping it open with ease. I lift my hips as he tugs them down, along with my panties, stripping me bare.
He pulls back to look at me, spread out beneath him, and the hunger in his gaze makes my pulse race.
"Tell me you want this," he says, voice strained, like he's holding himself back by a thread. "Tell me,zhar-ptitsa."
"I want this," I breathe, reaching for his belt, fumbling with it until it gives and I can shove his pants down his hips. He's hard and heavy in my hand when I wrap my fingers around him, stroking twice, feeling him throb against my palm. He hisses, thrusting into my grip, and then he's kicking off his shoes, shedding the rest of his clothes in a rush until there's nothing between us.
He settles over me again, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that's all fire and need. I guide him to my entrance, slick and aching from his touches. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching me in the best way, and I moan into him. Every nerve screams at me to freeze, to flinch, to remember every time it wasn’t my choice. But this is different. This time, I chose it. I chose him.
Once he's fully seated, he stills and lets me adjust, his forehead pressed to mine.
"You feel like heaven," he whispers, and then he starts to move, deep, deliberate thrusts that hit every spot inside me, building a rhythm that has me wrapping my legs around his waist to take him deeper.
The lounger creaks beneath us, the rain drumming harder now on the metal roof, but I don't care. All I feel is him. His body slamming into mine, his hands gripping my hips to angle me just right, his breath hot against my ear as he murmurs in Russian. Words that I don't understand but feel in my bones.
I meet him thrust for thrust, my hips rolling up, chasing the friction, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my belly. He reaches between us, his thumb finding my clit, circling it with perfect pressure. I shatter, crying out his name as waves crash over me, my body clenching around him.
He follows seconds later, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, his release pulsing inside me, hot and endless. We ride it out together, clinging, breathless.
