Page 32 of Secret Baby of the Bratva
The taste of her is reckless. The sound of her breath breaking against mine makes my blood pound. I don’t think about consequences, don’t think about rules or control. For the first time in years, I let the storm own me.
She doesn’t look away.
She matches me, kiss for kiss, breath for breath, until the fire between us is a living thing that no cage can hold.
I know this is more than hunger, more than the need to remind her who holds the power. It’s something deeper, darker, something I don’t want to name.
The hesitation is there, a tremor in the way her lips part, a stiffness in her body when I press her closer. For a second, I think she’ll pull away, remind me of the line we’ve both been pretending not to see. Then her resistance melts, a soft sigh breaking against my mouth, and her fingers fist tighter in my shirt.
The rain drums hard against the windows, but it’s already fading into the background, swallowed by the heat between us. My hand slides up her back, finding the nape of her neck, holding her steady as I deepen the kiss. She tastes like defiance, like every reckless choice that’s ever set her in my path.
I break away long enough to catch her gaze in the candlelight. Her chest rises and falls too quickly, pupils wide, lips swollen. Her hands shake when they slide down to my waist, but she doesn’t let go.
“Dimitri,” she whispers, her voice thin, raw.
I press my forehead to hers. “What?”
Her throat works, the words dragged from her like confession. “I’ve never… I’m a virgin.”
The revelation hits like lightning, sharp and consuming. For a moment, the weight of it roots me to the floor. The hunger in me doesn’t dim—it sharpens, coils tight with something deeper, something darker. My thumb strokes her jaw, gentler than I mean it to be.
“You’re certain you want this?” My voice is low, dangerous, more growl than question.
Her nod is small, but steady. “I want this. I want you.”
Control slips.
I claim her mouth again, rougher now, every kiss a demand and a promise. My hands drag down her sides, memorizing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. She shivers when I grip her thigh and pull it high against me, her dress riding up to reveal soft skin beneath my palm.
Her gasp feeds me. I press her back until the wall meets her spine, the candle’s flame shuddering with the movement. Her legs tremble when I press against her, hard and aching through the thin barrier of her dress.
She whimpers, the sound sharp and helpless. I swallow it with another kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, pulling every ounce of heat from her until she’s panting into my mouth. My fingers push higher, sliding beneath the hem of her dress, finding bare skin.
Her thighs part instinctively when I drag my hand between them. The heat waiting there makes my jaw clench. I tease along her slit through the thin scrap of lace, already damp. She jerks against me, nails digging into my shoulders.
“Already wet for me,” I murmur against her lips. “You’ve been wanting this.”
Her head tips back, baring her throat. I bite down, sharp enough to make her moan, my fingers stroking her slowly, deliberately, until she’s trembling. Her voice breaks on my name, soft and desperate.
I hook my fingers into the lace, tearing it aside, needing to feel her without barriers. The first brush of my fingers against her bare cunt makes her whole body jolt. She’s slick, hot, her walls clenching around nothing as I slide two fingers along her folds, circling her clit until she’s gasping.
“Please,” she whispers, the word barely audible.
“Please what?” I press my fingers harder, circling her until her knees start to give. “Tell me what you want.”
Her eyes flutter open, glazed with need. “Touch me. Don’t stop.”
I thrust two fingers inside her, slow at first, stretching her tight heat around me. She cries out, the sound raw, clinging to me as her walls clamp down hard. I pump slowly, curling my fingers until I find the spot that makes her whole body shiver.
Her moans grow louder, unrestrained, filling the room until they drown out the storm. I work her harder, faster, until the sound of her slick cunt sucking around my fingers makes my cock ache. I bite her lip, drinking in every whimper, every broken sound.
When she shatters, it’s sudden, violent. Her back arches against the wall, legs clamping around my waist, cunt gripping my fingers like a vise as she screams my name. I hold her through it, grinding my thumb against her clit until she collapses against me, trembling, soaked.
I pull my fingers free and lick them clean, never breaking her gaze. She watches, flushed and wide-eyed, breath ragged.
“On the bed,” I command. My voice leaves no room for argument.
She stumbles back, the hem of her dress still bunched around her hips, hair wild, lips swollen. The candlelight flickers over her skin as she climbs onto the mattress, sinking back against the pillows. She spreads her thighs, uncertain but willing, her chest rising fast.
