Page 41 of Secret Baby of the Bratva
He’s on me before the last word leaves my mouth. His weight presses me back into the mattress, his mouth crushing mine in a kiss that’s more demand than invitation. My gasp is swallowed, turned into heat, into hunger that coils through me until my fingers are clutching at his shirt instead of pushing him away.
His hand grips my thigh, pulling it high around his waist, his body grinding against mine through the thin barrier of my dress. I moan into his mouth, the sound raw, helpless. He drinks it in, lips sliding down my jaw, biting at the curve of my throat until I shiver.
I should stop him. I should remember the photo still hidden under the blanket, the danger pressing in from every direction. The moment he touches me, all of it burns away. The only thing left is want—hot, fierce, undeniable.
His hands roam my body, tugging fabric out of the way, baring skin to the cool air and his searing touch. My back arches as his mouth finds my breast, tongue circling, teeth teasing until I cry out. He pins me with one hand at my wrist, the other sliding lower, beneath lace, fingers stroking until I’m trembling and wet beneath him.
I bite my lip, trying to hold on, but the words tear free anyway. “I want you.”
His smile is dark, satisfied. He frees himself, the heavy press of his cock rubbing against me until my body aches with need. Then he thrusts inside, hard and deep, stretching me open in one unrelenting stroke. My cry fills the room, sharp with pain and pleasure tangled together, and he swallows it with another bruising kiss.
The rhythm he sets is brutal, merciless, each thrust driving me higher until the world dissolves into nothing but the sound of his breath and my own broken moans. His hand grips my hip, holding me still as he pounds into me, filling me completely, owning every gasp, every shudder.
My fingers claw at his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor me as my body bucks under the force of him. Every movement sends sparks through my veins, each one sharper than the last, until I’m trembling beneath him, torn between the urge to cry out and the need to hold it in.
“Dimitri,” I gasp, voice fractured.
He growls my name against my skin, mouth hot at my throat, teeth dragging down until I’m arching into him. His cock drives deeper, harder, his pace unrelenting, like he wants to carve himself into me, make sure I never forget who I belong to. The thought should terrify me. Instead it sends heat flooding low in my belly, building and building until I can barely think.
His grip shifts, one hand pinning my wrists above my head, the other sliding down my body, rough fingers teasing over my clit. I cry out, the sound breaking into a sob as the added pressure pushes me closer to the edge. He circles me mercilessly, dragging me higher with each touch, refusing to let me escape.
“You feel that?” His voice is ragged, thick with control slipping. “How tight you are around me. You were made for this… for me.”
I shake my head, though the denial dies on my tongue, lost in a strangled moan as he thrusts harder, the head of his cock slamming into the deepest part of me. My back bows off the bed, my body a taut wire strung between pain and pleasure.
I can’t hold it. I can’t hold anything.
The orgasm tears through me like a storm breaking, violent and all-consuming. My walls clamp around him, milking his cock as I scream, the sound muffled against his shoulder when he crushes me to him. My body convulses, shuddering with wave after wave, until I’m limp and trembling, my thighs slick with the force of it.
He doesn’t stop.
His thrusts grow rougher, faster, his control fraying as he chases his own release. The bed creaks beneath us, headboard rattling with each brutal drive of his hips. He pins me down, his chest pressed to mine, his breath hot and ragged against my ear.
“You’ll come again,” he snarls, his fingers still working me, relentless. “You’ll come until you can’t remember your own name.”
I shake beneath him, overwhelmed, my body raw and aching but still tightening again, still building under his command. Every nerve is alight, every part of me tuned to him, and when I break the second time, it’s with a sob, my legs clamping around his waist as I fall apart.
He groans, the sound low and guttural, and finally lets go. His thrusts grow erratic, deeper, harder, until he buries himself to the hilt, spilling hot inside me. His cock throbs with eachpulse, his body shuddering as he grinds into me, making sure I take all of him.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing—ragged, heavy, tangled together. His weight presses me into the mattress, his chest heaving against mine, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air.
Slowly, he loosens his grip on my wrists, his hand trailing down to lace with mine. The gesture is unexpected, almost tender, but his eyes when he looks at me are anything but soft. They’re dark, claiming, filled with the kind of promise that doesn’t fade when the heat does.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.
His weight stays heavy over me, pinning me into the damp sheets, his cock still buried deep, softening but not leaving. My chest rises against his with every broken breath, the taste of salt and sweat clinging to my tongue. The room is quiet now, but inside me, the storm hasn’t ended.
I shift beneath him, a shiver running through my overstimulated body. He doesn’t move. His hand drags slowly down my side, from my wrist to my hip, fingers possessive even in their laziness. The gesture makes my skin tighten, a reminder that he owns every inch of me, not just in the heat of the act but after, in this silence where there should be reprieve.
I turn my face into the pillow, hoping to hide the chaos written across it. But he doesn’t let me. His hand comes up, curling around my jaw, turning me back to meet his eyes.
They burn. Dark, sharp, unyielding.
“You feel it,” he says quietly, almost conversational, though the weight behind it makes my pulse race.
I swallow hard. “Feel what?” My voice is a wreck, breathless, cracked.
His lips curve, not a smile, but something crueler, more intimate. “How much you wanted this. You’ll remember that every time you breathe.”
