Page 30 of Forced Pregnant Prisoner of the Bratva
And then, in the dizzy hush between kisses, she breathes against my jaw. It’s barely a whisper, shaky, raw. “You were the first. I’d never… before you, I never—”
The words cut through me, sharp as a blade. I go still, my breath stalled in my chest. I search her eyes, wide and dark and utterly open. The truth of it knocks the wind from me. I see the ache, the trust, the fear she must have felt the night she gave in, the way I took her—hard, unrelenting, all the while blind to what it cost her.
For a split second, my control wavers. A storm of emotion rages under my skin—rage at myself for not knowing, for not seeing, for having stolen that first from her without care. It’s tangled with pride, with the possessive heat that tightens in my gut.
She is mine. No one before me. No one will ever have her after. She belongs to me more completely than anyone ever could.
Still, there’s a flicker of guilt that pierces the armor. I want to brush it away, to tell her I’d have been gentle if I’d known, but the words won’t come. I bury it instead, pressing my lips to her throat, my hands greedy and worshipful at once. If I can’t give her tenderness, I can give her this: my hunger, my claim, my body a shield against the world.
I crush her closer, pouring every wild emotion into the press of skin to skin, the slide of my mouth along her jaw, her collarbone. If I can’t undo what’s done, I can at least make her forget the world beyond this room, make her remember only me, only us, burning bright as the storm itself.
We lose ourselves in the heat, the storm outside paling to nothing, the candle’s golden flicker the only witness. She surrenders now, her hesitation burned away as I strip her of her clothes. Her legs twine around me, her nails biting into my skin—not in resistance, but in demand, in want. I take her, yes, but she meets me with equal fire, giving as much as she claims.
My cock hardens, pressing against the inside of her thighs as Karmia writhes against me. Her walls clench as she takes me, and I groan against her neck.
I set a ruthless pace, pounding into her with enough force to make the bed creak. Every time she arches into me, every broken sound that spills from her lips, something changes. This isn’t conquest, not anymore.
It’s a collision, an obsession turned tangible, something raw and consuming. The press of her body brands me. Her skin is fever-hot, every shudder, every gasp searing into my memory.
She trusts me, I realize. Not because I deserve it, not because I’ve earned it, but because something in her refuses to be cowed. That trust mingles with defiance, makes her more than any prize I’ve ever claimed. I feel her surrender, but it doesn’t weaken her. It stokes her fire, draws me in deeper, past the place where words mean anything.
For a man who has lived by violence, who has measured life in blood and fear, this—her, here, now—makes me feel alive in a way nothing else ever has. No rival’s defeat, no council’s submission, no gun in my hand has ever matched the pulse of her heart against mine.
She gasps my name, mouth desperate against my throat, and I burn for her—hungry, frantic, lost. I want to mark her, to hear her say it again, to see her come undone for me, because of me. I want to drown in the sound of her voice, in the way she shakes, in the heat and softness that she’s never given to anyone else.
“You feel so good,” I murmur against her, and she arches again.
Karmia’s head tilts back, eyes scrunched closed as she sucks in a sharp breath.
The sight of her alone brings me close to the edge, cock throbbing as I quicken the pace.
I never thought anything could consume me like this. No Bratva feud, no enemy’s blood, no storm raging outside. She is all I taste, all I breathe, all I know. Every moment is fevered and slow, a thousand heartbeats packed into the time between thunderclaps. The walls could crumble, the world could end, and I would still be here, chasing the next gasp, the next tremor, the next ragged moan from her lips.
I feel the orgasm overtake Karmia, walls clenching, head tipped back, back arched so hard she lifts from the bed. Her whole body shudders, and it’s enough to tip me over too.
We come together, a low groan leaving my lips as Karmia clings to me.
The lightning fades, the storm recedes, and the world beyond this room becomes irrelevant. The only storm left is the one between us—wild, inescapable, and burning with a heat that leaves me marked forever.
Eventually I slip out of her, feeling a loss when my softened cock touches cool air. Karmia yawns and turns wordlessly onto her side.
By the time the thunder outside has faded to a dull, distant rumble, the power still hasn’t returned. Shadows crowd the corners, the single candle all but burned to its end, its flame guttering. The only real light in the room comes from the gold sheen on her bare skin and the way it glows in the darkness.
We lie in the hush after the storm, our breathing ragged and uneven, the wildness between us slowly cooling but never settling. I don’t touch her—can’t trust myself to, not now. I lie on my side, propped on one elbow, watching her. The distance isno more than a handspan, but it feels like an ocean, one I could cross with just a word or a movement.
She doesn’t look at me. She’s turned slightly away, her hair tumbled across the pillow, chest rising too fast, her lips parted as she chases calm. In the tremble of her mouth, I see it all: shame, defiance, longing. Even now, after everything, she’s restless, fighting whatever war is burning through her chest.
I see, with a kind of bitter satisfaction, that the fire I lit in her matches the one she’s kindled in me.
My own thoughts are chaos. I try to sort through them—possession, guilt, hunger—but there is no order, no discipline, only the violent knowledge that she is mine in a way I can never undo. I tell myself not to dwell on it. Not to consider what it means that I was her first, that I took what should have been gentle and made it wild and consuming. Not to admit how deeply she has already changed me, how nothing in my world is untouched by her anymore.
I stare at the ceiling, then back at her, my jaw tight, my hands fisted in the sheets. I tell myself I won’t think about it, won’t name it. I will just take what I want and protect what is mine.
I know—I know—that the line we danced around for weeks is gone, scorched to ashes. She has crossed into me and I into her, and nothing will put that fire out.
She is my storm now. I will never let her go. Even if I never say it, even if I die before I admit it, the truth is already written in every bruise, every kiss, every breathless night between us.
I shut my eyes, swallowing the words, feeling the weight of her beside me: dangerous, essential, inescapable.
