Page 110 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

I don’t have the self-control to go slow, so I drive hard into her, making each thrust more powerful than the last. Her legs tremble as she grapples with my force.

But I know that she’s about to come when I feel her insides start to convulse rapidly around my cock.

“Oh God,” she whimpers. “Oh God!”

I’m holding her hips so tightly that I can see the imprints of my fingers when I move them. I slap her ass every few seconds and she clenches up hard every time as I increase my speed and fuck her with the ruthlessness she needs. The ruthlessness webothneed.

She explodes on my cock seconds later, but I still keep pumping into her. I don’t have any goddamn clue how I’m lasting this long. I’m grateful for it, though. A minute later, she comes on my cock all over again.

Whimpering the same as before, a sound that sets my hair on end and sends shivers radiating all the way through me.

Only then do I allow myself to release.

It feels like my entire fucking soul comes out with the orgasm. She’s never been tighter. Never been wetter. Never been hotter.

My thrusts slow. I can feel the wetness dripping down my cock as I give a few more shallow pumps before pulling out.

When she straightens, the line of the rock ledge is pressed into her stomach. She doesn’t seem to mind, though. Because when she looks at me with misty eyes, thick with desire, I know I’ve succeeded.

For one blissful moment, she wasn’t thinking.

26

Elyssa

Sometime Later

I wake up in the dark with a pain in my abdomen and a frown on my lips. It takes a second to orient myself to my surroundings.

His musky smell is what triggers my memory. Sweat, sand, whiskey, cologne. I sit up, looking around for him, but it’s just me in here. The bed is empty.

Hisbed.Hisroom. I’m surrounded by Phoenix’s things, but the room lacks a personal touch. It might as well be a hotel suite.

I touch the other side of the mattress. There’s an indent where he was, but it’s gone cold. He must’ve left a while ago. And at that realization, a jarring thought flashes across my mind like a lightning bolt:He’s begun.

I just know it, deep in my bones. He launched the attack. He went after Theo without a plan, without preparation, without caution.

Panic grips my chest as I leap out of bed, ignoring my complaining body. I stumble towards the window and thrust the curtains aside. Sunlight blares in, harsh and unrelenting. It takes a few long moments for my eyes to adjust.

When I look out over the courtyard that precedes the bunkers, I see a bunch of men milling around. But not frantically. They seem relaxed, unconcerned.

The panic squeezing my ribcage eases up. I was wrong; he hasn’t left for battle yet.

That’s something, I guess. But it’s not everything. Because there’s still the lingering doubt: what if I pushed him onto the wrong course of action? What if Phoenix was right and I was wrong, Matvei was wrong, everyone else was wrong?

What if, by waiting, we missed the only chance we’ll ever get to save my son?

So many diverging thoughts rattle around in my brain. I can’t seem to hold any of them together long enough to make sense of a single one.

I need to get out of my head. I decide to get dressed and go find him.

I rinse quickly in the shower, but when I reach for the white dress I was wearing last night, I realize it’s torn into tatters. I end up rifling through Phoenix’s drawers in search of something I can borrow.

I pick out a pair of navy-blue boxers with an elastic waistband and slip into them. I’m pulling out a fresh white t-shirt—when I come across an old leather wallet tucked away in the folds. It plunks to the floor and splays open.

A picture of a young woman stares back at me from the photo sleeve inside.

I sink to my knees slowly, never breaking eye contact. The woman is pretty. She’s got a wry smile, bright green eyes, a dimple in her cheek. Her dark hair is effortlessly wavy.

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