Page 83 of The Bratva King

“Any time you want that again, you come to me.”

He licks the last trace of me from his thumb. “You taste so sweet.”

I groan and turn my face into the pillow. “I’m going to die.”

His hand closes around my jaw and turns me back.

“You’re my favorite dessert.”

For a moment, neither of us moves. Then he glides over me slowly, settling his weight between my thighs, bracing one hand beside my head.

“I want to fuck you, Gabby.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

He reaches between his legs and squeezes his cock. I moan at the sight of him gripping himself. He positions himself at my entrance, his other hand guiding the thick length against me. I’m still trembling from the last orgasm, and every nerve is raw and oversensitive, but the sight of him holding himself like that—commanding, unapologetic—makes me ache all over again.

“Eyes on me.” His voice is low and rough. “I want to watch you take every inch.”

I nod, my breath catching. He pushes so slowly that it feels like torture and heaven at the same time. The stretch burns. I can’t help the whimper that escapes.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, sinking deeper. “So wet and hot for me. You’re taking my cock so well.”

He bottoms out and stills, his forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard. I’m impossibly full, and the weight of him pinning me down grounds me in a way nothing else ever has.

“Next time,” his voice is dark with promise, “I won’t be so gentle. You’re going to know exactly how I like it—hard, deep, you screaming my name while I ruin you for anyone else.”

The words send a fresh wave of heat through me. He starts to move, each thrust dragging against a perfect spot inside. One of his hands slides under my thigh, hitching my leg higher so he can go even deeper.

“Look at you,” he murmurs against my ear. “Taking me so well. You were made for this, Gabby. Made to be fucked slowly until you forget every bad thing that’s ever happened to you.”

I can’t speak. All I can do is feel his body moving over mine, the filthy praise spilling from his mouth. He’s watching me like he always does. Every gasp, moan, or fluttering of my eyes changes the way he fucks me.

“That’s it,” he says when I start to tighten around him again. “Come for me one more time. Let me feel your sweet pussy.”

His rhythm is devastating. The man’s control is absolute. When I shatter around him, he curses low in Russian, hips stuttering as he follows me over the edge and empties himself deep inside me with a rough groan.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just lowers himself enough to kiss me slow and deep, tasting like scotch and me. When he finally eases back, he brushes damp hair from my face. His lips touch my nose and then my cheek.

He gets up from the bed and walks away. Before I can worry about what that might mean, he’s back. A warm cloth is pressed between my legs. He cleans me up and then tosses the cloth to the side and slides into bed beside me.

“Stay,” he says quietly, smoothing my hair back from my face. Not an order this time. A request.

I nod, too wrung out and sated to argue.

“For a little while.” It’s the only promise I know how to make.

His arm closes around me, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel like running.

20

Nikolai

I wake up with her still in my bed.

That hasn’t happened before. I don’t do sleepovers. I don’t allow expectations beyond the physical.

But Gabby is here. Her hair is spread across my pillow. One arm is tucked under her cheek. She’s on her side, facing me, and her breathing is slow and even.