Page 31 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

“Down the hall,” she whispers, her voice thick and breathless, nodding toward the hallway. “My bedroom. First door on the left.”

I don’t waste a single second. Keeping her locked in my arms, I carry her out of the dining room and toward the stairs, fully aware that once we cross this threshold, there is no going back.

I push the bedroom door open with my shoulder, kicking it shut behind us. The lock clicks into place, sealing out the rest of the world, leaving only the dark, quiet sanctuary of her room and the frantic rush of our breathing.

The moment we cross the threshold, the last shred of civilized restraint completely disintegrates. We attack each other like animals, driven by a raw, primal hunger that has been building for four agonizing years.

Our hands are everywhere—desperate, clumsy, and electric. I wrench her soft knit sweater over her head, throwing it into the darkness, while her fingers claw at the hem of my shirt, tearing it off my shoulders. Trousers, lace, and denim are discarded in a frantic, breathless rush until we are both standing stark naked in the shadows of the room, our bare skin flushed and radiating a feverish heat.

I take absolute control. I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, tilting her head up as I kiss her with a bruising, desperate intensity. I guide her backward, my body pressing into hers, until her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she falls softly onto the bed, her dark hair fanning out across the pillows.

I’ve spent years reminiscing about this exact moment. In the darkest, coldest nights of my life, the ghost of her touch was the only thing that felt real. The memory of the taste of her on my tongue has haunted me, and now that she is finally here, completely bare and vulnerable beneath me, I waste no time.

As she lies back, panting, I drop to my knees on the edge of the mattress. I slide between her legs, parting them gently, and press forward until I am kneeling between her thighs.

When I lean down and bury my face in her warmth, she lets out a sharp, breathless gasp. I find the center of her pleasure, capturing her clit between my lips, and begin to suck her into my mouth with a slow, deliberate intensity.

Ashley’s back instantly arches off the sheets. A ragged, helpless whimper tears from her throat as her hands fly to my head, her fingers burying deep into my dark hair. She grips me tightly, pulling me closer, her hips lifting instinctively as she humps against my face, seeking the friction and the heat of my tongue.

The taste of her is intoxicating, exactly as sweet and addictive as I remembered, and the desperate, rhythmic movements of her body against mine only drive me deeper into the edge of madness.

As I suck her, I trail my hands up her body, taking her full breasts into my palms. I knead them, molding the soft flesh, feeling her heart hammering wildly against my hand, before pinching and tweaking her tight nipples.

She shatters on my tongue. A high, breathless cry tears from her throat as her hips jerk upward, her entire body trembling violently as she climaxes. But I don’t let go of her clit, maintaining the relentless, wet pressure until she whimpers and begs me to stop, her fingers clutching desperately at my hair.

“Samuel…please,” she pants, completely unraveled beneath me.

I slowly pull away, but I don’t let her rest. I slide my body upward, kissing a trail of fire up her stomach and ribs. When I reach her chest, I capture one highly sensitive, hard nipple into my mouth, sucking it deep and teasing it with my tongue, worshipping her body as she arches up to meet me, lost in the heat of the moment.

“Samuel,” she pants, her hands clutching at my shoulders, pulling me up until our eyes lock in the dim light of the room. “I need you now. Please…please.”

A dark, possessive grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. I lean down, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I whisper, “I like the way you beg, baby.”

I slide my hand down her hip, ready to lose myself completely, but a sudden, sharp spike of reality halts me. I pull back slightly, looking down at her flushed face. “I don’t have a condom.”

Ashley’s chest heaves, her breath coming in shallow gasps. A breathless, ironic smile touches her lips, her eyes locking onto mine. “I’m on birth control. There’s no risk this time.”

I stare at her, the sheer, glaring irony of her words hitting us both at the exact same second. The last time we did this without a safety net, we ended up with the little boy sleeping peacefully down the hall.

In that raw, completely unexpected moment, the suffocating weight of our anger and history fractures. We both let out a quiet, genuine laugh—a rare, unguarded moment of shared humor in the middle of our chaotic storm.

But as the laughter still lingers on our lips, I align myself and sink into her in one deep, unyielding thrust.

Ashley’s eyes widen in sheer shock. A sharp, breathless scream starts to tear from her throat, but she instantly slaps her hand over her mouth, muffling the sound against her palm. Her eyes are wide with sudden, heart-stopping panic as she glares up at me.

I freeze, my chest pressing against hers, the muscles in my back locking up. I know exactly why she stopped herself.

Our son is sleeping just down the hall.

A low, dark chuckle rumbles deep in my throat as I look down at her muffled expression, her hand still pressed tightly over her lips. The sudden drop of adrenaline only sharpens the possessive, primal heat rushing through my veins.

“Good girl,” I whisper against her ear, my voice dropping to a rugged, barely audible rasp as I slowly draw back and slide deep into her again. “Stay quiet, Ashley. Don’t make a sound.”

I begin to move inside her with a slow, heavy, relentless rhythm, deliberately testing her control. I lean down, my lips brushing the damp skin of her neck, and fill the quiet space of the room with a steady stream of dirty, raw confessions.

“I’ve thought about you every single day for four years,” I growl, my hands gripping her hips to anchor her against the mattress as I thrust deeper. “Every single night. I looked for you everywhere. You haunted me, Ashley. I wanted you back in my bed, stripped bare just like this, crying my name.”

She lets out a choked, desperate whimper against her palm, her head rolling back into the pillow. Her eyes are bright with a mixture of overwhelming pleasure and raw emotion, the sheer intensity of my words breaking through her executive armor.