Page 21 of Bratva Baby

He breaks the kiss and mutters, “Say my name.”

“Anton,” I breathe.

“Again.”

“Anton.”

His eyes blaze and his thumb rubs the scar hidden under my jawline. “You’re burning up, Sofiya.”

I lean forward, forehead touching his. “Then do something about it.”

“It would be smarter to stab me right now,” he answers with a dry chuckle. “That’s the rule clean Leonidov girls are supposed to follow, isn’t it?”

I smirk slightly. “I don’t follow rules I didn’t write.”

“Good,” he growls, hand sliding down, tightening on my hip. “Because I don’t know how to be gentle with you.”

His touch turns rougher. He palms my thigh, squeezes hard enough to bruise, and the pain rips a groan out of me. Heat spikes. “Tell me you like it rough.”

“I like it however you give it,” I whisper, shivering.

His eyelids lower, fierce satisfaction rolling through his shoulders. “You like being handled. You like being owned. You like the danger.” He lifts my hand, presses it to his jaw, forcing me to feel the tension there. “You want to know how deep this goes?”

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Then listen closely.” He bends, lips brushing my ear. “I’m going to peel your composure off piece by piece. I’m going to strip that good girl mouth down until all you can do is beg me to ruin you.”

I tremble. “Try me.”

He laughs, dark and wild. “You think I don’t know rebels when I see them? You hiding in a nice hotel, in nice clothes, thinking the world can’t taste the blood in your mouth? You’re so fucking beautiful when you pretend you’re harmless.”

“I’m not pretending,” I say, dizzy with lust.

“Liar,” he snarls, seizing my wrists and pinning them to the seat. “I saw you in that ballroom. Your eyes were wolves behind silk.” He lowers his head, teeth grazing my throat. “You’ve thought about me before this, haven’t you?”

His hand slides higher, palm pressing between my thighs. I gasp. “Don’t tell me a story unless you plan to finish it.” His fingers knead gently, deliberately, through the dark fabric of my trousers. “Tell me what you think about when you think of me, Sofiya.”

My head tips back, exposing my throat. “I think of you fucking me till I forget everything about who I am,” I confess, breathless.

He groans, filthily triumphant. “Fuck. I knew it.” He drags his hand up, pressing harder.

His teeth sink gently into my throat, right where my pulse gallops. “Your saying that is everything I ever wanted.”

I suck in air. “You didn’t even know me then.”

“I knew enough,” he growls. “I knew I wanted the Leonidov princess who stared at me like she wanted to bite. I knew I wanted to see if that mouth tasted as dangerous as it looked.”

He drags one of my hands down, presses it over the hard ridge under his trousers. “Feel what you do to me.”

I swallow. He’s hot and thick under my palm, pulse pounding through the fabric. “Shit,” I breathe.

“That’s right,” he murmurs. “You did this. You lit me up.” He releases my wrists, but I keep my hand where he left it, stroking him through the tailored wool. His breath hisses, and his hips rock once, controlled and lethal.

“You going to be good for me tonight?” he asks, voice scraping low. “You going to let me remind you who you crawled into this car with?”

“I came with you willingly,” I whisper.

“You have no idea how much I like hearing that.” His hand curls around my jaw again. “You’re mine right now, Sofiya.”