Page 46 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

The second orgasm tears through me even harder than the first, my pussy clenching around his thick length. Powerful pulses grip him as wave after wave rolls from deep in my core and spreads outward. My thighs tremble, knees buckling against the desk as I whimper. The contractions come fast and deep, each one drawing a moan from me as pleasure blinds me.

My walls flutter and pulse without stopping, and I press my cheek to the desk. The spanks keep coming, lighter now but still enough to heighten everything. His dirty words make me shudder.

“Good girl. Look at you coming so hard for me."

As the second orgasm finally starts to fade, leaving me trembling and sensitive, his rhythm changes. His thrusts grow erratic, deeper, more desperate. He pulls my hair harder, arching my back as he leans over me.

“Fuck, Isabela. You feel too good.” His voice is rough and strained. “I’m going to fill you up.”

One final hard thrust buries him as deep as he can go and he comes with a deep groan, throbbing inside me as he releases. Hot pulses fill me with each snap of his hips, and it prolongs the aftershocks in my body. His hand delivers one last spank as he rides it out, pressing tight against my ass while his release continues in strong, steady spurts.

He stays inside me as our breathing starts to slow. His hand releases my hair but stays on my back, stroking down my spine in a possessive drag. I can still feel him twitching slightly inside me, the warmth of his release making everything slicker.

Demin pulls back slowly, only to thrust in again a few times, as if savoring the way my body reacts. “You’re going to remember this every time you see me sit at this desk,” he says in a lusty haze.

I whimper at the overstimulation, my sensitive walls clenching around him. He finally slips out, but his hands keep me in place, spreading my cheeks slightly to watch as his release starts to drip down my thighs. Another possessive growl escapes him.

He turns me around again, lifting me back onto the desk facing him. His mouth claims mine in a deep kiss, his hands roaming over my body, squeezing my breasts and pinching my nipples as if he can’t get enough

I kiss him back, my hands sliding over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart as he presses closer. When he pulls away and growls, "Let me take you to bed now," I don’t even hesitate to moan agreement.

"And bring the vodka… We're celebrating tonight." My words pull another growl from his chest and he grins, not even bothering to collect his clothing as he lifts the bottle off the desk, then swings me over his shoulder.

I laugh and slap his ass and wonder if this is what life will be like with him. Because he's made it very clear I'm not going anywhere.

I am his.

Which means he is mine.

24

DEMIN

"You're just sore because it's not your party." Mishka chuckles, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. I have to laugh with him because he's not wrong. Oh, to be six again, with birthday parties and new bicycles to look forward to. But once you're grown, you can never go back.

"Well, tell him I said happy birthday, and make sure you pull his ear for me." I don’t have a family of my own, he's right. But one day, I hope to. And with things going as promisingly as they are with Isabela, I feel more than ever that it might be a possibility.

Today, we're on the way to the insurance adjuster's office to discuss the rebuilding of my warehouse after that fire. We've spent enough time waiting around, and I believe breaking ground immediately will show the Cartel we're not afraid. After Bart led the charge scattering their forces earlier this week, I think they're getting the point.

"You really think we'll build back better and stronger?" Mishka asks as he turns onto the frontage street next to the highway. It's not a matter of thinking but doing, and I know we will do better.

"There's no doubt in my mind. With things on track the way they have been and Octavio producing finer product than we have ever had, we're on track to have our best year⁠—"

The sound and the force hit me as one sensation—a hammer swung up through the floor of the SUV. The whole armored frame jumps off the road and flips over, driving my head into the C pillar behind me. The seatbelt bites my chest and shoulder as the entire vehicle flips a few times and lands on its side, where it grinds to a stop.

My head is spinning, and my ears ring. For a few seconds, I can't make my body do anything at all. I hang in the harness with my ears ringing so loud, I can't hear anything else. Blood runs down into my eye from somewhere above my hairline, and I taste copper where I've bitten through the inside of my cheek.

The shock of it grips me for a second as I sit there reeling, imagining a very different outcome if this SUV wouldn't have been armored. I blink, looking around me at the shattered windows and smoke now filling the cabin. "Mishka." My voice sounds far away even to me. "Talk to me." I taste salt on my tongue, and something sharp—a shard of glass, maybe? Something that landed on my tongue during the impact.

He groans from the front, and then his hand grips the back of his seat as he drags himself up. "I'm here, Boss. I'm here." He's slurring, but he's moving. "You hit?"

"Fuck," I grunt, trying to make my shoulder work. Feels like I snapped it out of the socket. "Everything hurts." I get a hand on the seatbelt release and try my hardest to brace against the door under me. "Get your weapon. That was no accident…" I feel dizzy, like that knock to the head was more than just a bump, but whoever set a charge on my SUV isn't going to wait around for me to snap out of this to have a fair fight.

He understands me before I've finished. A bomb that size in a street this empty wasn't only meant to flip a truck. It was meant to crack the box open so they can come by and finish whatever crawls out, which means there are men coming, and they're coming now while we're upside down and bleeding out slowly.

"Mishka…" I struggle to breathe, realizing how close to unconsciousness I am as the release snaps open and frees me. My body crumples to the opposite side of the car in a heap, landing on more broken glass that pricks my palms and stabs into my knees. The ringing is slowly lifting, but the gravel in my throat is suffocating.

Pain shoots up through my ribs where the belt did its work as I drag my pistol from my jacket with a shaking hand. Outside I see the feet of men moving around the vehicle, and they don't look like average pedestrians. They're wearing black boots, black pants… They've come for us.