Page 112 of The Bratva Betrayal

“That’s it,” I growl, increasing my pace.

The dressing room is filled with the obscene, wet sound of my hand moving in her, her ragged breaths, and the soft, helpless cries she can no longer contain.

Each one is a victory.

Each one winds tension in my gut.

Her hands fly to my shoulders, her fingers digging into the fabric of my thin T-shirt. Her head falls back against the wall, exposing the long line of her throat.

I drop my mouth there, not kissing, just breathing her in, feeling the frantic pulse beneath her skin.

“You’re so wet.” My voice is rough with the need to fuck her with other parts of me, not just my fingers. “All this, just from me telling you how things are going to be. You like it. You like when I take over, Lisichka. You like it because you know you’re safe with me.”

She doesn’t deny it.

Her body is shouting the truth that she likes me taking control. Her inner muscles are fluttering around my fingers, a telltale sign that she’s close. The impending loss of her fighting me is pushing me toward the edge of my control.

I want to be buried inside her, to feel her heat milking my cock instead. To hear her moans become screams as I take her right here against this wall in a room full of silk and lace.

With a final, brutal curl of my fingers, I press my thumb against her clit.

Then she comes apart.

A broken gasp from her throat. Her body bows against mine as the orgasm rips through her. Her nails drag over my shirt while her thighs tremble violently around my hand.

And I watch her, mesmerized by the flutter of her eyelids, her parted lips, and the abandon on her face.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I ride her through it, my movements gentling but not stopping until the last aftershock subsides and she goes limp, held up by the wall and my body.

Slowly, I withdraw my fingers and bring them to my mouth. I never break eye contact as I lick them clean, tasting her climax against my tongue as her eyes widen. A fresh wave of heat colors her cheeks.

I’m no stranger to taking everything; I’m just new to owning a woman for longer than a night.

The brooding silence I usually wear is gone, shattered by her because her stubbornness and independence clash with my own.

In its place is a raw, hungry need.

And my belt buckle is already in my hand.

“Turn around.” My voice leaves no room for argument or her trying to regain the situation. “And place your hands on the wall, Lisichka.”

Her eyes, still glazed from her climax, meet mine. She sees the feral edge there. The control I’ve spent a lifetime honing is now reduced to ashes by the taste of her on my tongue and the feel of her shaking around my fingers.

She turns without hesitation, placing her palms flat against the cool, mirrored wall, arching her back and presenting herself to me.

Fucking perfect.

I shove down my jeans just enough to free myself. My cock, heavy and aching, is already slick at the tip with a need to wreck her.

I step forward, my body caging hers against the wall. One hand goes to her hip, and I grip her hard.

The other holds the base of my cock as I press against her.

She’s still slick and swollen from her orgasm, and then I’m driving inside in one brutal, claiming stroke because I can’t wait another second longer.

She cries out, a sharp, choked sound that echoes in the small room, her body stretching to take me. She’s so tight that it steals my breath.