Page 130 of The Lazarov Bratva

“Kristof,” I gasp. “I’m right here.” I can barely breathe with how tightly he holds me, but any fraction less and I wouldn’t believe this was real. His body trembles faintly against mine, and we press so firmly together that it’s easy to forget others are here.

I breathe in his scent when I can, press my cheek to his neck, and soak up the skin-on-skin contact as all my worries and fears finally bubble over and a sob tears from my throat like a hiccup.

“I was so scared.”

That’s August’s cue. With a snap of his fingers, he draws all the guards out of the room, including Alyona and Andrev, and the door closes softly behind him, giving Kristof and me our privacy.

Kristof hasn’t moved, nor has he said anything other than my name since he entered here, but when my tears roll down my cheeks and touch his skin, it spurs him into action.

He pulls back half an inch and cups my face with his large hand, staring deep into my eyes with his brows pulled down.

“I was terrified that you were… that you were gone,” he forces out tightly.

“I’m here,” I sob brokenly. “I was so scared you were never coming home!”

Suddenly, his hands are under my blouse, tearing the fabric from my skin like it’s nothing but crepe paper. I do what I can to help, but most of my attention remains on Kristof. Every time the removal of clothing forces us apart, I scramble closer.

His shirt buttons scatter around the room when I tear his shirt open, and the seams of my blouse bite briefly into my skin as he pulls it free from my skin. His tattoos are smeared in blood, but I don’t care. I need him more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.

My bra follows, then he winds one arm around my waist and picks me up from the floor enough to tear my jeans from my legs. His jeans join mine somewhere on the floor, but I can only spare them a brief glance as Kristof slams me hard up against the bookcase, forcing a cry from my lips.

He kisses me deeply, utterly consuming me in the way his mouth weaves over mine. The ridges of the shelves bump into my spine, but I can’t bring myself to care. All my focus is on running my trembling hands over Kristof’s bare chest.

He’s covered in bruises, but for the volume of blood he’s coated in, none of it seems to be his. It’s a bitter relief because I know it had to come from somewhere.

As I graze my fingers down his chest, Kristof pushes me up against the shelves once more, then he shoves a hand between my legs and my panties are a thing of the past.

Our kiss breaks, and I drag in a rough breath through my tears of relief. He repeatedly kisses them away, murmuring soft Russian words that I can’t understand. But it’s okay, I don’t need to. His tone is clearly affectionate.

He can’t keep his hands off me, and the hand between my legs curls suddenly. Two thick fingers thrust into my pussy. I gasp and arch upward onto my tiptoes, briefly alarmed at the intrusion, but Kristof uses that grip to push my entire body upward. Catching on quickly, I wrap my legs around his waist and cling to his shoulders.

Our mouths collide once more in another desperate, filthy kiss, trading positions and tongues. Energy pulses through my body, my core tightens, and each pump of Kristof’s fingers serves as a rough reminder that he’s really back here with me.

“Fuck,” I whimper, rocking down onto his fingers while sliding both my hands into his dark hair. I grip tightly then pull his head back far enough to give me access to his throat. There, I pepper as many kisses as I can until Kristof growls at being denied control. He thrusts his fingers deeper inside me in one stroke, then pulls them from my pussy in a hot rush.

My core clenches, and I whimper at the loss, but Kristof isn’t absent for long.

His cock thrusts hard into me on my next breath, and I squeal out my utter delight at being filled. His girth spreads me wide in the best way, and from this angle, he reaches so deep that it feels like his crown nestles right underneath my ribs.

That’s it, I realize. This is where I belong.

My grip in his hair relaxes, and Kristof reclaims my mouth in a series of biting kisses that send heat flushing across my lips.

Then he starts to fuck me.

He keeps one hand on the shelves for balance, and the other slides up around my throat, meaning the only other thing keeping me up against the shelves is the intense pounding of his cock—and his rhythm is brutal. Desperate, hard, fast thrusts punch up into me as if he’s trying to cement himself as deeply as possible.

I crave it. I crave every single touch he’ll give me.

“Yes,” I croak out around his flexing hand that takes away my breath on every third thrust. “Yes, yes!”

Throwing my head back, I ride the tidal wave of pleasure flooding through me as Kristof fucks into me like some kind of possessed animal. Grunts and growls fall from his lips like a prayer, and his mouth never stills across my jaw.

Until he kisses my neck, and then he pauses. Thrusts and all.

I open my eyes and catch his gaze locked onto my neck, where several deep scratches run from where my necklace was pulled from me.

Of course. I don’t have his collar.

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