Page 48 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

I begin to move rhythmically, my cock sliding in and out of her tight, warm pussy. The pleasure coursing through me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I can’t help but wonder how she’s feeling.

She places her hands on my chest, her fingers digging into my skin as if she’s trying to hold on to me. Her eyes never leave mine, her expression a mixture of need and trust.

As I continue to bury myself within her, her body adjusts to accommodate me, welcoming my intrusion. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through me, my control slipping.

“Damien, I’m close,” Genevieve gasps, her nails digging into my back as she clings to me.

“Let go, love,” I encourage her, my own climax looming dangerously near. “Come undone with me.”

She closes her eyes, and her hips buck at me, showing me she wants it faster. I smile to myself—my little tigress.

I go just a little faster, but not as fast as I’d like, for fear of causing her pain. She closes her eyes, and her nails now dig into my arms. Her pussy begins to quiver, her legs shiver, and her breasts jiggle from her entire body trembling.

She cries out my name, her face contorting into one of pure ecstasy, and she raises her neck up off the bed for just a second before falling back down.

In that instant, I realize she’s cum. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, and I can’t hold back. I pull out quickly and shoot my shot on her upper thighs.

“Genevieve, I…” I begin, but words fail me. There’s no way to convey the depth of what I feel at this moment—the vulnerability, the awe, the love that has taken root within my soul.

She simply smiles at me, her eyes warm and understanding. “I know,” she murmurs, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “Me too.”

I stay there, hovering, for a few seconds to catch my breath and then stand up. I look around for some tissue and gently wipe her thighs and my cock clean. I notice some blood on the sheets and the paper. I’ll change the sheets tomorrow before the housekeeper comes.

I get back into bed and take her in my arms. Lying here, our naked bodies entwined and slick with sweat, I find myself unable to tear my gaze away from Genevieve’s face. As I trace my fingers along the curve of her cheek, she sighs gently, nuzzling into my touch.

“Damien,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never imagined it could feel like this.”

“Neither did I,” I admit, surprised by the vulnerability in my own voice.

Our breathing slows, synchronizing in the quiet of the night. I drink in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin pressed against mine, committing every detail to memory. This moment is precious and fragile; I want to savor it for as long as possible.

“Damien?” Genevieve’s voice is soft, tinged with drowsiness.

“Yes, love?”

“Thank you… for tonight. For everything.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” I reply, my heart swelling with affection for this incredible woman in my arms. Soon enough, we fall asleep, a tangled mess of limbs.

Chapter 18 - Genevieve

I stride into the Zolotov boardroom, the new Louboutins Damien just bought me clicking with purpose on the marble floor. All eyes turn to me, but I’m so used to this by now that I don’t flinch under their scrutiny.

“Sorry I’m late,” I explain. “I was wrapping up the presentation.”

“Just hand it to Seleena,” Boris nods toward his assistant.

Seleena takes the pen drive from me and puts it up on the screen.

Today I have a brilliant proposal for our new hotel acquisition, and I’m ready to fight for it as Boris asks me to take the helm of the table to present.

I stand in my spot and look around at the eager faces. Lev winks, and I try not to roll my eyes. Damien gives me that sweet, encouraging puppy-dog smile he always gives before I present anything.

“Well, as we all know, Vegas has been the gambling hub across America. However, people with extraordinary wealth are now finding it a little too obnoxious. The Six Senses hotel in Vermont could be just what we’re looking for…” I begin to explain why we should purchase the property and create a gambling hub in ultra-luxury hotels right on the outskirts of Philadelphia for wall-street executives to visit for the weekend.

“Go on,” Damien prompts. His gaze burns into me, just like it did the previous night, and the night before, and before. Heat coils in my belly at the memories.

“If we renovate the hotel to highlight its historic architecture, with marble bathrooms, terrazzo floors, and Murano glass chandeliers in each suite, it will be irresistible. An in-house gondola service, a world-class spa, a Michelin-star restaurant...” I trail off as I notice the contemplative looks around the table.

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