Page 33 of Captured By the Bratva

Slowly, I slide the jacket from his shoulders, feeling the fabric slip down his arms, revealing more of his strong, solid frame with each passing second.

With every piece of clothing I remove, I feel a shift between us, an unspoken understanding settling in the air. My fingers trail along his shirt, brushing against the fabric, reverent.

The distance between us narrows as I reach up and start unbuttoning his shirt, inch by inch.

My hand reaches his chest, and I trace a scar that cuts across his skin, following its rough path. He stands still, allowing my touch, watching me with an openness that feels rare, even sacred.

I’m suddenly aware of the quiet consent in the air, a trust that feels new, unspoken. I glance up at him, searching his eyes, and I find the confirmation I need.

“Do you know what these marks mean?” he asks, his voice low, like a quiet invitation.

I look up at him, my heart beating faster. “They mean you’ve been hurt,” I murmur, feeling an unexpected connection bloom between us, a sense of empathy that feels raw and real.

His expression softens, just slightly, and it makes my heart lurch. “And yet here I am,” he says with the faintest hint of a smile. “That should tell you something.”

He grips my wrist, pulling me closer until our bodies are flush against each other. The heat from his skin sears into mine, and I can feel his erection pressing insistently against my lower belly.

“You belong to me now,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear as his hand slides down to cup my ass, squeezing firmly. “Every part of you. That ring binds your soul to mine.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through me. I nod, unable to speak, my throat suddenly dry.

His grip on me tightens, and he pushes me back onto the bed. I land softly, the mattress giving way beneath me, and I watch as he crawls up my body, his movements predatory and deliberate.

He reaches my thighs and pauses, looking up at me with those intense eyes. “Spread your legs,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

I obey, spreading my legs wider, exposing myself to him. His gaze burns into me, and I feel a flush of embarrassment mixedwith something else—something darker, wilder. He leans down, his breath hot against my inner thighs, and I bite my lip to stifle a gasp.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, his voice dripping with approval. “So eager to please.”

His tongue flicks out, tracing a line up my thigh, sending jolts of electricity through me. I arch my back, my hips lifting off the bed in response to the sensation. He chuckles softly, the sound low and rumbling, and moves higher, his tongue finding the delicate flesh just above my pussy.

“Relax,” he says, his breath warm against my folds. “Let me taste you.”

His words are a balm to my nerves, and I do as he says, sinking back into the mattress, my muscles loosening. His tongue delves between my folds, exploring my wetness, and I moan softly, my hands gripping the sheets.

He laps at me with steady strokes, his tongue flat and insistent, driving me wild.

“Ahh... Ivan...” I breathe, my voice trembling.

He continues his ministrations, his tongue moving faster, more purposefully. He finds my clit, circling it with precision, and I cry out, my body tensing.

The pleasure builds, a slow burn at first, then a raging inferno. He seems to know exactly where to touch, how to press, and I’m spiraling out of control, my orgasm cresting high above me.

“Yes, yes!” I scream, my hips bucking wildly as the wave crashes over me, flooding me with ecstasy.

He doesn’t stop, not even when I’m still shuddering with aftershocks. Instead, he redoubles his efforts, his tongue relentless, until I’m begging for mercy, for release. And then, just as I think I can’t take any more, he pulls away, leaving me gasping and shaking.

“Good?” he asks, his voice smug, satisfied.

I nod weakly, my eyes half-lidded, too overwhelmed to form words. He smiles, a predatory gleam in his eyes, and shifts his position, moving up my body until he’s looming over me. His cock, hard and glistening with precum, hovers just inches from my face.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument.

I obey, parting my lips, and he guides his cock into my mouth. The head brushes against my tongue, and I instinctively close my lips around him, sucking gently. He lets out a low groan, his fingers tangling in my hair.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Take it all. Show me how much you want this.”

I follow his instructions, taking him deeper, my throat working around his length. He tastes salty, musky, and I find myself strangely addicted to the sensation. He begins to thrust slowly, his pace measured, controlling.

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