Page 34 of Captured By the Bratva

“Use your tongue,” he growls, his voice strained. “Lick me like you mean it.”

I do as he says, swirling my tongue around his shaft, pressing it against the sensitive underside. His groans grow louder, more urgent, and he starts to move faster, fucking my mouth with increasing intensity. I can feel his tension building, his muscles coiling with pent-up need.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he groans, his grip on my hair tightening. “But don’t get comfortable. I’m not done with you yet.”

With that, he pulls out, leaving me panting, my mouth aching from the suction. He doesn’t give me time to recover, though. Instead, he flips me over, positioning me on all fours. I brace myself, knowing what’s coming next.

“Hold onto the headboard,” he instructs, his voice sharp, commanding.

I do as he says, grabbing the ornate wooden bars, my knuckles turning white. He positions himself behind me, his cock nudging against my entrance. I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable.

“Ready?” he asks, though it’s not really a question.

Before I can answer, he pushes inside, filling me in one swift motion. I cry out, the sensation overwhelming, and he doesn’t stop, starting to pump in and out of me with brutal efficiency. Each thrust is hard, fast, hitting me deep inside. I can feel the bed rocking beneath us, the headboard banging against the wall.

“Ahh... Ivan...” I whimper, my voice barely audible over the sounds of our bodies colliding.

“That’s it,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips tightly. “Take every inch.”

He speeds up, his thrusts becoming erratic, desperate. I can feel another orgasm building, threatening to overtake me. He reaches around, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing it with merciless precision. The dual stimulation sends me over the edge, and I scream as I come, my body convulsing around his cock.

“Fuck!” he shouts. “I’m gonna...”

His movements become frantic, his grip on me almost painful. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he comes, spilling his release deep inside me as he roars in satisfaction.

We both collapse, breaths mingling, the air thick with the aftermath of our intensity. Every nerve in my body hums, but for once, there’s a calm, a strange peace between us that makes the moment feel whole.

"Stay still," he whispers, voice a deep murmur, his hands splayed on my hips, holding me firmly in place. He lingers, his body reluctant to part from mine.

I can feel the weight of his presence pressing down. When he finally withdraws, it's slow, as if savoring every last moment of our connection.

He props himself up beside me, eyes dark and contemplative, watching me with an intensity that feels like a silent vow. "You will give me an heir," he says, the words possessive, almost as though he’s claiming the future in a single breath.

The words don’t ignite the resistance they once might have. I’m not only listening, I’m answering, and the response that rises to my lips surprises even me.

"I will," I reply, the words soft yet assured. And this time, I mean it.

19

CATHY

One week later…

Each day in this strange, gilded cage feels heavier than the last. As Ivan’s “wife,” I’m expected to fall seamlessly into his world, to become a part of this opulent, dark mansion and the life it holds within its walls.

I’m constantly aware of him, his presence always hovering just close enough to remind me that he’s watching. The intensity of his gaze, the way he moves through these halls as though he owns every inch—I feel like a shadow, an accessory to his world, never quite fitting but too entwined to leave.

The clothes he provides hang in my closet, each item handpicked in his signature taste—rich, dark colors, luxurious fabrics that drape over my skin like a constant reminder of his control.

I catch myself reaching for them without thinking, feeling the way they settle around me, almost as if his hands have shaped them.

It’s a small, unsettling shift, like a tiny thread weaving itself into my thoughts, pulling me closer to his preferences. Even atbreakfast, I feel his possessiveness in the simplest gestures—the way his eyes follow my every movement, his hand reaching to adjust a stray lock of my hair. He barely speaks, but his gaze speaks volumes, claiming me in silence.

I try to push back, to cling to any sliver of independence I can. I wear my hair differently than I know he likes, in loose waves instead of the polished style he seems to prefer.

I slip into rooms I sense he hasn’t granted me access to, touching objects that don’t belong to me, letting my fingers linger on forbidden surfaces.

I spend my time writing, as much as I can. Ivan is always busy. I hardly see him except when he joins me in bed, often long after I’m asleep. According to Nik, they’re trying to track down Jimmy but he’s yet to be seen in public.

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