Page 58 of Married to the Bratva

“Maybe,” I admit, taking another step forward. “But not today.”

The distance between us disappears in an instant. One second, we’re staring at each other, the tension coiled so tight it feels like the room might shatter, and the next, his hands are on my waist, pulling me close.

The kiss is rough, desperate, every emotion we’ve been fighting pouring into it.

My hands tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer as his grip tightens on me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

The taste of him is intoxicating—vodka and adrenaline and something distinctly Maxim.

We stumble toward the bed, the world narrowing down to the press of his lips against mine, the heat of his hands on my skin. Every touch is electric, every kiss igniting something deeper, something I can’t ignore.

The anger, the fear, the vulnerability—it all melts away, leaving only us. He moves with the same precision he showed in the fight, every touch deliberate, every movement calculated to undo me completely.

And I let him. I should be telling him I’m pregnant but all I do is let him kiss me.

Every nerve in my body is electric, each breath a ragged gasp as I try to steady myself. He stands over me, his tall frame casting a shadow that wraps around me like a protective cage.

His eyes, dark and intense, bore into mine, and I see the same mix of adrenaline and something else—something primal—swirling in their depths.

"You did well," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. “I should have listened to your instincts and brought more men.”

He pulls me up, my feet stumbling against the floor until I’m flush against him.

"Maxim, what?—"

"Shh," he interrupts, his fingers pressing against my lips. "Just listen."

His touch is firm, commanding, and yet there’s a tenderness in it that takes me by surprise. He leans in closer, so close that I can feel his breath ghosting across my skin.

The air between us crackles with tension, and I’m acutely aware of how vulnerable I am standing here, pressed against this powerful man.

His hand comes down hard on my ass, the sound echoing through the silent room.

The sting is immediate, sharp and shocking, and I yelp involuntarily, my body jerking in response. But instead of pulling away, I find myself pressing into the sensation, craving more.

"Fuck, Maxim!" I gasp, my voice breaking with a mix of pain and arousal. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

He doesn’t answer, just gives me another spank, this one even harder than the first.

My ass throbs with each strike, the ache spreading like wildfire through my body. I can feel my nipples hardening under my shirt, my clit throbbing in time with the stinging blows.

"That’s it, Sophie," he murmurs, his hand gliding up to cup my cheek. "Take it. Take everything I’m giving you."

His words send a shiver of excitement through me, and I tilt my head up, our eyes locking in an unspoken challenge.

His gaze is fierce, possessive, and I can’t look away, can’t resist the pull of his will.

With each passing second, I feel myself falling deeper into his control, my resistance crumbling under the weight of his authority.

"Please," I whisper. He hears me. He always does.

Without warning, he spins me around, pushing me face-first onto the bed. I gasp as my hands slam against the wooden headboard. Before I can react, his hand comes down on my ass again, this time with a force that makes me cry out.

"God, yes," I moan, grinding my hips back against him. "Give it to me, Maxim. Harder."

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hand comes down again and again, each blow sending shockwaves of pleasure-pain through my body.

I can feel myself getting wetter, my pussy aching for him, desperate for the release that only he can give me.

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