Page 48 of Secret Bratva Twins

He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against mine. “You’re mine now, Chiara. In every way.”

The words send a jolt through me, and I feel my body tense instinctively. Before I can form a response, his lips are on mine again, stealing my breath, my thoughts.

His hands slide lower, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him. The heat between us is electric, every touch igniting something primal and uncontrollable. He breaks the kiss, his mouth trailing along my jaw, down the curve of my neck. His stubble grazes my skin, a delicious friction that makes me gasp.

“Serge,” I manage, my voice trembling as his hands roam over me, his touch firm and commanding.

He lifts me effortlessly, his strength evident as he carries me the few steps to the bed. I want to protest, to reclaim some semblance of control, but my body betrays me. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, my hands clutching his shoulders as he lays me down on the soft mattress.

The silk of the sheets is cool against my heated skin, and the scent of him is everywhere now, filling my senses, clouding my thoughts. He hovers over me, his gaze dark and unreadable as he takes me in.

“I’ve waited four years for this,” he says, his voice rough, almost possessive. His hand trails along my side, the silk of the lingerie barely a barrier between his touch and my skin.

I can’t speak, can’t think. All I can do is feel—the weight of him above me, the heat of his breath on my skin, the way his touch ignites a fire that I can’t control.

“Say it,” he demands, his lips brushing against my ear. “Say you’re mine.”

My heart pounds as I meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes leaving no room for escape. I should resist, I should fight, but instead, I whisper the words he wants to hear.

“I’m yours.”

His lips crash against mine again, and this time, I don’t hold back. I kiss him with everything I have, surrendering to the storm that has been building between us for far too long.

I feel his fingers dig into my hips, his touch firm enough to leave marks. I gasp against his mouth, a mix of pain and pleasure surging through me as his hand slides to the curve of my thigh, pulling me closer beneath him.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and possessive, as if the words alone could brand me. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of my neck, and I arch against him despite myself.

I can feel his cock strain against his pants, tantalizingly out of reach. Despite the time I was in Montana, I remember him perfectly—thick and long, the best I’ve ever had.

It’s enough to make me moan.

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes searching mine. “Say it again,” he demands, his fingers trailing down my arm before gripping my wrist. His thumb brushes over the tender skin there, and I know he can feel my racing pulse. “Say you’re mine. I won’t fuck you unless you say it again.”

My lips part, the defiance bubbling up despite the fire roaring in my veins. “You make it sound as if you want to own me.”

His smirk is faint, dangerous, as if he finds my resistance amusing. “Don’t I?” he murmurs, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, holding me in place. “Then why are you letting me do this?”

“Serge, fuck me already—”

“No. Not unless you do as I say.”

I huff, desperately clawing at him. “I’m yours!I’m yours.”

“Good girl.”

Before I can respond, his lips are on my collarbone, his teeth grazing the delicate skin there. I cry out softly, my hands clutching his shoulders as his touch turns rougher. He bites down, not enough to break the skin but enough to send a sharp jolt through me.

He tugs down his pants and enters me; I’m so thoroughly soaked that his cock slides in effortlessly, filling me to the brim. Serge thrusts, and I gasp, my head spinning as hot arousal envelops me.

I feel the bruises forming already as he pounds into me, his hands gripping painfully tight. The heat and sting of his mouth leaving a trail of evidence across my skin. My breath comes in shallow gasps as he moves lower, his hands gripping my waist tightly. His fingers dig in, holding me in place, and I know there will be marks there too.

“These bruises,” he says against my skin, timed with each delicious thrust, “they’re mine. They mark you as mine. No one else will ever touch you like this.”

My stomach twists at his words, a mix of anger and desire that I can’t untangle. “You think bruises make me yours?” I snap, but the meaning is lost as I arch my back, desperate to feel him stretch me wide.

“They’re a reminder,” he says, lifting his head to meet my gaze. His eyes are dark, unwavering. “A reminder that you’re not free, Chiara. Not anymore.”

His words should terrify me, should ignite the fury I’ve been clinging to. Instead, it brings me over the edge with a breathless gasp. I moan against his lips, eyes squeezed closed as my world goes white with pleasure.

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