Page 21 of Captured By the Bratva

When I did, it was with her long-awaited orgasm. Her pussy walls clenched my cock, milking me with her swollen tissue as I jerked up with a final hard rock of my hips against her ass.

I didn’t get any intel, but knowing I’d fucked her brains out and made her come felt like a decent consolation prize of a reward.

Straining to breathe faster, I leaned back and wiped my hand over my brow, smearing the sweat collecting there to fall to the side. One shove of her ass had her falling forward onto the bed.

Limp and lax, she was clumsy as I slipped out of her. I stood, watching her bare body as she shivered and shook, coming down from the rush of coming so violently with me.

Sinking to the mattress, she ended up twisting her arms, rolling another kink in my shirt that kept her tied up.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. All this sweet innocence that I’d taken.

She landed on her back. Eyes closed. Mouth open as she panted. Flush and thoroughly fucked. Gorgeous.

I furrowed my brow, blinking as I caught my breath yet.

That line…

I focused on the scar low on her abdomen.

A marking of a C-section.

Becca wasn’t just the daughter of my enemy. She was a mother. She’d had a child.

I couldn’t stop the hunch that rapidly formed. The way she’d tucked in and fell when that caller asked where Emily was told me enough. She’d crumpled to the floor like someone had wrenched her heart out. Like her body couldn’t remain strong enough against a chance of Emily being missing.

I gripped her ankle and tugged. It did the trick. She flinched in surprise and opened her eyes to gawk at me.

“Is Emily your child?”

8

BECCA

Thoughts couldn’t form fast enough. After Ivan’s direct question, flat-out inquiring whether Emily was my child, all I could do was stare at him in shock. And breathe. My lungs didn’t seem capable of holding much air for long, and I wondered if he’d fucked me so hard that he’d driven my lungs up into a mess in my ribcage.

Weak and startled by the force of that orgasm, I felt blindsided as I sank into the softness of the bed. Blood drained down my arms, numbing my limbs with my hands still tied over my head. Spinning as I fell hadn’t helped. I’d torqued another twist into the binding. I felt every tight cinch of it, and I worried I’d cut off my circulation.

Ivan didn’t miss my wince and subtle tug on the knots. He stood there, naked and catching his breath too. Every glorious inch of his rugged, chiseled body was there to look at, and I struggled not to stare and get lost in how ripped and big he was.

As he stepped closer, his dick hard and glistening with our combined cum, he reached up for the knots and loosened them.

Wait.Was he tying me up strictly to keep me captive or for some kinky level of pleasure he preferred, fucking women who were bound up? Bondage. I was lacking a varied sex life, but I’dread romance books. I saw movies. I knew what the term was, but I’d never considered that I would ever be a participant in it.

Or that I’d like it so much.

Lying here bare and shivering from the force of coming so hard and quickly, I felt vulnerable and exposed. Inside and out. Those intense stares Ivan bestowed on me were piercing, cutting through me like he was looking at my soul and finding me suspicious.

When would I learn?I hated the realization that he’d gotten me so easily, so fast. I hadn’t done anything to deserve or encourage this situation. I’d only been doing my job, set up to go to that club and even meet this rough man.

But my body… My tender entrance was so sticky with copious juices. I’dwantedit. He hadn’t asked. He’d forced it, but the second I felt his big, hot body bracing behind mine, I was aroused.

I’d wanted him to take me, and when he hadn’t held back, brutal and impatient, I felt… alive.

Not used. Not violated. Unlike when Dom impregnated me with Emily, with Ivan, I had the impression that I was coveted, treasured, even if he’d shown it in a gritty, raw method.

I was betrayed, my body showing me how I stupidly wanted all the gruffness Ivan could give me, but it was different. With Dom, it was worse. He’d spent all that time in psychological warfare, leading me on and tricking me to think that I’d mattered. He was cunning, playing on my goals for my artwork.

Ivan was direct, blunt and taking what he wanted, but also giving me what I hadn’t realized I’d needed. He somehow understood what I wanted and delivered, seeing to my pleasure and expediting a shattering orgasm that should have had me curling up to pass out by now.

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