Page 35 of Bred To Be Owned

His smile became feral. In a heartbeat, I was off my knees and thrown on the bed. “You just sucked my soul out of my dick.” His knees bracketed my legs as he climbed over me—the lion seeking his prey—and I would lay at his feet in sacrifice. “You’re right where I want you.”

My lips parted, and Ilya took it as an invitation to invade. To conquer. His lips pushed against mine, tasting the remnants of us. I arched my body into him. I wanted to feel this man surround me. Swallow me down so that I had no clue where I ended and he began.

I went to wrap my hands around his back, but he gathered both in his left hand. Holding my wrists above my head, he kissed me again. I tried to reach any part of him I could with my body, but he shifted to the side, out of reach.

He broke the kiss and chuckled at my frustration. “Only good things come to good girls who wait.”

“You’ve made me wait long enough.” I wasn’t in the mood.

Leaving my hands above my head, he kissed my temple, working his way down. There were kisses on my nose, my cheek, my jaw. A lick at my ear made my body shudder.

Switching my hands into his right palm, he started to suck and lick at my neck. It felt amazing, but I wanted more. Needed more. I stared at the top of his head, trying to get his attention, but he wasn’t looking directly at me. I tried moving, but he trapped me underneath him. Finally, I just let out a huff of frustration.

“Easy,” he whispered against my neck.

I was still huffy, but the more he continued sucking my neck, the more I found it hard to remember why.

His left hand came up and cupped my cheek. It slid down my left side, popping the buttons of my blouse one-by-one until there was a small strip of skin visible between the two halves. His lips moved from my neck to my chest. Kissing down my sternum, he whispered words of Russian against my skin.

I didn’t know what they were, and now was not the time to stop and ask. They were beautiful, and I could only assume they were words of love and adoration. Releasing my hands, my Russian undressed me,throwing my clothes into the pile with his across the room. There was something domestic about seeing the laundry mixed like that. Sitting up, I reached for him, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck and turning my lips up for a kiss. He didn’t deny me.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” I whispered against his lips. His smile widened, and there was a twinkle in his eyes.

He held me closer to him so that we were chest-to-chest, and my legs wrapped around his waist as he kneeled on the bed. “You love me, huh?”

“I don’t want anyone else but you.”

I wasn’t sure it was possible, but his smile became even bigger. “Finally.” He swooped in with another soul-sucking kiss.

When we broke a part, I laid my head on his shoulder. “Take me like this. I need to be close to you.”

He held me a little tighter. “Se agapó.” Whatever voids I had in my heart, those holes were now filled.

My Russian shifted me onto his lap. Slowly entering me, he stopped every so often to let me adjust to the feel of him. It was my turn to whisper into his ear about all the ways I loved him in Greek. I told him how grateful I was for him. How I was glad that he had opened my eyes to what actual love in our world looked like. What it felt like. He didn’t understand any of it, but I unleashed a torrent of emotion.

Lifting me until just the tip of his dick was inside me, he let me fall back down into his lap at my pace. We both groaned at the contact. Kissing him again, I continued to raise myself and then slide back into his lap until the pressure to orgasm was almost unbearable. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back.

“Come for me, moya malenkaya lisichka. Come all over me and make me yours.”

Gripping his shoulders, I anchored myself to him as I continued to move.It was too much for me, and in a way, not enough. I saw stars—red, blue, orange—shooting against the backs of my eyelids.

Later, I lay in the crook of his shoulder, his hand drifting up and down my back in a gentle caress. No words were necessary, but I traced the tattoo above his heart with my fingers. There was something about it that called to me.

“How much do you know about Bratva tattoos?”

“Some. Isn’t it that each tattoo represents a sin you’ve committed?”

“Something like that. I was a made man at fourteen. It wasn’t my choice. We chose this life to avoid being orphaned. It seemed like our only option.” He wrapped one of my curls around his finger, gently winding and unwinding it as he spoke. “When you become a made man, it’s a tradition to tattoo the red stars. They remind you to never bend to the enemy. I have mine touched up on my anniversary, so that I never forget.”

I let him continue.

“The X’s on my knuckles are for the enemies I had a direct hand in eliminating.”

I shifted in his arms, so that I could look at his left hand laying on the bed. I had seen them before, but this was the first time I studied the ink. There were four individual black X’s on his left hand that were as big as his knuckles. Sitting up, I grabbed the hand that had been on my back. There were five more X’s, but one had a T next to it. Holding his hands, I knew. He didn’t have to tell me.

“Junior’s X is the one on your wedding ring finger.” I looked at the six on his chest, surrounded by barbed wire, and then at the XT on his ring finger. It was making sense, but I needed him to tell me.

“It’s on my ring finger because when I marry you, my wedding ring will sit above it. It’s the price I paid to have you. I’d do it again if the result was the same.”

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