Page 60 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

But I couldn’t. My legs refused to move. He loomed too close, and his presence overwhelmed me.

Suffocating and inescapable.

I barely had time to process it when he spun me, and suddenly, my back pressed against the tough wood of the bookshelf. The sharp edge bit into my skin through my thin silk shirt, but it didn’t matter. All I could focus on was him, his body crowding mine, his musk scent intoxicating, his heat searing into me like a brand.

He growled against my throat like a wild predator. “You’re not running.”

I shook my head, barely able to speak. God, his breath felt so warm. And he felt so good. Quick warmth pooled between my thighs

“No, I’m not. I’m not a coward, asshole.”

“But you’re a fucking brat.” He trailed hot, wet kisses down my throat, to the dip of my collarbone, and back up again.

I quivered, ridiculously saying, “Yes, I’m a fucking brat.”

“Myfucking brat,” he corrected. “Mine, Leonya.”

Jesus.

My pulse thundered in my ears, my breath hitching as his hand braced above my head, his other settling beside my waist.

He murmured, “In this instant, is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

God, the more he spoke, the more my skin sang. I wasn’t processing any reasonable thing. I couldn’t. I was trapped, completely at his mercy. Worse, I didn’t want to break free. Being with him like this was a nightmare I was willing to welcome with open arms—like comfort food for the soul.

“I don’t know,” I sighed against his hair. “You tell me, is it a good thing or a bad thing?”

My heart slammed against my rib cage, every inch of me hyperaware of the charged energy crackling between us. Like a storm, chaotic and consuming, pulling me under its weight.

He nipped at my neck, sucking the tender skin roughly enough to leave a mark. My eyes rolled behind my head, my knees buckled, turning to Jell-O under the pressure, and I arched my head back to give him more access.

“Is it a good thing or a bad thing, Rafa?”

“Fuck!”

The space between us vanished as his chest brushed mine, and my skin ignited. Beneath my clothes, my nipples peaked, aching for him, and the warmth between my legs grew extremely uncomfortable.

I’d done it again—called him exactly by the name he wanted to hear.

He pressed against me, the hard bulge between his legs digging deeper between mine, and the tension brewing between us grew into a firestorm, building to an explosion I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop. I wanted this man badly and unashamedly.

And then, just like that, the world narrowed to him and the wild, reckless sensation of falling into something I couldn’t control. Something I didn’t want to.

Rafayel dragged his lips from my throat and planted them on mine. I groaned into his mouth, and he growled back.

He was rough, hard, and unforgiving. He took with more speed than I could match, cupping my jaw to keep my head in place while he sucked and grazed my lips like the greedy bastard he was.

I felt heady and light. I needed air, oxygen. But I couldn’t summon the courage to break free from him. Maybe because I didn’t want to.

His hand skimmed down my face, latching onto the buttons on my shirt. In one grip, he tugged, and the tiny buttons went springing apart, dropping to the floor like pebbles on tiles.

Ripping off the destroyed shirt, he snaked his hand around my back to unclip my lacy bra and tossed it aside. My breasts bounced free, and I arched into his palm when he grabbed one mound, kneading my soft flesh.

“Leonya….”

He brought his face down to my chest, sniffing hard, before taking one nipple into his hot mouth. And I could have burst into tears just because of how terribly good he felt.

God, what was wrong with me?

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