Page 41 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

A faint smile curves his lips before he captures my mouth again, his kiss more demanding this time. He doesn’t ask; he takes, and I let him.

His hands move to the delicate buttons of my wedding dress, unfastening them with a precision that makes my heartrace. The fabric loosens, and I feel the cool air against my skin as he slides the dress down my shoulders.

“Lift your arms,” he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble that sends a shiver down my spine.

I do as he says, the gown slipping further until it pools at my feet. He steps back for a moment, his gaze raking over me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, the words so quiet I almost don’t hear them.

I don’t know how to respond. My hands move to cover myself instinctively, but he catches my wrists, gently pulling them away.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says firmly, his eyes locking with mine. “Not tonight.”

I nod faintly, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as he guides me backward toward the bed.

The backs of my knees hit the edge, and I stumble slightly, landing on the mattress. He follows, his movements deliberate as he climbs over me, his weight pressing me into the soft surface. His knees bracket my hips, his hands planting firmly on either side of my head, caging me in.

The sheer power of him, the dominance in his posture, sends a thrill through me that I don’t want to acknowledge. His gaze holds mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us, the tension between us crackling like a live wire.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice softer now, though still laced with authority.

“No,” I admit, the word trembling on my lips.

He smirks faintly, leaning down until his lips brush against my ear. “Do you want this?” he murmurs.

“Yes.”

He shimmies out of his suit pants—and then he’s looming over me, his cock parting my wet folds. He’s thick and long, filling me effortlessly as he begins to thrust. It’s enough to leave me gasping, back arching as a moan leaves my lips.

Makar stretches me so wide without even having to try. He’s everything I remember, andmore.

His touch is everywhere—my waist, my hips, skimming over my pert nipples—each movement igniting sparks beneath my skin. He leans down, his lips trailing down my neck and over my collarbone, his stubble scraping against my sensitive skin. He takes one breast between his teeth, and it has me reeling.

I arch into him, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I let go of the resistance I’ve been holding on to so tightly. For the first time in days, I stop thinking, stop fighting, and justfeel.

The sensation of his teeth, his fingers, against my bare skin sends a shiver through me, and I clutch at his shoulders, grounding myself against the overwhelming rush of sensation.

He ruts into me, ruthless, fast, leaving my hips aching from being stretched so wide. I can feel every inch of him inside me, the pressure building until I can’t seem to feel anything else.

“Makar,” I whisper again, the sound a plea I don’t fully understand.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze burning as it locks on to mine. “Tell me to slow down,” he says, his voice rough but steady.

I shake my head, my lips parting but no words coming.

For a fleeting moment, there’s no resentment, no anger, no fear. Just the fire between us, burning too hot from the wedding, the baby, or the impossible situation I’m in. There’s only this, only him, only the way he touches me like I’m something precious and fragile and entirely his.

He takes his time, pace slowing as I suck in deep, steadying breaths. My walls clench around his cock as he fondles my breasts, and I reach my peak.

I come with a cry, hands gripping at his arms, at anything I can reach, as the orgasm consumes me. I’ve never come so hard in mylife,eyes scrunched shut as I try to muffle my gasps.

It’s overwhelming, consuming, and I give myself over to it completely, letting him guide me through a storm I couldn’t possibly have anticipated.

When it’s over, we’re both breathless, tangled together on the bed. His weight pins me down for a moment longer, grounding me, before he pulls out and rolls to the side, his arm still wrapped around me.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that my chest tightens, an unfamiliar ache blooming there.

“There will be a lot more of this,” he says softly, his voice roughened from exertion, “if you want it.”

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