Page 56 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

My hands roam over her waist, pulling her closer, needing her closer. Her soft curves press against me, and I groan, my restraint slipping further as I lose myself in the feel of her.

Her lips part beneath mine, and I deepen the kiss, my tongue sweeping into her mouth in a way that’s both demanding and possessive. She tastes like sparkling cider and something sweeter, something uniquely hers, and it drives me to the brink of madness.

I break away briefly, my forehead resting against hers as I try to catch my breath.

“This,” I say, my voice low and hoarse, “is what you do to me.”

She looks up at me, her eyes wide and dark with desire, her breathing as ragged as mine. “Makar…,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

I don’t let her finish. My lips are on hers again, my hands sliding up her sides to trace the delicate line of her neck. She shivers under my touch, and the sound she makes—a soft, breathy sigh—nearly undoes me.

I press closer, my body pinning hers against the wall, the heat between us growing unbearable. Her fingers trail up my chest, tangling in my hair, and I can feel the hesitation bleeding out of her, replaced by something raw and electric.

My hands move lower, finding the slit in her dress and slipping beneath the fabric to rest on the bare skin of her thigh. Her breath hitches, and I pause, my lips hovering just above hers.

“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, my voice a strained growl. “If you don’t want this, tell me now.”

She doesn’t answer right away, her gaze searching mine. Then, slowly, she shakes her head, her lips parting in a whisper. “Don’t stop.”

The words are my undoing.

I lift her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward the nearest surface—a sleek marble console table. Her dress rides up as I set her down, my hands splaying across her thighs, and I groan at the feel of her skin beneath my fingers.

She pulls me closer, her lips finding mine again, and this time, there’s no hesitation.

Her fingers curl into my hair as I fuck her, tugging just enough to send a shiver down my spine. The way she responds—fierce and unrestrained—stokes the fire burning inside me, and I know there’s no going back.

My cock twitches as her walls clench; her pussy is so soaked already, and her thighs tremble beautifully. She’s so delicate beneath me, so completely at my mercy.

“That’s a good girl, Hannah,” I murmur against her lips, my voice a low growl as I thrust harder.Harder.

Her name tastes different now, weighted with emotions I don’t want to name. Love? It’s a dangerous word, one I’ve spent my life avoiding.

I pull back just enough to look at her, my chest heaving as I take her in. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her wide brown eyes hold a mix of desire and vulnerability that punches me in the gut.

“You’re mine,” I say, my voice rough but unwavering. “Do you understand that?”

She swallows hard, her gaze locking on mine. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling but sure.

My hand moves to her face, my thumb brushing over her cheek. The touch is gentle, a contrast to the hunger still roaring inside me. “I’m yours,” I add, the words spilling out before I can stop them.

With one last thrust, I spill inside of her. She cries out my name, her pussy tightening; it’s euphoric, my head spinning with the force of the orgasm that washes over me.

My legs shake as I pull out, dripping come across the inside of her thighs. She whimpers, and I smirk as I duck down to ghost a kiss across her lips.

“Rest,” I whisper against her skin, and she does.

Chapter Nineteen - Hannah

The weeks blur into one another in the vast, gilded halls of the mansion, but something is changing. Not just in the way my body moves slower now, my hand instinctively cradling the gentle swell of my belly as I walk, but in the way my thoughts linger—on him.

Makar.

I can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s infuriating, this pull he has over me. He’s everything I should hate: controlling, cold, ruthless. Yet, against all reason, I find myself drawn to him. His voice, his touch, even his rare moments of gentleness… they haunt me, creeping into my mind when I least expect it.

At night, I replay the moments when his guard slips, the way his hands cradle me as though I might break, the way his eyes darken with something deeper when he looks at me. It leaves me aching, restless, craving something I can’t name but know only he can give.

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