Page 31 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

I couldn't let him have this much control over my body and mind. I hated how his touch affected me in ways that were both concerning and exciting at the same time.

He did this on purpose—ignited a fire in me and left me to burn, a testament to how devilish he was. I hated him even more now, and the sooner I built a wall against his charms, the better for me.

I refocused my attention on hating him, and just like that, the illicit thoughts vanished.

Chapter 11 – Alexei

I sat reclined in my chair, the soft crinkle of the leather accompanying my gentle rocking motion. My fingers drummed a steady beat against the mahogany table as I stared absently at the lit laptop screen.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of my Cuban cigar and the faint scent of old books and leather.

The soft glow of the table lamp cast a warm, golden light over the office, illuminating the rich wood tones and furniture. Elegant paintings adorned the walls, their intricate frames adding a touch of sophistication.

On one wall was a floor-to-ceiling wine cabinet, its rows of neatly arranged bottles and gleaming glassware creating a sense of opulence and refinement.

I had work to do—files to go through—but I was unable to focus, which was strange, considering I'd never been distracted at work before, at least not by the thoughts of one woman.

Lorena had been running through my mind all day, and no matter how many times I tried not to think about her, I just couldn't. It was like she was etched onto my soul like a fucking tattoo I couldn't get rid of.

Images from our time together kept invading my thoughts. I felt useless and unproductive, but there really wasn't much I could do about it. It was almost as if I wasn't in control, like my mind had a will of its own, and that was infuriating.

Why couldn't I stay focused on the task at hand? Why did my mind keep taking me back to that night?

I'd had lots of sex with countless women in the past, and none of them had stuck in my head the way that Lorena did.

I wiped a palm across my face, fingers massaging my eyeballs as I struggled to push back the memories from last night.

I could hear the sound of her moans echoing in my head, and images of her face, contorted in pleasure, wouldn't stop flashing. My shaft was swelling in my pants as I recalled the way she made me feel.

Sex with her was different, with more sensation than the others I'd had in the past. Not because she was a virgin but because I connected with her on an emotional level. We didn't just fuck; passion was involved—lotsof passion.

It felt like my body and hers were in perfect sync—like we were made for each other.

I scoffed, shaking my head at the silliness of this thought, but was it so far-fetched?

Why else could I not stop thinking about her? Why could I still smell the scent of her arousal, even in my office? Why was I losing focus?

My mind flashed back to the feeling of her mouth on my cock. For a virgin, she sure had some impressive skills. Lorena was good with her hands, too, and maybe when it came down to intimacy, I'd hit the jackpot with this one.

She might be a spoiled little brat, but at least this spoiled little brat was bad and nasty for only me. I took pride in taking her innocence—making a woman out of her.

Yes, at first I was surprised that she was still a virgin at 21, considering her father's wealth and her “I can do whatever I want” character. The fact that no one else had tasted her filled me with a primal sense of satisfaction and possession.

Something deep stirred up in me at the mere fact thatIwas her first, that only one who had experienced her intimacy. It was as if I'd claimed a part of her that no one else had touched.

Now, after making love all night, my perception of her was starting to change. Maybe there was a chance for this to actually work since, despite our differences, we still found each other attractive.

Lorena had tried to mask her emotions this morning in the bathroom, but I could tell her body craved me. She tried to wear a blank expression, but her eyes betrayed her; I could see the desire and lust lurking in their depths.

It would've been fun to make love to her in the bathtub, our skin colliding in the water, tongues dancing in our mouths, and our heads tilting to the flow of ecstasy coursing through us. A part of me wished that I'd taken that chance—that I'd kissed her the way I did last night.

She wouldn't have been able to resist, and her response would have led to us making out again.

However, I had my reason for withdrawing. The poor girl could barely stand as a result of the marathon last night. She was still a little sore, and although she pretended to be strong, I could tell she was weak and drained.

At some point, driven by passion, I'd lost it and went wild—pounding her vigorously. Therefore, in essence, whatever pain and soreness she was feeling was my fault. She’d enjoyed the sex as much as I did and wanted me again this morning as much as I wanted her, but she needed some time to heal.

Taking her again this morning would’ve been animalistic on my part, and contrary to what she might think of me, Ididhave a conscience. She wasn't a sex doll that I could fuck at will—her well-being mattered to me.

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