Page 40 of Bratva Baby

“Grigor, I—oh, fuck,” she cries as I thrust inside her.

“That’s it,” I murmur, dropping my forehead to her shoulder. “Moan for me. Scream my name.”

Her arms wrap around my neck, and her legs tighten, pulling me deeper. She’s so fucking wet. So tight.

I’m lost. Completely gone.

I thrust again and again, faster and faster. I fuck her like the world is burning down, and we only have this moment left. Like it’s the end of everything, and this is all that matters.

I lift her hips, tilting her a little more. The new angle lets me reach even deeper, and her nails scrape against the back of my neck as she writhes against me.

“Don’t stop,” she begs. “Grigor, please, don’t—don’t stop.”

“Never,” I promise, my voice rough.

Her moans grow louder, and her breathing is erratic. She’s close, and so am I.

My pace increases, and I feel the pressure build until it’s almost painful. My release is right there, but I don’t let myself fall over the edge until she comes.

It only takes a few more strokes, and then she’s falling apart. Her pussy squeezes around me, and she cries out with her thighs trembling. The sound is the last straw. My own release tears through me, and I slam my mouth against hers, drowning out the roar in my throat.

I keep moving until every last drop is inside her. We’re both panting, sweaty, and spent. When I pull back, I take a moment to admire the flush on her cheeks and the way her dress is ruffled and pushed aside, revealing the curve of her breasts. She looks thoroughly fucked. Mission accomplished.

I lean my forehead against hers, catching my breath. The room feels heavy with the aftermath of what we just did, but there’s a certain clarity coursing through me now. I slide my hands down to her thighs, holding her in place as her legs remain locked around me.

“Don’t ever let another man touch you. If anyone tries, I swear to God, I’ll kill them.”

“Grigor…”

“I mean it, Seraphina.” I pull back enough to make eye contact. “No one touches what’s mine. Not Marco. Not anyone. If they so much as try, I won’t stop until they’re a memory. Understand?”

She swallows hard, and her lips part as though she’s searching for the right response. Then she nods slowly, and her hands slide down to rest on my forearms. “Alright. I understand.”

“Good.” I press a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, savoring the way her body feels against mine.

After a beat, she finally asks, “What about Emma?”

“What about her?”

She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug “Is she… Was she your lover?”

The question surprises me. For a moment, I’m tempted to laugh at how absurd it is, but I hold back. She’s serious. “Do you think she is?”

Seraphina lowers her gaze, and her fingers play with the lapel of my jacket. “I don’t know. She seemed pretty comfortable hanging all over you.”

“Emma’s nothing. She used to be someone I entertained. A distraction when I had nothing better to focus on. But now?” I tilt her chin up with my thumb, forcing her to look at me. “There’s only one woman in the world who matters to me.”

She blinks, as though unsure how to respond. I don’t give her the chance to argue or doubt me. “I’ve never lied to you, andI won’t start now. Emma’s nothing to me, Seraphina. You’re the only woman I give a flying fuck about.”

She searches my face like she’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth, and when she finds no trace of doubt, she offers a small, tentative smile.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” she admits.

“You don’t have to say anything.” I press my lips to hers again, this time slower, gentler, letting the heat simmer instead of burn.

As I help her off the counter and smooth the fabric of her dress, a strange thought occurs to me. This moment—standing in the bathroom, fixing our clothes, coming down from the high of our sex—is the closest thing to domestic bliss I can imagine.

Maybe the old men in the mafia were onto something when they said women could change a man. Perhaps they had a point, after all.

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