Page 13 of Stolen By The Bratva King

She’s going to bed.

The image of her lying in the darkness is too much for my fevered imagination. Soft curves, those rounded tits, her tight pussy.

I’d stretch her out, get her all wet and gasping so she could take every inch of me. No condoms, no barriers; just my come filling her fertile little cunt. Breeding her.

Jesus Christ.Where didthatcome from?

The idea of simply going home and jerking off seems ludicrous.

I’ve never forced myself on a woman and never will, but if I get my way, Emery and I will spend a lot of time in each other’s company, and she won’t be able to deny her attraction to me forever.

I’m starting to think I might lose my mind before then.

I have at least a week to get through, and patience has never been my strength. I could go back in there and take more than just her key.

Panties, ideally. Something to tide me over, to keep me from climbing the damn walls thinking about her.

My mind is made up.

I palm the key and head for Emery’s apartment door, moving silently, my growing obsession powering each step.

9

Emery

My bed feels too big and empty, and I roll restlessly beneath the duvet, trying to find a comfortable position. Eventually, I settle on my back, my hand wandering between my legs.

February in New York City is not the time to sleep naked, but after my encounter with Leon on my doorstep, my clothes felt too rough against my skin.

My nerves are buzzing, every inch of me hypersensitive, like I’ve been lit up from the inside. I tried to put on pajamas, but the fabric felt like sandpaper on my overstimulated skin.

I can’t imagine ever feeling this alive again once I’m Mrs. Firenze, wandering around a gilded mansion. My husband will belittle me for sport and spend his free time with escorts and shady associates, which is fine by me.

Some life.I worked so hard and sacrificed so much, only to become a man’s consolation prize.

My father didn’t teach me how to assert myself. Losing Mom when I was five left him floundering; she drowned off the south coast of Africa when her racing yacht hit a rock bank.

Dad threw himself into work, and although we had a lot of material things, I don’t remember him being around much. Instead of a mother’s warmth or a father’s guidance, I had silence, luxury, and empty rooms.

My fancy school was no more welcoming; I was viciously bullied and ended up taking private instruction at home, eventually graduating from medical school a full two years earlier than expected. This is what happens when you don’t have friends.

I learned to take up as little space as possible. To survive by staying invisible.

When I think about it, I guess I got with Dante to make Dad happy. He wanted to see me settled with the right man, and at first, I believed Dante was the one. But I’ll be an accessory, my life measured in quiet, obedient smiles and stifled dreams.

Leon is the opposite of all that—a temptation I can’t justify, a risk I can’t take. Yet I’ve never felt this visceral, gnawing ache inside, a yearning that makes me feel ashamed.

There’s nothing proper or polite about how my body reacts to him. But in the privacy of my room, I don’t need to feel ashamed because no one ever needs to know.

I slide my fingers over the softness where my thighs meet, opening up so I can delve deeper. My pussy is already juicy, my clit tender and ready for touch.

The gentlest nudge is enough to draw a moan from me, and I wriggle my hips, settling in.

It’s shocking how much I need this.

I close my eyes, and his face comes to mind immediately. Leon, with that intense gaze, looking at me like I’m something to devour.

This will be the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had.

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