Page 65 of Used Bratva Bride

Then he’s undoing the buckle of his belt, his thick cock springing free. Somehow he’s even thicker than I remember, veiny and girthy and already leaking precum.

I gasp, reaching for it. I lead him to my soaked entrance, grinning as I take him to the hilt. He fills me, twitching and hot, and I moan with need.

While he fucks me, my fingers find the buttons of his shirt, my impatience matching his own as I rip it open, sendingbuttons flying. My hands trail down his torso, tracing the firm ridges of muscle, the heat of his skin branding my fingertips.

Mikhail’s sharp intake of breath is the only warning I get before he’s on me again, his lips and teeth grazing the delicate curve of my throat.

I push against him, flipping us so that I straddle his lap, the shredded remains of my dress slipping from my shoulders. His large hands grip my waist, his touch searing, grounding me against him.

Then, I drop down and fully seat him inside of me. God, he’s so thick I feel like I might be split open.

“You’re playing with fire,” he growls, his voice thick with hunger.

I smirk, dragging my nails down his chest, rocking forwards while I watch as his muscles tighten beneath my touch. “Maybe I like the burn.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbles from him before his hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to expose my throat to him once more. His mouth finds my pulse, biting down just enough to make me gasp.

I claw at his back, my nails raking over his skin, and he groans in response, his grip on me tightening.

This isn’t sweet. This isn’t soft. This is fire and possession, hunger and desperation. I know, deep down, I’ll never be the same after tonight.

Mikhail’s grip on my waist tightens as he pulls me closer, his body hot and firm beneath mine. His breath is ragged, matching my own as we move together.

His hands roam over my body as he thrusts, rough and unyielding, as if he’s memorizing every inch of me, markingme as his. I meet him touch for touch, matching his intensity, refusing to be overpowered.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling just enough to draw a deep groan from his lips. His response is immediate—his mouth finds my collarbone, biting down just enough to make me gasp.

I arch into him, the heat between us unbearable, suffocating.

His hands slide down my back, gripping my hips as he rolls us over, pinning me beneath him once more. His weight presses me into the mattress, grounding me, trapping me in a way that makes my heart race with anticipation.

His lips find mine again, hungry, desperate. I lose myself in him, my back arching, desperate to get as much of that delicious cock as possible.

I don’t know how much time passes before the fever between us fades into something slower, softer. Mikhail’s breathing is deep and steady as I rest against his chest, my fingers tracing lazy circles over his skin.

I come not with a scream or a cry, but with a gentle gasp as he brings me to my peak. My eyes slip closed, head tilted back, as my whole body tingles with release.

Mikhail grunts once, twice, as his own release fills me to the brim. There’s an odd comfort in it, that mingles with the desire.

His hand strokes absentmindedly down my back, his touch still possessive even in the quiet aftermath.

I fight to keep my eyes open, but exhaustion pulls at me, dragging me down. For the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like a prisoner. I feel… safe.

The thought lingers in my mind as sleep finally claims me, still wrapped in his arms.

Chapter Seventeen - Mikhail

I wake with a start.

For a moment, I don’t move, lingering in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, my body still warm from the memories of last night.

Julie. The way she had felt beneath me, soft but unyielding, fire and defiance wrapped in silk. The sounds she had made, the way she had touched me, the way she had given herself to me, not just in surrender but in equal hunger.

I exhale slowly, running a hand over my face before reaching out toward her side of the bed—only to find it cold. Empty.

A flicker of irritation cuts through my lingering satisfaction. I prop myself up on one elbow, scanning the dimly lit room. The sheets are slightly rumpled, proof that she had been here not long ago. But now, she’s gone.

She wouldn’t have run. Not after last night. Still, a part of me tightens at the thought.

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