Page 64 of Used Bratva Bride

I swallow hard, my lips parting, but no words come out.

Mikhail’s gaze drops to my mouth, and something shifts in the air. The heat between us turns thick, unbearable.

Then, he moves.

One moment, I’m pressed against the wall, and the next, his lips are on mine.

The kiss is demanding, urgent, his mouth claiming me in a way that makes my knees weak. His hands grip my waist, his body pressing flush against mine, and I feel everything—the hardness of his chest, the heat of his skin, the sheer dominance in the way he takes control of the moment.

A whimper escapes me before I can stop it, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

His fingers slide into my hair, tugging gently as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against mine in a way that makes my entire body tighten. My hands lift to his chest instinctively, gripping the fabric of his suit, but I don’t push him away. I pull him closer.

We break apart only when I’m gasping for breath, my lips swollen, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Mikhail studies me, his breathing uneven, his gaze hooded with desire.

Then, without a word, he bends slightly, gripping the backs of my thighs and lifting me effortlessly into his arms.

I let out a soft gasp, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck, my legs curling around his waist as he carries me toward our room.

The air leaves my lungs in a sharp gasp as I hit the mattress, the soft fabric beneath me doing nothing to cushion the sheer force of how Mikhail throws me onto the bed. My body bounces slightly, my heart hammering, every nerve in my body alive with anticipation.

Before I can even process the moment, he’s on me.

Mikhail climbs over me with a predatory grace, his weight pressing me down into the mattress, trapping me beneath him. His hands find my wrists and pin them above my head, his grip firm, possessive.

“You drive me insane,” he mutters against my throat before his lips claim my skin.

A sharp nip at my collarbone makes me shiver, heat pooling deep in my stomach. I want the way he makes me feel—helpless and powerful all at once.

His mouth is everywhere, kissing, biting, claiming. He doesn’t hold back this time. He’s not gentle like before. His hands are rough, his touches demanding, and I meet every bit of it with equal intensity.

A moan escapes me when his fingers dig into my hip, pulling me closer.

“You’re enjoying yourself, hmm,” he murmurs against my skin, his breath hot, teasing.

I bite my lip, refusing to answer, but he lifts his head, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Say it,” he demands.

I tilt my chin up, defiant. “Make me.”

His low growl is the only warning I get before his lips crash against mine, stealing the breath from my lungs.

I give in. Completely.

Mikhail doesn’t hesitate. His grip tightens on my wrists as his mouth crashes down on mine again, stealing the very breath from my lungs. It’s not a kiss meant for tenderness—it’s raw, consuming, a battle of tongues and teeth. My body reacts instinctively, pressing against him, meeting his dominance with my own quiet defiance.

I arch beneath him, tugging at my hands, but his grip doesn’t falter. A smirk curves against my lips between the frantic kisses. “You’re not afraid of me, love?” he murmurs, his voice dark and full of something wicked.

I meet his gaze, my chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. “Should I be?”

His eyes flash, and without another word, he lets go of my wrists and grips the neckline of my dress. The sound of fabric tearing fills the air.

A gasp leaves me as cool air rushes over my bare skin, my dress splits open with brutal ease. The torn material pools around me, leaving me exposed beneath his heated stare.

I like the way he looks at me. Like I belong to him. Like he owns me.

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