Page 54 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

I barely have time to sit up before he’s on me again.

His hands are everywhere—at my waist, under my shirt, dragging it up with a roughness that makes my skin burn. He peels it over my head and tosses it aside. His eyes rake over me, sharp and hungry, and the low, satisfied sound he makes turns my stomach into fire.

His cock is hard now, straining against his black pants. I reach for him without thinking, tugging him back on top of me so his cock slides along the inside of my thighs.

I’m quaking.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, voice ragged.

He shoves off his coat, his shirt, every layer until I’m staring at bare skin—scars and strength and shadows carved into muscle. I’ve seen this man kill without flinching, seen him terrify grown men into silence, but now he looks feral, like the only thing in the world he wants isme.

When he unbuckles his belt, his cock springs free, already leaking pale precum. Then, hecomes down over me like a storm.

The press of his body is crushing in the best way—heavy, grounded,real. His mouth crashes into mine again, devouring, and I answer him with a moan I don’t recognize. His hands slide down my hips, dragging my pants away with impatient fingers. He rips them down, not caring about finesse, and I’m left in nothing, trembling beneath him as he settles between my thighs.

“Still want me to stop?” he asks, low and sharp.

I shake my head. That’s all I can do. “More, please.”

His smile is dark, predatory. “Then hold on.”

What follows is a blur of sensation—hot, fast, dizzying. His touch is demanding, mapping every inch of skin like he’s determined to memorize it. Every time I gasp, he growls. Every time I beg, he gives less.

He doesn’t just take—he unravels, thrusting into me with such force the bed creaks, his thick cock filling me blissfully.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left between us but heat and need and something far more dangerous rising with every breath we share.

His hands are rough, calloused from a life spent wielding power, but when they move over me now, they’re worshipful—tracing every curve with a possessiveness that makes my skin burn. I arch into his touch, needy and breathless, like my body’s been waiting for this long before my mind caught up.

Every wicked thrust is deliberate. Every press of his palm, every roll of his hips, designed to pull a sound out of me I’ve never made before.

I moan his name—raw, desperate—and it spurs him on.

His mouth finds my neck, biting just enough to leave heat blooming beneath the skin, before dragging lower. His breath grazes over my chest, the wet trail of his mouth following the curve of my breast before he latches on to me with a hunger that nearly undoes me. I clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He groans at the sting, like he wants me to mark him—needsto be claimed just as much as I do.

The way he moves against me is sinful—rhythmic and slow at first, grinding into every sensitive inch, letting me feel just how badly he wants me before he gives in to it. His control is a razor’s edge, barely holding.

I lose count of how many times he takes me to the brink, stretching me wide until I’m dizzy.

Finally, I fall apart beneath him with a gasp as an orgasm rips through me. I’m left shaking beneath him as he pumps me full, warm come slicking down my thighs.

His name is the only thing I can breathe.

His weight is still heavy on top of me, grounding in a way I never expected—like gravity itself has changed.

My chest rises and falls in sharp, shallow breaths. Sweat clings to my skin, cooling in the soft breeze that slips through the crack in the balcony door. The air smells like rain and sex and him. Every inch of me aches in the best, most aching way.

Kolya doesn’t speak at first. He just breathes against my shoulder, his lips resting against the curve of my neck. One of his hands slides down my thigh, not with urgency now, but care. Calmer. His fingers drag lazily over my skin, tracing nothing in particular.

Then, slowly, he shifts his weight off me—reluctantly, like he’s not quite ready to let me go. I feel the loss instantly, the space between us like a wound, but then his arm curls around me and pulls me to his chest.

I don’t resist.

My cheek rests against his collarbone. His heart beats slow and steady beneath my ear, and for a while, we just lie there in silence. No barbed words. No sharp edges. Just warmth.

His hand finds my hair, brushing the damp strands from my face, his touch unusually gentle. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice low, gruff but careful.

I shake my head. “No.”

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