Page 12 of Owned & Bred by the BRATVA

“Do you feel it?” I whisper, bending close to her ear. “Right here.” I press a little firmer against her abdomen. “That ache… that fullness. That’s me inside you. That’swhat you were made for.”

She lets out a shaky breath, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t argue. Her thighs shift slightly around me,welcoming.

The thought makes my cock twitch and she mewls in response.

I drag my mouth along her jaw, nuzzle the place where her pulse pounds. “I’m going to keep you like this, little bride. Wet. Bred. Shaking from how deep I fuck you.”

I kiss her cheek, then her temple. She turns her face into it, softly, instinctively. The gesture guts me.

This isn’t just about release. This isn’t just about need.

It’s aboutbelonging.

She doesn’t know it yet but she belongs here. With me. Under me. Around me.

Forever.

“You’re mine now, Clara,” I whisper, letting my voice go hoarse with it. “You don’t have to be hidden away anymore. You don’t have to be afraid of anything. I’ll protect you. I’ll ruin anyone who tries to take you from me.”

My thumb strokes slow circles over her stomach and already I imagine her with a big round belly. Not just because I’ve filled her, but because her body will accept it. Crave it.

She shifts again, her fingers curling weakly over my wrist, holding me in place.

A sigh escapes her lips. Barely a sound.

But it’s enough.

I tighten my hold around her. Close. Covered. Claimed.

And in the quiet that follows, all I can think is:

She’s never getting away from me now.

Clara

I wake before the sun has even climbed high enough to leak through the gap in the heavy curtains.

Or maybe I never really slept. My body feels like it’s floating somewhere outside of time. Sore, stretched, heavy with everything that happened and the way he made me feel.

I shift slightly, and the ache between my thighs flashes sharp and immediate. There’s no forgetting what he did to me. How many times. How deep. How completely I let him in.

And he’s still here.

His chest is warm against my back, his breath steady against the curve of my neck. One thick, muscular arm is locked around my waist, but it’s his hand that does something to me.

It’s resting low. Flat. Possessive. Palm spread over the softest part of my belly, like he’s claiming it. Like he’s planting something inside me and waiting for it to take root.

A shiver runs through me.

His touch doesn’t feel accidental. It feels intentional.Deliberate.Even in sleep, or whatever haze he’s in, he holds me like I’m already carrying something he’s put there. Like I’m not just his lover or his wife or his property… but something sacred. A vessel. A legacy.

I should be horrified. I should want to peel his hand off and flee this bed, this room, this house.

But I don’t.

Instead, I lie there in the silence, my heart thudding heavy and confused, my legs tangled with his, and I try to remember who I was before he touched me. Before he kissed my skin and took me apart like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.

I remember being lonely. Confused. Tired of being locked away, of being told what I was and wasn’t allowed to want. I remember watching the world from behind a pane of glass.

---