Page 30 of Owned & Bred by the BRATVA

My wife.

Clara Vasilieva.

The thought of it alone undoes me.

Now she’s standing in front of me at the foot of our bed, already barefoot, the fabric of her dress sliding down her hips in a slow, liquid fall. I don’t tell her to undress. I don’t have to. She reads me too well now. Feels my hunger before I say a word.

“I still haven’t had everything,” I say quietly.

She lifts her chin. “Then take it.”

I cross the room in three long strides, drag her into my arms, and kiss her like it’s the first time. It feels like it is. Everything between us has changed and yet not changed at all. She’s still the woman who shattered in my hands. But now she’s mine in every way that matters, by law, by name, by will.

I lay her down gently, reverently. She watches me as I kiss my way down her body, slow and purposeful, as if I’m preparing forworship. Because I am. Her thighs part as soon as I reach them, her breath catching before I even touch her.

“You’re always ready,” I murmur.

“For you,” she whispers.

I groan against her skin. I kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other, and then I dive in, tongue firm, slow, steady. I taste her greedily, possessively, licking through the sweetness only I’ve ever known. Her hips buck beneath me, her fingers clutch the sheets. I slip two fingers inside her, curling them deep, stroking her sweet spot until she’s gasping my name like a prayer.

And still, I want more.

I pull away and flip her onto her knees as she trembles under me. I stroke her back, her ass, spread her open with both hands and stare down at the place I’ve been dying to take her since the first night she moaned for me.

“Has there ever been anyone?” I ask, voice rough, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear her say it.

She shakes her head, but her voice is steady. “Only you.”

My cock jerks hard at that.

I press a finger to her tight, puckered hole and she gasps, but doesn’t move away. I lick her slowly, teasing both openings with tongue and breath until she’s shaking all over.

“You’re going to take me, wife,” I murmur. “All of me.”

I slick my finger with her juices and ease it in slowly. Her body resists, tight and perfect, but she breathes through it, trusting me, letting me stretch her open as she rocks back gently against my hand.

“You’re doing so fucking well,” I whisper, kissing her shoulder. “No one has ever taken me like this. You know that?”

She lets out a trembling sound, part moan, part wonder.

When I’m sure she’s ready, I stroke myself through her soaked channel and press the thick head of my cock against her back entrance. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t flinch. She pushes back.For me.

I press in slowly. Her heat closes around me like a vice, and I grit my teeth, almost losing it then and there. Inch by inch, I sink into her, deeper than I thought I’d be able to. She’s gasping beneath me, her fingers gripping the headboard, but she never says stop. She takes every thick fucking inch of me.

I bottom out with a groan that sounds like it’s ripped from my soul.

“God, Clara…” I press my forehead to her spine. “You were made for me.”

I start to move. Slow at first. She cries out, but it’s a sound of surrender, not pain. I wrap my arm around her waist, stroking her clit in rhythm with my thrusts, and she breaks, moaning, writhing, clenching around me as I fuck her through it.

“You’re everything,” I growl. “My wife. My obsession. My fucking miracle.”

When I come, it’s with a shout that echoes off the walls, pouring myself into her as her name tears from my throat. But it’s not enough, never enough. I want my come dripping from her body twenty-four hours a day. I want her so fucking full of it that it changes her very fucking DNA.

I collapse over her, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, whispering everything I can’t say in the daylight.

She took all of me.

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