Page 8 of Owned & Bred by the BRATVA

I run the back of my knuckles over the swell of her breast, over fabric, not flesh. She doesn’t stop me.

Her pupils are blown wide. She’s trembling, but not with fear. Not now.

“You shouldn’t—” she starts, but there’s no force in the words.

“I should,” I say, and I do. I lean in, brushing my lips along her jaw, then lower. Slowly, so slowly, I move my lips to the hollow beneath her ear.

She gasps when I kiss her there. It’s not rough. Not yet. Just a whisper of what I want to give her.

“You want to know what it feels like,” I murmur. “To be wanted so much it drives a man mad.”

Her knees give slightly. I catch her before she falls, one arm sliding around her waist. Her body molds to mine like it was made for this.

Her head rests against my chest for the briefest second. I can feel her heart pounding.

“I won’t take what you won’t give,” I say. “But Clara, soon, you’re going to beg me to take everything.”

And then, before I do something I won’t be able to stop, I let her go.

She stumbles back a step, dazed and flushed and silent.

But she doesn’t say no.

She doesn’t run.

Clara

I don’t remember walking back to my room.

My feet carry me on instinct, my thoughts tangled, my skin still buzzing where he touched me. Every step feels slow, thick, like I’m moving through syrup. I close the door behind me, lock it without thinking, and lean against the wood as if it’s the only thing holding me upright.

My heart hasn’t stopped racing.

God, what’s wrong with me?

I press the back of my hand to my cheek. It’s burning. I’m burning. I feel like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore, like it’s been hijacked by something primal and humiliating. When his fingers grazed my skin, I nearly collapsed. When he kissed my neck, I forgot how to breathe.

And worst of all… I didn’t want it to stop.

I wanted more. Iwantmore.

My legs feel unsteady as I walk to the bed. I sit on the edge, still breathing too hard, and I squeeze my thighs together tight, like I can chase that ache away. But it’s no use. The throbbing won’t stop. I feel swollen. Empty. Like something inside me is reaching out, clawing for what it needs.

I’ve never touched myself like that. Never needed to. I was taught to keep my hands folded. My legs closed. Good girls don’t ache. Good girls don’t feel like this.

But right now? I’m not a good girl. I’m something else. Something new.

I slide my hand under the hem of the black slip dress, fingers tentative at first, exploring the slick heat between my thighs. I gasp. I’m soaked. Humiliated by how wet I am, how easy it is to find the spot that makes my hips twitch.

I close my eyes and imagine him.

Maksim.

His voice. His mouth. His hand at my throat. The way he said he dreams of touching me.

I circle my fingers harder, chasing the tension coiling in my belly.

But it’s not enough.

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