Page 64 of Forced Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva

That single second of resistance dissolves into something raw and consuming.

Her body arches into mine without thought, her mouth opening beneath mine with a soft, desperate gasp. The tension between us snaps, and what’s left is pure hunger—hot and unrelenting, stripped of all the lies we’ve both tried to tell ourselves.

My hands move fast, greedier than I mean them to be. One slides to her waist, gripping her hard enough to feel the tremble in her muscles. The other runs down the curve of her thigh, fingers digging into soft flesh. She shudders when I lift her, instinct taking over as her legs wrap around my hips, locking me against her.

She’s weightless in my arms, but her heat, her scent, the wild thudding of her heart where our bodies press together—are all heavy. All drag me under.

We’re a tangle of breath and motion as I carry her across the room, every step slow and deliberate, every inch of her pressed tightly to me. She clutches at my shoulders, not resisting now, but clinging like she doesn’t know where she ends and I begin.

When I lower her to the bed, our mouths break apart with a gasp—both of us struggling to breathe, to think, to do anything except feel.

I push the dress higher up her thighs, my palms gliding rough over smooth skin. Her body burns under my touch, hips shifting restlessly against the mattress. I slide my hands beneath the silk, thumbs brushing along the sensitive insides of her thighs, dragging closer to where she’s already wet and wanting.

Her breath hitches sharply.

Above her, I watch every flicker of emotion chase itself across her face. Fear. Want. Shame. Need. She’s trembling, but not from fear—not anymore. Her mind is fighting, clawing to hold on to something righteous, something clean.

I know all she feels is the ache, the unbearable heat between us.

I hold her gaze, giving her that last, fragile chance.

Then—her hips lift into my touch, a broken, instinctive plea that shatters whatever walls she had left.

That’s all I need. My cock is aching for her, and I’m impatient now.

I pull the silk dress over her head in one rough motion, baring her to the cool air. She gasps but doesn’t shy away, her hands reaching blindly for me as if she can’t stand the sudden distance. I shed my own clothes quickly, efficiently, my body already throbbing with need.

When I cover her with my weight, she arches into me, her bare skin slick and hot against mine.

One hand captures her wrist, pinning it to the bed beside her head. Not brutally—possessively. Claiming.

The other hand roams her body, fingers splaying across her ribs, her waist, her hips. Memorizing. Owning.

She clutches at my back with her free hand, nails biting into my skin—not to drag me closer, not to hurt.

I kiss a line down her throat, teeth grazing her pulse, then lower, tasting the sweat and heat of her skin. Her body writhes under mine, small, helpless movements she can’t control. Every breath she takes punches into me, dragging me deeper into the storm of her surrender.

“You’re mine,” I murmur against her skin, voice ragged. “You’ve always been.”

She shudders again, a soft sound escaping her lips, and her eyes blur—not with fear. Not with pain.

With something far more dangerous.

She believes me.

I reach between us, guiding myself to her entrance, sliding through her wetness with an ease that makes my teeth grit. She’s ready. Desperate.

I press in slow, watching every flicker of sensation in her face—the way her lips part, the way her brows draw together, the way her legs tighten around my waist to pull me closer.

When I bottom out, she gasps, her head falling back against the pillows.

I start to move, slow at first, savoring the way her body tightens around me, the way she clings. Her hips meet mine with growing urgency, a silent plea for more, faster, harder.

I give it to her.

I drive into her with deep, powerful thrusts, setting a brutal rhythm she quickly matches. Our bodies slam together, slick with sweat, lost to anything but the primal need to consume. To own. To belong.

Her breath breaks into moans she can’t catch, and I swallow them with my mouth, kissing her harshly, possessively.

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