Page 88 of Bratva's Vow
Followed by his shorts.
He stood there in nothing but his underwear. Delicate black lace hugged his hips, the fabric sheer enough to leave nothing to the imagination. His belly button piercing gleamed under the light of the desk lamp, and I was instantly hard.
The sight of his erection hit me like a punch to the gut.
Fuck.
This wasn’t fake desire to use me. He wanted me.
My mouth went dry. Blood thundered in my ears. Every rational thought I had—the grief, the guilt, the restraint—was drowned under the rush of hunger.
Wren tilted his head, that familiar glint of mischief flickering in his eyes, dark, dangerous, and entirely mine. He stepped back, slowly, dragging a single finger along the waistband of his underwear, teasing.
He smiled. “If you want to dominate me so badly, Maxim…” His voice dipped low. Sultry. Defiant. “Then you have to catch me first.”
And he ran.
He sprinted, barefoot, laughing, down the hall like he hadn’t just brought me to my knees moments ago. Like he hadn’t seen me cry in his arms. Like he hadn’t torn open my chest and nested himself inside again.
If this was some ploy of his again, I was screwed. I had no defense mechanism against Wren.
I was on my feet in an instant, my chair scraping violently across the floor. I stumbled over the edge of the rug and broke into a run. His laughter filled the house. Fucking finally. I’d missed that sound.
I caught him halfway up the stairs, snatching one hand around his waist, gripping his thigh with the other, and lifted him clean off the steps.
He gasped and shrieked a breathless laugh, kicking his legs wildly, but I was already moving, already claiming.
I hauled him up into my arms, bridal-style, and carried him through the hall like a prize I’d won.
He clung to me, still breathless, lips ghosting along my throat, voice hot and sweet against my ear. “You’re gonna punish me for that, aren’t you?”
My cock strained against my pants. “You have no idea.”
I kicked the bedroom door open and carried him straight to the bed.
Dropped him into the center.
He bounced once, then stilled, watching me with flushed cheeks and parted lips.
So goddamn beautiful it made something primal claw up inside me to claim him.
He sat there, breath coming quick, legs parted slightly, lace framing him like a gift I hadn’t earned. The soft lighting caught on the sheen of his skin, and his chest lifted with each inhale, every one tighter than the last.
I kneeled onto the bed, crawled over him, slow and deliberate.
His lashes fluttered as I caged him in, one hand braced beside his head, the other sliding up his thigh. He moaned quietly when I leaned in, lips brushing his cheek, his jaw, his throat.
Then I kissed him.
Not hard.
Not fast.
But deep.
Possessive.
A kiss that said, “You’re mine. You ran, and I still came after you. I will always come after you.”
