Page 13 of Chased & Bred by the BRATVA
But it wasn’t just sex.
It was something else. Something I can’t seem to understand. Like the moment after a dream you don’t want to forget as it’s disappearing from your mind.
I feel it in the way his gaze drops to my thighs as he tugs the leggings down, the way his jaw tightens when he sees the bruises from last night. His fists clench at his sides before he exhales and kneels at the edge of the bed, like a man preparing to worship a god he doesn’t think he deserves to believe in.
I blink down at him. “What are you doing?”
He looks up at me with that hungry, reverent stare. “Looking at what's mine.”
My stomach flips.
Then he reaches forward, pushes the hem of the sweater up slowly, baring the tops of my thighs. I suck in a breath. His rough palms are warm as they glide over my skin, thumbs brushing the insides until I’m trembling.
“You ran through the woods,” he says softly. “You bled for your escape. And you let me catch you.” His hands slide higher. “Now I need to remind you what happens next.”
He eases me backward onto the bed, lifting my legs to rest over his shoulders as he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of my knee. Then another. And another. All the way up.
Each one is slower than the last.
My breath hitches as he nuzzles higher, the stubble on his jaw scraping my skin in the most perfect, maddening way. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t tear or bite or growl like last night.
This time, he licks.
He kisses.
He savors.
“Oh—” I gasp, hips arching, but he pins them down with strong hands, keeping me still.
“No running now,” he murmurs, tongue flicking where I need him most. “You already belong to me.”
I moan, low and helpless, one hand gripping the sheets, the other twisting into his hair. He groans against me, deep and guttural, like my taste is everything he’s ever wanted. And maybe it is. Because he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t waver. He devours me with aching patience, circling and sucking until my thighs shake and my spine bows off the mattress.
When I come, it’s slower this time. No crashing wave. No scream.
It’s a slow burn that takes over everything. A warm, glowing, shuddering high that has me gasping his name.
He doesn’t move until I’m limp.
Then he stands, still fully clothed, cock hard and straining behind the fabric of his jeans, threatening to tear the zipper apart.
I look up at him, dazed. “Aren’t you going to—”
“I’m going to fuck you,” he says simply. “But not like last night.”
I swallow, watching him peel off his clothes piece by piece. The control is still there, but it’s coiled now. Contained. He climbs onto the bed and pulls me into his lap, settling me on top of him with his cock nestled against my core, not inside yet. Just there.
Waiting.
“I want you to remember this,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth, then my throat. He pulls his sweater over my head and tosses it to the floor before doing the same with Clara’s T-shirt, finally sucking one nipple into his mouth, then the other.“Every time you think about leaving. Every time you wonder if I’ll let you go.”
I rock against him, slick and ready, and his eyes flare.
“Take me,” I whisper. “Slow.”
He slides in inch by inch, and the stretch is deeper this time, sharper without the desperation to distract me. My breath catches as he bottoms out, one hand gripping my ass, the other splayed over my spine to keep me close.
We move like that for a long time, just slow, grinding thrusts and soft, filthy words exchanged in the space between our mouths.
