Page 30 of Chased & Bred by the BRATVA
My grip tightens. I lift her, press her down onto the mattress, and crawl over her like the predator I am. She opens for me without hesitation, arms around my shoulders, legs around my waist. Her scent hits me,a delicious sweetness, and I feel it again. That violent need to ruin her and keep her in the same breath.
I kiss her like I’m starving. Because I always am for her.
She moans into my mouth, and I reach between us, sliding my fingers through her wetness. She’s soaked, needy, desperate.
“For me?” I growl.
“Yes.”
Always yes.
I slide inside her slow, but it doesn’t stay slow. It never does with us. I try to go gentle, try to savor, but I lose myself the second she moans my name. I pin her hands above her head and fuck her deep, hard, obsessed.
“You think I’m going to let you walk away from this?” I pant. “You think I’m going to watch you put on real clothes and go back to some bland job, some boring apartment, and forget this?”
She shakes her head, eyes wild. “I don’t want to forget. I want this.”
That’s all I need.
I pull out, flip her, drag her hips back, and take her from behind with a growl that echoes through the room. She cries out, arching for me, taking every brutal thrust like she was made for it.
My name escapes her on a long moan and it just about undoes me.
“Look at you,” I whisper, one hand wrapped in her hair, the other gripping her hip. “Dripping for the man who chased you down in the woods. Moaning for the monster who beat your enemies to pulp. Begging to belong to a Bratva.”
She doesn’t deny it. She pushes back into me. Meets every single one of my punishing thrusts.
“I want everything,” she gasps. “All of it. All of you.”
I reach around and brush my fingers over her clit as I pound into her. Her body clenches hard, her scream muffled by the pillows, and I lose it. I empty myself inside her with a roar, pressing my chest to her back as the last shockwave hits.
And when we collapse together, tangled and slick with sweat, I don’t move. I can’t.
Rachel
I stare at the screen of my phone, thumb hovering over the message app like I’m trying to will it into saying something different.
No missed calls. No frantic texts. No panicked voicemails begging to know where I’ve been for the past week.
Nothing.
Just a handful of messages in the group chat, all of them planning the nextGreat Night Out.
That’s it. Like I’m a flake, not a missing person.
I shouldn’t care. But I do. It simmers in my chest, sharp and sour, as I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“Everything okay?”
Clara’s voice pulls me from my spiral. I look up to see her leaning in the doorway of the sunroom, one hand resting on her belly. She’s radiant. Glowing in that way pregnant women do when they’re calm and deeply loved. Her hair is twisted up in a messy knot, and she’s wearing a floaty cream dress that makes her look like something out of a fairytale.
I shake my head. “Just checking my messages.”
She walks over slowly and sinks into the armchair opposite me with a sigh. “Bad news?”
“No,” I admit. “That’s the problem.”
She raises an eyebrow, waiting.
