Page 44 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva
I press her wrists to the mattress, pinning her down. Then I move.
Deep. Fast. Brutal.
The bed groans with each stroke. My body slams into hers, again and again. Her cries melt into moans. She cannot find her voice through the rhythm of my hips.
“Harder,” she gasps. “Please.”
I lean close, my lips brushing her ear. “What was that?”
“Harder, Kion, please—”
I slam into her harder. Her whole body jerks beneath me. “Let them all know who’s making you scream.”
She screams, voice sharp and breathless. Her climax hits fast. I feel it ripple through her—tight, pulsing. Her body seizes around me.
I ride her through it, watching her fall apart.
Her thighs tighten around me. Her nails rake down my arms, leaving raw trails in their wake. Her eyes flutter open, dazed and wet, lips trembling as if trying to speak.
I do not ease the pressure. I grab her chin and force her to meet my gaze. “Again,” I say.
She whimpers, body already overstimulated. “Kion, seriously?”
My hand slips between us again. I find her clit with my thumb and circle it hard, relentless. Her moans break apart, scattered by the force of her second climax barreling through her too fast to stop.
She arches beneath me, mouth falling open in a silent cry. Her inner muscles contract violently, milking me, begging me to give in.
I groan through clenched teeth, my control fraying at the edges.
“You want it all? Say it.”
She barely manages the words. “I want it. All of you.”
That’s all it takes.
I drive in one last time, burying myself to the hilt, and release with a growl. Heat spills into her. Her hands cling to my back like she needs it to breathe.
We stay that way for a moment, joined and breathless.
She is wrecked beneath me, limbs slack, throat mottled with bruises and kisses. Her hair is soaked with sweat. Her mouth is pink and swollen.
I lower myself over her, breath heavy against her ear.
“You’re mine, Esme. Remember that.”
She doesn’t answer with words, but the way she sighs and surrenders into me says enough.
Chapter Thirteen - Esme
The days pass slowly after that night.
I try not to think about it, about the way Kion looked at me after I swung the vase, after he stepped out of the shadows and saw everything. The way he kissed me later, touched me like I was something precious and dangerous all at once. He did not speak about it afterward. He didn’t need to. The memory stays rooted in me like a thorn I cannot pull free.
He’s been gone for the past three days.
No explanation. No warning. There’s silence and locked doors and the occasional murmur of his men in the halls. The mansion feels different without him. It’s not peaceful, but emptier. Like the rooms themselves are holding their breath.
I find myself glancing at the door more often than I want to admit.
