Page 6 of Taken By The Bratva
"And what am I worth to you?" The question slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest and probably revealing too much.
His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones with devastating tenderness. "Everything," he says simply, and the word hits me like a physical blow. "You're worth everything, Brooke."
When he finally kisses me, it's with months of pent-up frustration and need. His mouth claims mine hungrily, desperately, like he's been starving and I'm sustenance. The heat of his lips sears through me, sending molten desire coursing down my spine. I melt against him with a soft moan that he swallows greedily, my hands fisting in his perfect shirt to pull him closer until there's not a whisper of space between our bodies. The hard planes of his chest press against my softness, and I arch into him instinctively, craving more contact, more friction, more of everything he's offering. His kiss deepens, turning slower but no less intense, his tongue teasing along the seam of my lips in a sensual demand I'm helpless to resist.
His tongue sweeps against mine with devastating skill, and I lose myself completely in the sensual symphony of our connection. This is what I've been dreaming about for months—the intoxicating taste of him, like whiskey and sin, the exquisite feel of his hands claiming my body with possessive heat, the erotic sound of his breathing growing ragged against my lips as I respond to his kiss with equal hunger. My body thrums with electric desire, every nerve ending awakening under his touch, my skin flushing with a delicious warmth that pools low in my belly and spreads outward like wildfire. I arch against him shamelessly, drinking in the masculine scent of his cologne mixed with the heady musk of arousal that clings to his heated skin.
His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, spanning my waist, sliding up my thighs to push my skirt higher as he lifts me onto the bar with effortless strength. The cool wood against my heated skin makes me gasp, and he uses the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue stroking against mine in a rhythm that makes my core clench with desperate need. My legs part instinctively, welcoming him into the cradle of my thighs, and I shudder when he presses closer, the hard evidence of his desire grinding against my center with delicious pressure. The friction sends sparks of pleasure radiating through my body, drawing a throaty moan from deep in my chest that he swallows hungrily.
His fingertips trace burning paths along my inner thighs, each touch edging higher with torturous slowness. I squirm beneath his ministrations, silently begging for more as moisture pools between my legs, dampening the delicate lace of my underwear. The scent of our arousal mingles in the air around us, creating an intoxicating perfume that only heightens my desperate longing. His mouth leaves mine to explore the sensitive shell of my ear, his hot breath sending shivers cascading down my spineas he whispers filthy promises that make me whimper with anticipation.
"God, Brooke," he breathes against my lips, his voice rough with desire and cracking with emotion. The warm puff of his exhale caresses my sensitized skin, making my heart race even faster. "I've wanted this—wanted you—for so long. Every moment, every stolen glance between us has been torture."
"Then take it," I whisper back, surprised by my own boldness as liquid courage flows through my veins. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as I arch my body against his. "Take me. I'm yours—I've always been yours."
Something primitive flashes in his eyes at my words, and he captures my mouth again in a kiss that's pure possession. His hands roam my body with growing confidence, learning every dip and swell of my curves through the thin fabric of my dress, and everywhere he touches burns with electric awareness, leaving trails of liquid fire that pool low in my abdomen.
When his mouth moves to my throat, finding that exquisitely sensitive spot that makes me arch against him like a bow, I'm lost completely to sensation. His teeth graze my heated skin, the delicious sting followed by the wet velvet of his tongue, and I make sounds I've never made before—desperate, needy whimpers that seem to drive him wild with want. My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks through his shirt as my body melts against his, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of the exquisite torture he's inflicting on my overstimulated nerves. The throbbing between my thighs intensifies with each sensual caress, my nipples tightening to aching points that brush against his chest with every ragged breath I take.
"You taste incredible," he murmurs against my neck, his voice vibrating against my skin. "Even better than I imagined."
His confession sends heat spiraling through me, molten and thick, pooling between my thighs as I thread my fingers through his dark, silken hair. I grip tightly, holding him against me as he explores the sensitive column of my throat with exquisite attention. Every wet, open-mouthed kiss makes me ache with unbearable longing, makes me crave things I've never wanted with such raw, primal desperation before. My skin burns wherever his lips touch, leaving me trembling and breathless with need.
We come together with desperate intensity right there in the empty restaurant, surrounded by scattered cards and forgotten chips, the remnants of the poker game witnessing our surrender. It's fast and fierce and absolutely explosive—everything I've been secretly fantasizing about since the first electric moment I saw him. His hands worship my body like I'm something sacred and profane at once, fingers leaving trails of delicious fire as they discover every curve and hollow. His mouth claims every gasp and moan I make, swallowing the sounds of my pleasure as if they sustain him. When I finally shatter in his arms, my body convulsing with wave after wave of blinding ecstasy, I cry his name like a prayer to some forgotten god of pleasure, my voice breaking with the intensity of it. In that perfect, suspended moment of release, I know with absolute certainty there's no going back from this exquisite madness we've created together.
Afterward, as we hold each other in the aftermath, both breathing hard and trembling with the force of what just happened between us, I know everything has changed. My body burns with satisfaction and the knowledge that I'm finally his, completely and irrevocably.
"Come home with me," he says against my hair, his voice still rough with spent passion. "I'm not ready to let you go yet."
I should probably be cautious, should think about what this means and where it's leading. Instead, I nod against his chest, already addicted to the way he makes me feel—precious, desired, completely consumed by want.
"Yes," I whisper, and feel him smile against my temple.
Whatever consequences this brings, whatever complications arise from crossing this line, I know I'll never regret tonight. For the first time in my life, I understand what it means to be truly wanted by someone who sees all of me and chooses me anyway.
6
MAXIM
Iwake with Brooke's naked body curled against my side, her warm skin pressed along my entire length, and realize my entire world just realigned itself around this woman. I'd planned to take her home after our explosive encounter at the restaurant, but she'd looked so beautiful in the aftermath—hair mussed, lips swollen from my kisses, skin flushed with satisfaction and marked with evidence of my mouth—that I'd brought her to my place instead, needing to have her in my bed, in my space, surrounded by my scent.
Now, watching her sleep with complete trust, one perfectly manicured hand splayed across my chest directly over my heart, I understand this isn't just incredible sex or even a serious relationship. This is the woman I want to build a life with, the missing piece that makes everything else make sense. She challenges my intellect, matches my passion, and responds to my touch like she was designed specifically for my hands.
The way she came apart for me last night—not just once but three times before we finally collapsed in exhaustion—is burned into my memory forever. The sounds she made, how shewhispered my name like a prayer when I worshipped her body with my mouth, the way her nails dug into my shoulders when I made her scream with pleasure. She's everything I never knew I was searching for.
My phone has been buzzing insistently on the nightstand for the past hour, but I can't bring myself to move. Probably Dimitri wondering where I am for the morning strategy session, or Viktor following up on last night's tension with some crude comment about my "sensitivity." Let them wait. For the first time in my adult life, business can take a backseat to something more important.
The morning brings complications I hadn't considered in my lust-addled state last night. Brooke works for the family business, serves drinks to men who would use any connection to the Volkovs as leverage in their own games. Dating her publicly puts a target on her back, marks her as someone who could be used against me and, by extension, against Dimitri. The rational part of my mind knows this could become dangerous for her in ways she doesn't understand.
But as she wakes slowly, pressing soft kisses to my chest while her fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin, I find I don't care about the political ramifications. Her sleepy smile when she looks up at me makes my chest tight with feelings I've never experienced before—something deeper than lust, more permanent than attraction.
"Good morning, beautiful," I murmur, threading my fingers through her dark hair, marveling at how silk-soft it feels against my skin. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting golden highlights across the strands that slip between my fingers like liquid midnight.
"Morning." Her voice is husky with sleep and satisfaction, a delicious rasp that sends heat pooling low in my belly, making me instantly hard despite having lost myself in her multiple times throughout the night. The memory of her gasps and sighs echoes in my mind, intensifying my desire. "That was..."
"Incredible," I finish for her when she trails off, pressing a kiss to her temple where I can feel her pulse fluttering beneath my lips. I breathe in the scent of her—a mix of her perfume, my cologne, and the unmistakable musk of our lovemaking. "You're incredible. Every single thing about you."
She smiles up at me with genuine affection that makes something crack open in my chest—some wall I'd built around my heart without realizing it. When she stretches against me like a satisfied cat, her naked body pressing against my morning arousal, rational thought abandons me completely.
