Page 13 of Bred By the Masked BRATVA
My pulse trips. I should turn around, laugh in his face, tell him he’s insane. But the truth settles like a weight low in my stomach: I don’t want to.
I want to know what happens if I stay.
I want the story. I want the danger.
I want him.
I take a slow step forward, my heels sinking into the thick rug.
His mouth curves in not quite a smile. “Good girl.”
Heat licks up my spine, sharp and humiliating. No one calls me that. No one dares. And yet the sound of it from his lips makes my thighs clench.
He closes the distance between us. Not fast. Not rough. Just inevitable. His hand comes up, skimming the line of my jaw, tracing the edge of my mask. “You keep this on,” he murmurs. “For now.”
The words ripple through me. I should feel ridiculous, but instead I feel untouchable, unknown, like I’ve become the anonymity I wanted to use as armor. He doesn’t need my name. He’s already peeling me open.
Then his mouth is on mine again, deeper, hungrier, pulling me under. I kiss him back like I hate him, like I hate myself for wanting this. My hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer, daring him to ruin me.
His body pins mine to the bed before I even realize he’s moved us. The fresh linens sigh beneath me, cool against overheated skin, while his weight presses down, solid and inescapable.
“You wanted a story,” he growls against my throat. His teeth graze, bite, soothe with the drag of his tongue. “So I’ll give you one. Tonight you stop being an observer. Tonight I start writing you into me. My wife. The mother of my children. Bound.”
My breath catches hard, shame and want tangled until I can’t tell one from the other. My mission screams at me to stop, to fight, to remember who I am. But my body arches anyway, betraying me with every tremor.
And when his hand slides down, lifting the hem of my dress with unhurried certainty, all I can do is gasp and let him. He’salready sliding my dress higher, baring inches of skin with every slow drag of his palms. The light paints him in gold and shadow; his mask gleams, a predator crouched over me.
“Keep looking at me,” he murmurs. It’s not a request.
I do, because I can’t look anywhere else. His eyes are fixed on mine through the silver gilt, dark and bottomless.
He traces a line up my inner thigh with his thumb, the stroke maddeningly light. “All that noise in your head,” he says softly. “Deadlines. Questions. Names. Evidence. It stops now.”
My breath hitches. “You don’t—”
“I do,” he cuts me off, voice low and steady. “I’m going to take every word out of your mouth until you can’t remember what you came here for.”
The way he says it makes heat pool low in my belly. I should be terrified. Instead I’m trembling for an entirely different reason.
He lowers himself, the weight of his body caging mine without crushing. His mouth finds my throat, then lower, teeth grazing, tongue soothing. He moves with patience that feels like a threat. No rush, no mercy, every touch a claim.
By the time he reaches the top of my thighs I’m arching into his palms, my breath a string of broken sounds.
He slides his hands under me, tilts my hips up, removes my thong, and then his mouth is on me.
All thought shatters.
He licks me like he’s learning a language only he will ever speak, slow circles that tighten, deepen, change just when I think I can predict him. His fingers spread me wider, his tongue draws a line up and down until my vision goes white at the edges.
“Breathe,” he orders against my skin. The vibration of his voice there makes me moan.
I clutch at the sheets, at his shoulders, at anything I can find. My head presses into the pillow, hair coming loose, mask slipping a little but still on.
He doesn’t let up. He keeps me pinned, keeps me open, keeps working me with his mouth until my body starts to move on its own, hips rolling against his tongue, a low, helpless sound spilling from my throat that doesn’t sound like me at all.
All the questions, the angles, the story I came here to write dissolve into static. There’s nothing but the heat of his mouth and the sure grip of his hands holding me in place.
He drags his tongue up slowly, deliberately, and then sucks at the spot that makes my vision blur. “That’s it,” he murmurs, dark and pleased. “Give it to me. Forget everything else.”
