Page 15 of Bred By the Masked BRATVA
That’s all I need.
I push inside, slow at first, then deeper, until I’m buried to the hilt. Her head tips back, a broken sound spilling from her mouth. The tight heat of her clamps around me, and for a second I nearly lose myself.
“Fuck,” I hiss against her ear. “So wet. So perfect.”
I start to move, a slow, relentless rhythm, grinding deep until her legs tremble against my hips. My hands have found their way back to her wrists and hold her there, making her take every inch. Her mask slips sideways, but I don’t pull it off. I want her anonymous, want to feel like I’m claiming every secret part of her.
I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her hard, swallowing her moans, thrusting deeper until the bed creaks. “You feel that?”I growl. “That’s me inside you. Filling you. Writing myself into you. No more watching. No more secrets. Just us.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her hips rolling to meet mine. Every time I drive into her she makes a soft, broken sound that only makes me harder.
I speed up, pounding into her now, my hunger turning feral. “I’m going to breed you, little dove,” I snarl against her neck. “Gonna fill you until everyone knows you’re mine just by looking at your full, round stomach.”
She cries out, clutching me, and the sound tears through me like a blade. My vision goes dark at the edges. My body moves on instinct, slamming into her, deep, deeper, until there’s nothing left but the heat of her and the sound of our skin meeting.
I grip her hip, drag her leg higher over my waist, and drive in one last time, so deep I feel her shudder around me.
“Mine,” I groan, spilling inside her, thrust after thrust, holding her there while my release pulses into her.
For a moment the room disappears. Just her heat, her heartbeat, our breaths tangling in the dim light.
I ease my grip on her wrists, slide my hand up to her hand until our fingers twine. She’s still masked, still panting, her body trembling under mine.
I press my forehead to hers. “You’re the only one,” I whisper, rough and ragged. “The only one who could ever sate this hunger.”
Her eyes flutter open, wide and dazed behind the lace.
Natasha
For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing. The light casts a glow over the curve of his shoulder as he leans above me. I’m still pinned beneath him, legs tangled with his, mask half-slid off my face. My body trembles like it’s trying to remember which way is up.
The reporter in me is gone. There’s no notebook, no plan, no clever line of questioning. There’s just the echo of his voice, the weight of him still inside me, the warmth spilling low in my belly where he’s claimed me.
He shifts his grip so our fingers lace together. His head tips forward, forehead resting against mine. “You’re the only one,” he whispers, rough and raw. “The only one who could ever sate this hunger.”
Something twists deep inside me at the sound of it. It’s not a line. It’s not a threat. It’s a confession.
And it’s dangerous.
I stare up at him through the blur of my lashes, trying to anchor myself. My skin still tingles everywhere he touched me. My body still aches, sated and throbbing at the same time. But behind that, the questions are already creeping back in, sharp and bright.
What have I done?
I came here for a story. I came here to expose the Bratva, not to let one of its princes drag me into his bed and mark me like property. Every editor I’ve ever worked for would kill to have this scoop. But now the scoop is inside me, literally, and the cost of it is no longer theoretical.
I take a shaky breath, fighting for composure. “You think this makes me yours,” I manage, my voice rough.
His eyes darken behind the mask. “No,” he says quietly. “This makes you part of my world. You crossed the line the moment you walked in. This just sealed it.”
The words hit harder than his thrusts ever could.
Part of his world.
I feel the weight of it settle over me like a cloak. The story of a lifetime, yes, but also a cage. And for the first time since stepping into this masquerade, I understand exactly how high the stakes are.
Yet even as my mind races, my body betrays me again. His warmth still pulses inside me. My thighs still cling to his hips instead of pushing him away. My hands are still wrapped in his.
I close my eyes, a silent war raging behind them. I can walk away now, try to reclaim my mission. Or I can stay and get everything I ever wanted, at the cost of becoming the very thing I swore I’d expose.
