Page 13 of Captured By the Masked BRATVA
“We need to shower and get ready for the second night.” I try to sound confident, like it’s no big deal. But I’ve never stayed for the second night before and I’m not sure what to expect.
“Well, we’ll be there as a couple, so that makes things different. And we don’t have to go to where your father will be.” He sits up and bends to take my nipple in his mouth again, sucking and teasing until my entire body feels like it’s wired again.
“Is it as bad as I imagine?” I ask, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, encouraging him to take more of me into his mouth.
Then he pulls back, just long enough to say, “It’s worse, probably.” Then he takes my other nipple in his mouth and gives it the same treatment. I can feel him hardening again.
“You can’t possibly go again,” I say. “I thought men needed to rest between.”
“That would usually be the case, but something about you makes me want to fill you full of my cum constantly.”
A moan escapes me before I even know it’s formed.
“Making sounds like that isn’t helping your case,” he mutters as he fists his cock. “Are you sore?”
I nod, not wanting to disappoint him, but knowing I can’t take him again.
“Lie back, let me show you how fucking hot you are.” He straddles me, one thick thigh either side of my stomach and takes his cock in one hand and my breast in another, squeezing both. “Fuck these tits are enough to undo any man,” he grunts as he pumps his cock harder. “And how juicy and wet your cunt gets for me,” he grunts again but it turns into a groan. “I’m going to fuck you sore every day and night until you can’t take me, then I’m going to brand you with my cum.”
His words are vulgar and dirty but I love hearing them. I love knowing that he feels me, sees me, and wants me on such a primal level.
“Tell me, Elena, tell me who your sore and swollen pussy belongs to—” His strokes are hard and fast now. His eyes glazed as he looks down at me.
“You,” I say, trying not to be surprised at the truth behind the statement. “I belong to you.”
He comes with a groan, collapsing forward as he spurts criss crosses of cum across my chest. I watch in awe as he empties himself, then presses the head of his still hard cock against the softness of my nipple.
“I own these, too,” he says, before lifting himself from me. “Every part of you is mine now.”
I let the words sink in, expecting to feel horror or disgust, but no. Just calm acceptance. I don’t know how, but it makes sensethat I should end up with Artem. Maybe it’s some complex twist of fate.
“Do you really want me beyond the masquerade?” I ask after a while.
He opens his eyes and looks at me as though he is weighing his answer carefully.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” I say on an exhale, still not really believing it.
***
I sit at the vanity naked, smelling like Artem and what we’ve done. I’m trying to tame my hair into something passably elegant, but my hands won’t stop shaking. Every few minutes I catch my own reflection and have to look away. My skin looks the same, my eyes are the same shade of green and my body fits the clothes I wore before, but I’m not the woman who came here last night.
I don’t know what I am now.
The suite hums softly behind me; Artem is finishing dressing, his movements purposeful, almost ritualistic. Watching him button his cuffs feels intimate in a way that makes my throat tighten. This man was supposed to destroy me. Now he’s straightening his tie like we’re about to attend a dinner party instead of stepping back into the fire.
“It still feels insane,” I say quietly, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
He pauses, adjusts the mask in his hands. “It’s the world we live in. We pretend it’s a game so we can stomach it.”
“I meant us,” I whisper.
He comes up behind me, resting his hands lightly on my shoulders. His reflection towers over mine, his expressionunreadable. “Then let them see us,” he says. “Let them know what happens when something real survives the game.”
The words send a shiver through me. I pull in a breath and nod. There’s no point pretending I can hide what’s written all over my body, the marks of his mouth, the ache in my muscles, the strange calm in my chest.
He hands me my mask. The silver catches the light, the same one I wore when this all began. I tie it back into place, fingers trembling over the knot. When I stand, his eyes trace the length of me, a quiet claim in the way he looks.
