Page 17 of Captured By the Masked BRATVA
She turns in a slow circle, taking in the skyline, the shelves, the low light. Her gaze lands on the sideboard near the window, and the single photograph resting there.
She crosses to it before I can stop her.
Lev.
It’s an old shot, taken years ago, both of us in shirts open at the collar, standing outside the main house where we grew up. Where I can’t bear to return to now Lev won’t be there. My arm is slung around his shoulders, his grin infuriatingly wide. I neverframed it for sentiment. It was a warning, a reminder of what happens when I let myself care too much.
Elena traces a finger over the glass. “He looks happy.”
I swallow hard. “He was.”
She glances over her shoulder. “You look… proud.”
“I was,” I say quietly. “He was supposed to take everything I built and make it better. That was his magic.”
Her hand falls to her side. “He loved you, you know. He talked about you like you hung the moon.”
I can’t look at her. “He shouldn’t have.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. She sets the photo back down carefully, as if touching it too roughly might wake the dead.
“You were the reason he came to me that night,” she says finally. Not a question, a truth she’s only just pieced together.
I nod once. “He wanted out. I told him the family doesn’t get to choose out.” I breathe in through my nose, the air too sharp. “He left anyway.”
Her eyes shine in the dim light. “And you’ve been punishing yourself ever since.”
“Someone had to,” I say, mimicking what she told me on the first night.
She steps closer, until the faint scent of her skin replaces the cold air of the room. “He wouldn’t have wanted that.”
I almost laugh, but the sound dies before it can form. “He wouldn’t have wanted to die either.”
Elena lifts her hand, hesitates, then lays it against my chest. “You didn’t kill him, Artem.”
I cover her hand with mine, pressing it against my heartbeat. “No. But I pushed him out by trying to keep him close.”
She looks up at me then, eyes full of something I can’t name. Forgiveness, maybe. Or worse, understanding.
“Lets go to bed,” she says, her voice soft and sleep weary.
I lift her into my arms and carry her through to the bedroom, lying her down gently on the large bed that always felt too empty before.
Her dress is wrinkled from so much wear, and I briefly think about how I’m going to get her stuff moved here if her family are being awkward. But all thoughts leave my mind once she is naked before me. Her smooth skin, her soft curves. Every part of her is an invitation to forget everything that came before and celebrate in her beauty.
I waste no time in dropping between her legs. Lazily stroking my cock as I lick and suck her pussy.
“It feels so good Artem,” she says in that breathy whine I didn’t know I was craving to hear again. “You make me feel so good.”
A light pulse throbs through me and precum leaks from my tip. She makes every cell in my body hum for her. The taste of her, the sound of her, the way she looks spread out before me.
I press my tongue a little firmer against her dripping cunt, sliding it in and out of her channel before swirling circles on her clit and he hips begin to find a rhythm against my face.
“There,” she gasps. “Don’t stop,” she pleads.
I continue my efforts, using every ounce of self control to keep my own pleasure at bay.
Her hands fly to my head, pulling me tighter against her warm cunt as she moans through her orgasm.
