Page 30 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
“This doesn’t change anything,” I warn him, even as my body aches for the connection he’s offering. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. That brings his cock inside me an inch, but it isn’t enough.
“This changes everything.” He pushes deeper inside me with one smooth thrust that steals whatever protest I might have made.
The sensation of being filled, claimed, and taken by the man I’ve been fighting overwhelms every rational thought in my head. I thrust against him to pull him deeper, needing to feel all of him and to prove I can take whatever he gives me.
“Christ,” he whispers against my ear as he begins to move. His voice is strained, rough with need and something that might be awe. “You feel incredible.”
I dig my nails into his shoulders as he sets a rhythm that’s both punishing and perfect. “You feel like mine,” I say without thinking, the admission slipping out before I can stop it.
His rhythm falters for a moment, and when he looks at me, there’s something vulnerable in his expression that wasn’t there before. “Say that again.”
“You feel like mine.” This time I say it deliberately, watching how the words affect him. His pupils dilate, and his next thrust is harder and deeper. “Like you belong to me as much as I belong to you.”
“Zita.” My name comes out almost like a curse. His next thrust hits a spot that makes me cry out, and I arch my back off the desk. “You’re going to destroy me.”
“Only if you try to cage me.” I rake my nails down his back until I reach his shirt, which still hangs around his arms, as he shudders against me. “Only if you try to turn me into something I’m not.”
“I don’t want to change you.” He claims my mouth again in a kiss that’s desperate and consuming. “I want to figure out howto keep you exactly as you are without letting you get us both killed.”
The honesty in his admission loosens some of my tension, eliciting a small, startled laugh. This isn’t about dominance, submission, control, or surrender. We’ve found something unexpected in each other that terrifies and exhilarates both of us in equal measure.
His movements become more urgent and desperate, and I meet each thrust with equal intensity. The table creaks beneath us, and I’m dimly aware that any of his security detail could walk in, but I don’t care. Nothing matters except this moment, this connection, and this desperate need we have for each other.
When my climax hits, it’s with the force of suppressed tension and lingering anger finally finding release. I cry out his name as pleasure tears through me, my pussy clenching around his cock with an intensity that leaves me shaking. The world goes white around the edges, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
He follows seconds later, burying his face in my shoulder as he finds his cock spasming inside me, filling me with his seed. Feeling him pulse inside me, warm and intimate, makes me feel marked in ways that go beyond the physical. He goes rigid against me, and then he collapses forward, still supporting his weight, as we struggle to catch our breath.
In the aftermath, we stay locked together while our breathing slowly returns to normal. Neither of us speaks. I can’t, being too busy absorbing what just happened between us. The anger that drove us together has burned away, leaving something raw and honest in its place.
Finally, we shift positions to lie side by side on the hard wooden table, staring at each other without speaking. The careful boundaries we’ve been maintaining have shattered completely, leaving us in uncharted territory.
“Tomorrow,” he says finally, his voice still rough from our encounter. “I’ll show you everything. The legitimate businesses, the illegal operations, the financial structures, the political connections… All of it.”
“Why?” I search his face for answers, noting how different he looks now. He’s softer somehow and more approachable.
He lets out a ragged breath. “The truth is, you were right. You proved you’re capable helping.” He traces the line of my jaw with gentle fingers in vivid juxtaposition to how roughly he handled me moments ago. “I’m tired of fighting against you when I could be fighting beside you.”
“Why not tonight?” My heart hammers as I wait for his answer.
“Tonight, we should figure out how to be married to each other when we’re both too stubborn and too smart for our own good.” His rueful honesty makes my stomach flutter.
The admission settles something inside me that I didn’t even realize was unsettled. “I can live with that.”
“Can you live with a husband who’s going to challenge you as much as you challenge him?” His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I resist the urge to bite it. “I won’t be protecting you anymore, at least not from the realities of what I do.”
“Yes, but only if you can live with a wife who’s never going to be satisfied with pretty dresses and charity luncheons.” I capturehis hand and press a kiss to his palm, watching his eyes darken at the contact.
His smile is slow, dangerous, and full of promise. “I think I can manage that.”
As we slowly separate and begin restoring our appearances, I feel fundamentally different. The woman who walked into that conference room was still fighting for her place in this marriage. The woman preparing to leave his office has claimed it through fire, fury, and desperate need.
12
Tigran
The whiskey burns as it slides down my throat, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging inside my chest. I stand at the window of my office, staring out at the Chicago skyline while my mind replays every moment of what happened between Zita and me in that conference room two days ago.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
