Page 19 of Pregnant with Bratva Twins
I feel her watching. The second her shadow glides across the hallway carpet, the hairs on the back of my neck rise, my senses sharpening to a fine, dangerous edge. I know Jessa’s there, lurking just outside the door, probably thinking she’s invisible. I could stop. I could slam the door shut, order the woman beneath me to leave, send her home and end this now.
But I don’t.
Instead, I let it happen. I let Jessa stand there, eyes wide, breath caught, seeing exactly what I am—what I do to women who know what they want. What I do to women who let me.
My rhythm is brutal, relentless, my hips driving deep with every thrust. I twist my hand in the older woman’s hair, holding her down, making her take every inch of me. Her moans grow ragged, desperate, echoing off the walls, but I barely hear her.
My attention is already split—half of me in this bed, the other half in the hallway, sensing Jessa’s presence like an itch beneath my skin. The idea of her flushed and trembling, unable to look away, makes my cock ache.
I want to fuck deeper, rougher, just for her. I want her to see all of it. To know exactly what waits for her if she keeps pushing my buttons.
The woman under me is nothing but a vessel for the hunger I can’t satisfy. I drive into her, hips snapping, flesh slapping, but it’s not for her. It’s for Jessa. For the girl spying from the shadows, lips parted, cheeks pink, body pressed against the wall as if she’s afraid and fascinated all at once. I can almost see her. Those big eyes fixed on me, mouth gone dry, her pulse thundering in her throat. The image sets me on fire.
Every time I slam forward, I think about Jessa. I picture her on her knees before me, trembling, helpless as I push inside her for the first time. I imagine the fear in her eyes melting away, replaced by need—her innocence crumbling, her body learning what it means to be claimed.
The woman under me claws at the sheets, begging for more. Her cries are loud, but it’s Jessa’s silence in the hallway that drives me, that fills my head with darker fantasies. I want her afraid, yes.
I want her curious, hungry, ruined. I want her to imagine me pinning her, making her take all of me—owning her completely.
When I finally come, it’s with a guttural curse, my vision gone white with the force of it. But I’m still unsatisfied. My body shudders, but my cock is still half hard, aching for something I haven’t yet claimed.
I pull out, barely sparing a glance at the woman gasping beneath me. She collapses onto the bed, used up, and I dress in silence. My mind is already elsewhere. I don’t linger for empty words or shallow praise. I want nothing from her.
It’s Jessa I want.
I hope she’s lying awake right now, clutching the sheets, unable to stop thinking about what she saw. I hope the memory keeps her up for hours. Afraid, fascinated, wondering what it would feel like to be beneath me. Wondering what it would mean to surrender completely, to be taken, owned, with no way out.
Let her imagination torture her. Let her curiosity grow until it burns. There’s no going back now, not for her, not for me. She’s seen the kind of man I am. And soon, she’ll learn exactly what that means.
***
I don’t bother knocking. The door swings open under my hand, the hinges barely making a sound. Her room is warm, golden sunlight spilling across the velvet bedding. I hear the water running in the bathroom, the muffled clink of glass. I lean against the wall, crossing my arms, and wait.
When the faucet shuts off, there’s a moment of silence. A pause thick with anticipation. Then the door opens and she steps out, wrapped in nothing but a towel. The cotton hugs her curves, damp spots darkening where it clings to her skin. She freezes mid-step, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.
Her cheeks flush instantly. She tightens her grip on the towel, every muscle taut. “What the fuck are you doing in here?” Her voice trembles, sharp as a slap. “Get out! You’re a fucking pervert—”
I smile, slow and deliberate, letting my eyes roam over every inch of exposed skin. “You have some nerve calling me that, considering you were the one spying in the hallway.”
She blanches, mouth opening, then closing just as quickly. The memory must sting. She looks like she wants to hit me, fury blazing in her eyes. Instead, she shoves at my chest, weak but defiant.
“Get out,” she says again, breathless, voice barely more than a gasp. “Get out!”
I don’t move. I don’t say a word. The tension between us sparks, electric, dangerous.
Before she can scream, I catch her wrists and pull her close. She fights, at first—just a little, just enough to convince herself she hates this. But her resistance melts as my mouthclaims hers, hard and hungry. I taste her panic, her defiance, her confusion, and something sweeter buried underneath. She breaks first, her body softening against mine.
She kisses me back. Hesitant, then desperate. The towel slips from her grip, pooling at her feet. My hands roam over bare skin, gripping her hips, her ass, her breasts. She gasps, arching into my touch, nails digging into my shoulders.
I lift her, carrying her to the bed, and let her legs wrap around me. She moans, helpless, as I pin her down, as I show her exactly what she’s been wanting since the moment she watched me from the hallway. All the anger, all the fear, all the fire between us. It burns away, leaving only heat, only hunger.
Tonight, there’s no room for innocence. Only surrender.
She’s trembling as I push her back onto the bed, the towel already forgotten, her skin luminous in the sunlight. I drag my gaze over her, drinking in every detail—the rise and fall of her chest, the pink flush blooming over her breasts and cheeks, the wide, uncertain hunger in her eyes.
For a moment, I simply stand above her, letting her feel the weight of my attention. I want her to squirm. I want her to ache.
I strip off my shirt, my hands slow and deliberate, watching her watch me. She swallows hard, her tongue darting over her lower lip. There’s defiance in her, but her legs part a little, just enough for me to slide between them. I lean down, catching her mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. Her hands fly to my shoulders, nails biting into my skin as I claim her lips, her tongue, her breath.
