Page 37 of Bratva Bride
At the doorway I pause, shifting her weight so I can push the door wider with my shoulder. The air in the room is cooler, scented faintly with her perfume. I lower her to the mattress, the silk of the sheets whispering beneath her as she settles back, hair fanning over the pillow. Her gaze stays on me, steady, inviting.
I shrug off my shirt, let it drop to the floor, then climb onto the bed, bracing on my forearms above her. She reaches up, fingertips grazing my jaw before sliding down my chest, and I feel every point of contact like a spark. The need in me tightens, urgent, but I force my pace slow, absorbing the sight of her spread out beneath me, the lace framing her curves, the rise and fall of her breathing quick and shallow.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmur, dipping to brush my lips against her throat.
“Everything,” she breathes, arching into me, and that single word is all the permission I need.
13
NADYA
I knowhe’s lying to me.
I watched him through the restaurant’s glass partition—Viktor on one side, the blond woman from the mall on the other, her hand resting on Konstantin’s sleeve as if it belonged there.
The thought should harden me, but his mouth is on mine now, warm and certain, and my body answers before my mind can protest.
His kiss deepens, coaxing me back to the mattress, his hands sliding over lace as if it were air. I taste wine on his lips, feel the faint scrape of stubble as he drifts from my mouth to my throat. A breath catches in my chest, half moan, half question. I bury the question for later.
He takes his time. Lips at the hollow of my neck, a slow path lower, pausing to savor the shape of my breast through black lace. The heat of his tongue against skin melts the last edge of resistance until my fingers thread through his hair, urging him closer. He murmurs my name against my skin, voice rough with need, and the memory of the restaurant fades like smoke.
His hand moves down the curve of my waist, following satin to the bend of my knee, then back up along the inside of my thigh. My hips rise to meet his touch, every nerve lit. I arch beneath him, lace sliding aside, his mouth closing over my nipple, drawing a soft cry from my lips. Desire pushes out doubt, at least for now.
“Konstantin,” I whisper, though I no longer mean to question him. The word sounds like a plea, or maybe a promise. He answers by slipping his fingers beneath the silk, finding the heat of me, teasing until my breath tumbles into a low moan.
His mouth trails lower while his fingers work the last buttons of his shirt, fabric sliding from his shoulders to the floor. I smooth my hands across the muscle of his chest, tracing the familiar lines and the rough scars time never managed to fade. His breath hitches when my nails skim lightly down his torso.
He hooks a thumb under the waistband of his trousers and eases them past his hips, never breaking the kiss that has deepened into something molten and urgent. Warm skin presses to mine; every inch of him feels charged, like we are both pulled taut by the same thread.
He settles over me, bracing on one forearm while his free hand glides beneath the lace at my waist, guiding satin away in a slow, deliberate motion. I feel air against bare skin, then the heat of him replacing it, his mouth returning to claim mine.
He kisses the hollow beneath my ear, moves lower, lips painting heat across my throat, my collarbone, until I arch into him, head tipped back, a soft cry escaping before I can catch it.
He cups my breasts, squeezing, thumbs circling my nipples through the lace before pushing the fabric aside. He lowershis head and takes one nipple into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make me gasp, then sucking until my back arches off the bed. He gives equal attention to the other, licking and sucking until I’m squirming under him, my fingers tangled in his hair.
The jolt of sensation makes my back arch, my hand sliding to his hair to hold him there. He licks and bites, sucking until I can’t keep quiet, gasping with every pull. He gives the same attention to my other breast, lips dragging over sensitive skin, teeth scraping, sucking harder until my hips shift restlessly against his thigh.
When he finally lifts his head, my nipples are slick and aching, the rest of my body flushed with need. He grins—a dark, hungry flash—then kisses down my chest, tracing a line between my breasts, tongue warm and wet. He trails lower, nipping at my ribs, mouth worshipping every inch of skin down to my belly. I’m panting now, completely open, letting him do whatever he wants.
He settles between my thighs, palms pressing my knees apart. His stubble drags along the inside of my thigh, making me shiver. He kisses a path from my knee to my inner thigh, lips soft, tongue flicking, sucking marks into my skin as he goes. I’m throbbing, wet and desperate by the time his mouth finally finds my clit.
He starts with a gentle lick, just a tease, and then his tongue flattens against me, licking up and down.
He circles my clit, then sucks it into his mouth, slurping softly, the sound obscene and perfect in the quiet room. I can’t help the noise I make—somewhere between a moan and a plea—as histongue works me, sucking, flicking, swirling in tight, relentless circles.
My hands clutch the sheets, hips rolling into his mouth. He holds me open, tongue everywhere, licking and sucking until all I can say is his name, breathless, over and over. His tongue slides lower, dipping inside me, tasting everything; then he comes back up to suck on my clit, harder this time, his mouth messy and hungry.
Every nerve is on fire, and he doesn’t stop. He eats me until I break apart, my whole body shaking, hips lifting helplessly into his mouth as he keeps sucking.
I’m still catching my breath, my pulse fluttering wild, when he finally lifts his head. His lips are slick, jaw shadowed with stubble and the wet sheen of me. He looks up at me, eyes dark and hungry, and I can’t help but reach for him, pulling him up over my body.
He settles between my thighs, his cock thick and hard against my skin. He kisses me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue, the kiss messy and desperate. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek as his hips press against mine, sliding through the slick heat at my center.
“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost raw.
I hook my leg around his waist, dragging him closer, no hesitation. “I want all of you. Now.”
He moves up to kiss me, his mouth urgent and wet, but I push at his chest until he rolls onto his back. I want to taste him, to make him fall apart the way he just did with me. I slide down between his legs, my palms gliding over his thighs, feeling the tension there.
