Page 43 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
His mouth, the one that had just bruised mine with furious kisses, settled against me, and it wasn’t tender. It was hard, demanding, a raw assertion of power. His tongue, hot and insistent, plunged into me, leaving me gasping, a sudden, blinding sensation that slammed through my body. He was relentless, his movements precise, punishing. Every stroke was a command, every lock a claim.
My mind reeled. It wasn’t desire; it was control.This was his punishment. He was taking my pleasure, twisting it, marking it as an act of his dominance. My hands instinctively fisted in his dark hair, not pulling him closer in desire, but clutching him in a desperate effort to ground myself, to find something to hold ontoin the whirlwind of sensation he was creating. My hips bucked, an involuntary response to the overwhelming pleasure-pain he inflicted. Shame twisted within me.
He worked me, methodically, brutally. He knew exactly what he was doing, hitting every sensitive spot, driving me closer and closer to the edge. My breath came in ragged gasps, my nails digging into his scalp. I tried to pull away, a choked whimper escaping my throat, but his hands on my hips held me firm, trapping me against the wall. There was no escape.
Then, the first wave hit. A powerful, shattering orgasm that ripped through my body, stealing my breath, leaving me trembling and weak against the wall. My knees almost buckled. My eyes squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corners.
He pulled back, just inches, enough for me to feel the sudden chill of air against my slick skin, enough to heat his voice. His eyes, dark and heavy, looked up at me, cold and possessive.
“Thank me,” he commanded, his voice rough, eyes unyielding.
I shook my head, tears finally escaping and running down my temples. The humiliation burned, hot and fierce, even through the fading echoes of pleasure. “No,” I choked out, my voice raw.
He gave a low, humorless chuckle. “No? We’re not finished, then.”
And he was back, his mouth reclaiming me with even greater intensity. The second orgasm hit faster, harder, tearing another cry from my throat. My body was wrung out, exhausted, but he kept going, relentlessly, driving me to the brink again and again. Each time, he’d pull back, demanding, “Thank me.” Each time, I’d refuse, my defiance a stubborn ember in the ashes of my will.
But my body was failing. My legs were shaking. My muscles burned. Each orgasm was less about pleasure and more about sheer, agonizing exhaustion. My vision blurred through tears. I couldn’t fight anymore. I couldn’t stand it.
“Please,” I sobbed, my voice breaking. My head fell back against the wall, utterly defeated. “Please, just…stop…. Thank you. Thank you, Danil. Please, just stop.” The words were ripped from me, wet and desperate, tasting like ash and surrender.
He finally pulled away, slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving mine. I was sobbing, gasping for air, my body shaking uncontrollably. I slid down the wall, collapsing in a heap on the floor, my dress still bunched around my waist, exposed and vulnerable. I felt utterly, completely broken.
He pulled away, slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving my face. I was still on the floor, my body shaking with sobs. He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as if he’d just finished a meal. The act was so casual, so devoid of emotion, that it felt like another, deeper punishment. I watched him, my vision blurred by tears, as he knelt beside me, his movements precise and unhurried.
He gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were no longer burning with anger; they were cold in their depths. He leaned in and kissed me, a soft, deliberate kiss on my mouth that was somehow more chilling than the violence that had just passed.
“This is just the beginning,” he murmured against my lips, his voice a low, chilling promise. “This is the beginning of many such nights. You will learn what it means to be mine.”
He let go of my chin and stood up. He walked to the door, opened it, and then was gone. Just like that. He left me alone in the wreckage of his fury, a sobbing, exhausted mess on the cold floor.
I lay there for a long time, the remnants of his touch still burning on my skin. The silence in the room was deafening. My body ached, and my heart ached even more. I felt like a failure. I had tried to fight and stand up to him, but in the end, I broke. I thanked him and begged him to stop. I felt completely and utterly defeated.
Slowly, painfully, I pushed myself up, my legs trembling beneath me. I walked over to the sofa, where my purse lay, a small piece of my old life. I reached in to grab my phone, my fingers fumbling with the clasp. As I pulled my hand out, something small and hard fell into my palm.
It was a black thumb drive. I stared at it, my mind blank with exhaustion. I had no idea where it came from. I hadn’t put it there. The last time I had seen my purse was when Marielle and I had been talking. Had someone slipped it in there then? But who? And why?
The thumb drive felt heavy in my hand, a small, mysterious object hiding an unknown secret. It represented a lifetime of darkness, a promise of a truth I had been desperately searching for. My confusion was immense, but so was the sudden, sharp jolt of purpose that surged through me.
I decided, at that moment, that I would find out what was on it. I would not be defeated. I would find out who gave it to me. I had to. It was the only fight I had left.
Chapter 12 – Danil
“Gather the others and meet me at the meeting hall in ten minutes,” I said to Feliks on a phone call.
“Okay,” he said, right before I ended the call.
Something didn’t feel right. Somehow, I felt left behind on everything after my night with Kat. I needed to stay updated with every piece of information I could gather, rather than being left in the dark. But while I walked to the meeting hall, the events of the previous night flashed before me.
I could still taste her. Her body pressed against mine like my head sinking into soft, feathery pillows. I could still smell her hair’s scent as she blossomed under my touch. I didn’t want it to happen, but I couldn’t resist. I tried to fight it, but I simply couldn’t.
Maybe I should’ve left Kat to be executed with her father.
But no. That would only make things worse, not to mention how it was to think such a thing against my wife.
Despite all the caution in the world, Katria had a strange effect on me, and I liked it. Her tenacity and strong will, which didn’t match her gorgeous face, made me believe there was more to her than I realized. Her mysterious stature wasn’t a problem for me. My greatest fear right now was that she was becoming a part of my weakness, and the marriage had ensured that.
I arrived at the hall in no time, and they were already seated. Feliks sat with his jaw tightened. Konstantin sat on the right side, wearing a black double-buttoned suit, as they faced each other. Irene, on the other hand, sat with her arms folded. She looked at me with a hint of a smile while she removed her dark shades, and Luka didn’t move an inch.
