Page 178 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

I crush her against the wall with the entire length of my body. She’s tense from head to toe. I can feel her hesitation, her desperation to resist—but her inability to commit to denying me.

She pulls her lips from mine for a moment. Her breathing is heavy, laced with lust, but she still tries.

“Stop… Please, stop.”

I know why she’s asking. She doesn’t actually want me to stop. She wants to me help her lie to herself. To keep up this charade that she really does hate me. That she really doesn’t want me.

But that would rely on me being willing to let her live those lies.

And I’m not fucking willing.

“You want me to stop?” I ask.

She trembles, swallows, and tries to nod. It’s hardly convincing.

I wind my fingers through the roots of hair at the back of her head. Leaning close enough that I can count each splash of gold in her eyes, I touch my forehead to hers and whisper the last words needed to destroy her resistance.

“Then make me.”

So I close the remaining distance and begin to retake what’s mine.

50

Artem

I suck her bottom lip between my teeth. It draws a sharp moan from her. That’s the sound I was missing, so sweet and innocent that my cock stiffens immediately.

She grinds her hips into mine and mewls.

But some part of her is still trying to hold back.

Still unwilling to give everything up to me.

I’m going to fuck that out of her.

One way or another, she’s going to have to confront her feelings for me.

Right.

Fucking.

Now.

I move my head to the side, deepening the kiss and forcing a cry from Esme that sounds like a cross between a moan and a plea for help.

I run my tongue along her full bottom lip, nipping it lightly as my cock hardens to rock against her thigh.

I’m prepared to pry her lips open if necessary, but they part for me willingly, allowing me access to her sweet mouth. She tastes of fruit and nectar, and I drink it all in as our tongues entwine together.

My hands release her and move down, tracing the perfect lines of her petite hourglass shape. I unbutton her jeans and rip them down. They fit her like a second skin, but they’re no match for me, for my desire.

She doesn’t complain at the rough treatment. If anything, she just moans louder. She clings to my neck and steps out of the jeans.

I note the blossoming wet patch on her panties as I slide back up her body to tower over her again. Grabbing the bottom hem of her shirt, I pull that over her head and throw it aside.

Her breasts look fuller somehow, but I’m pretty sure my knowledge of her pregnancy is forcing me to notice the little differences that escaped me before.

She’s still trembling, still tense, and I know she’s battling an internal conflict as my hands move to cup her breasts.

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