Page 180 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

She places a hand on my chest as if to push me away, but she doesn’t put any pressure on me. Her eyes dip down to my cock, which is standing at attention between her thighs.

I stare at her challengingly, daring her to stop me.

When she doesn’t, I move in on her, grabbing her ass and using her firm cheeks to hoist her up so that she can wrap her legs around my waist.

The moment her back is pushed up against the wall, I shove my cock into her hard. She cries out, not having expected the first thrust to be so brutal.

But I’m done being gentle now. I’m going to fuck her into submission, fuck her into accepting her fate, into facing her true feelings for me.

No more clothes.

No more lies.

No more secrets.

Just this—me and her. My wife and I. “Us”—no matter how many times she tries to deny that such a thing exists.

She’s so wet that I slide in and out of her easily, ramming my hips into hers so hard that the entire apartment echoes with the harsh slap of flesh on flesh. Her tits bounce between us and her head arches back, bumping against the back of the wall.

But she hardly seems to notice the pain. If anything, she savors it.

Her hands are slippery against my shoulders but she holds on tight anyway, her pussy clenching every time my cock disappears inside her.

My balls slap against her ass and she cries out in harmony with the sound. Her body is already riding a wave that started with her last orgasm, so it takes only a few more minutes until she’s ready to come again.

I can feel my own orgasm on the brink of unleashing. I increase the tempo of my thrusts.

She curses again, a long string of Spanish under her breath, barely intelligible.

I respond by ramming into her so violently that her eyes roll back in her head.

I watch her lose herself in the moment. Her hatred dissolves. There’s only the next thrust, and the next, and the next. That’s all that matters anymore.

And then there’s the final one. The one that undoes both of us completely.

Perfect. Wet. Deep.

Esme’s fingers dig into the arch of my shoulders as she explodes on my cock. I let myself go, too.

I erupt inside her and on the last thrust, I stay buried to the hilt as I go still.

We stay like that for a long time. Trembling with the force of what just tore through us. Her heartbeat thuds erratically underneath me.

Eventually, I slip out of her, forcing yet another curse from her lips, and then I carry her wordlessly into the next room. I sit down on the white sofa, keeping her cradled on my lap.

Neither of us have said a word yet. But I know she’s already thinking of putting distance between the two of us.

She shimmies off my lap. When she stands, I see my seed slide down her inner thighs. It makes me smirk with satisfaction.

Esme sees my expression and scowls. She stands in front of me, stark naked and as beautiful as a goddess. Fire in her eyes, just the way I like it.

I want her to stand there forever.

But the more my eyes travel over her body, the more self-conscious my little bird becomes. She walks to the wall against which we just fucked and picks up her clothes.

She puts them back on, ignoring me pointedly. When she’s done, she picks up my clothes, strides back over, and dumps them in a heap on my lap.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” she says sourly.

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