Page 57 of Shattered Altar (Makarova Bratva Duet)

“That’s it.”

She lunges towards me and seizes my arm. “You can’t do this.”

I look down at her grip. It’s not remotely strong, but at least it’s determined. Her fingers tremble the longer I keep my gaze on her hand.

“Actually,” I say slowly, “I can do anything I fucking want.”

“Well, I’m not leaving.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Did you come here for your brother, Olivia? Or did you come here for me?”

She frowns. “I… what?”

“You crave danger, Olivia, even if you refuse to admit it. You’ve suppressed your instincts for so long that you’ve forgotten you have them at all. But I see you. I see all of you.”

I can see my words hitting her. She twists them around in her head, trying to deny them.

I take the moment to grab her suddenly. She gasps, her arms coming instinctively around my shoulders. I pick her up and set her down on my desk, wedging myself between her legs. I don’t even have to push them open. They part for me willingly.

“No,” she whispers, pushing me away so weakly that I laugh in her face. “This is not what I want…”

I ignore her words. They’re meaningless. Her body tells me the true story.

I unzip her pants and shove my hand inside. She gasps in shock, but she makes no real effort to stop me. That’s all the confirmation I need.

The moment my fingers find her pussy, she cries out.

“I was right: you’re soaking wet.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, unable to deny or justify her body’s betrayal.

“I wonder what your brother will think of that?” I ponder.

She shakes her head. “No! Please… don’t tell him.”

The innocence with which she utters that fervent plea almost makes me smile. “That depends on your behavior over the next few weeks.”

“Weeks?” she gasps.

I move my fingers inside her, and she gasps again, her knuckles going white as she clings to the edges of my desk.

In the airplane bathroom, I didn’t get to see the war on her face quite like this. But now, I can see it clearly…

She wants me so bad she can hardly breathe.

And she doesn’t trust herself not to give into that impulse again and again and again.

So I make the choice for her.

“Go up to your room, Olivia,” I tell her in a sigh. “Get in bed, pull down your panties, and make yourself come.”

I pull my fingers out of her. A low whimper escapes her lips.

“I don’t have to tell you to think of me when you do,” I say. “I already know you will.”

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