Page 11 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

NINE

HOPE

The second we make it to my front door, I feel his presence surround me.

Before I can fish my keys from my pocket, his hands are on me, firm on my waist, turning me around and backing me up against the door with a rough press of his body. He leans down and captures my lips with his own.

His mouth tastes like whiskey and a hint of mint. His body presses close, the heat of him seeping through my clothes, muscles shifting as he crowds me against the door. He kisses me deeper, tongue gliding against mine, stealing the breath right out of my lungs.

Every inch of him is solid, big, overwhelming, and the rough scrape of his stubble has me shivering, heat coiling low in my belly. I arch into him without thinking, desperate for more, dizzy from the feel of him everywhere.

I want more. So much more. But I'm also painfully aware that we're standing in my hallway, and anyone can walk out of their unit at any second.

We come apart on a gasp, and I fumble with the keys. “Hang on,” I pant. I can barely get the key into the lock; I’m shaking so badly.

Lukas is right behind me, his body warm, his breath curling against my neck as I struggle. “Let me help you.”

Without waiting for a response, he takes the key from me and expertly unlocks the door, his hands much steadier than mine. “Quite the security system,” he notes, eyeing the Ring camera.

I shrug. “Rough neighborhood. Can’t be too careful.”

The door swings open, and a small shiver of doubt flutters in my chest. Here is this successful, well-dressed man stepping into my cramped space, with its thrift-store furniture and clothes drying by the heater.

But beyond the embarrassment, there is the voice that’s haunted me for a year, whispering not to trust anyone, to keep my guard up.

Fuck it. I’m done listening to that voice. Right now, I’m listening to the part of me that wants to feel alive, to feel desired.

I don’t give him a chance to look around or get comfortable. Instead, I grab the collar of his coat and tug him inside. He lets me; maybe he’s amused at how eager I am, but I don’t care. As soon as the door clicks shut, I push him back against it and reach up on my tippy toes to kiss him.

He groans, deep and hungry, his big hands easily spanning my waist. In a blur, he flips us, and now I’m pressed flat against the door, his body boxing me in, radiating heat.

I shiver. His mouth comes down on mine again, greedy and hot, devouring me like he can’t get enough.

My hands slip beneath his coat, gliding over the hard muscle of his chest. God, he must have a serious exercise routine. He could break me in two if he wanted, and that thought only makes me shiver harder.

Breathless, I break the kiss and pull back enough to look up at him.

“I need to see you,” I whisper. “All of you.”

His eyes darken, and he looks at me like I’m something delicious he wants to consume. I certainly hope he does.

“Sit,” he orders, voice rough as gravel.

He steers me back until my knees bump the couch, and I settle in place.

He shrugs off his coat, then peels his sweater over his head. When he lifts his T-shirt, he makes me watch. He’s built like an athlete. Every line of muscle is sharply defined, with deep ridges leading to the waistband of his jeans.

But it’s the scars that make me freeze. They’re everywhere on him.

Some are clean and fine, some jagged and brutal, layered over powerful shoulders and down his sides.

Black ink winds over his torso: a snarling beast drawn beneath his heart, a dagger on his bicep, and a constellation of small, dark stars scattered along his ribs.

Nerves prickle beneath my skin. This isn’t a writer’s body. These are scars of violence and survival.

I swallow hard. Who am I inviting into my bed?

When he sees me studying them, a flicker of vulnerability crosses his face. “I lived a rough life,” he says quietly. “After my parents died, there weren’t many choices. For a long time, I did what I had to do to survive.”

My chest tightens with something tender. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. He doesn’t need to tell me more. If anyone knows what survival is like, it’s me. But he’s changed his life around. And maybe I’ll be able to do that too one day.

My thighs press together instinctively as he kicks off his boots and unbuttons his jeans, lowering them with a little show. My heart thuds in my chest, nerves and excitement tangling together like a potent cocktail.

“Touch yourself,” he demands.

My breath catches. “What?”

His gaze darkens, the corner of his mouth lifting with a wicked promise. “While I undress. I want to see what I do to you.”

I hesitate, uncertain how to play this game, but the hunger in his eyes makes it impossible to say no.

My hands drift to the hem of my skirt. I part my thighs, tracing over the front of my panties.

I’m already so wet for him. My head tips back as I feel the friction, the ache building inside me.

I moan softly, more turned on than I’ve ever felt.

When he slides his briefs down his legs, the air leaves my lungs in a rush.

He’s massive, and I mean in every way . The hard lines of his chest, the sculpted muscles of his thighs, and his cock, thick and heavy, curving up toward his stomach.

He wraps his palm around his shaft, stroking slowly, and a flutter of apprehension mixes with arousal. This is so far outside my comfort zone, but I love how wild and free it makes me feel.

“How the hell am I going to make that fit?” The words spill out before I can stop them.

A sinful grin pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“First, I’m going to eat your pussy, take my time, and really savor you, stretching you with my fingers.

Only once you’ve come hard on my face and I’ve licked up every last drop,” his voice is thick with desire, “am I going to work my way inside your pussy, slowly, carefully stretching you. And once you’re nice and loose for me, I’m going to fuck the hell out of you. ”

My pulse spikes at his words.

He kneels in front of me and pulls off my shoes, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Then he slides his hands beneath my skirt, peeling my panties down my legs.

With a gentle press of his hands to my shoulder, he guides me back onto the couch. His hands spread my thighs, and for a moment, I instinctively resist, feeling self-conscious.

“No need to be shy,” he purrs, coaxing me to open for him again.

This time I let him spread me wide. He holds my thighs open, his eyes going nearly black as cool air coasts over my folds. I’m dripping, and I know he sees it. I’ve never felt so exposed, or so turned on.

“You’re so damn perfect, Lily.”

He eats me out like a starving man. He pins me down with one strong forearm, swiping his tongue through my slit again and again. My head falls back against the couch, fingers scrambling for purchase.

Then he seals his lips around my clit and sucks hard. I’m panting, hips rocking against his mouth, already desperate for release.

It’s wild and intense, unlike anything I expected from Lukas. I can barely form words; only desperate whimpers and broken moans spill from my lips.

He rumbles in response, the vibration making me dizzy as he slides a thick finger inside me. It’s slow and deep, curling perfectly and making my eyes roll back.

“Shit,” he growls, pulling back so he can watch his finger plunge deep. “You’re so fucking small.”

“Please,” I whimper, needing more. His mouth stays relentless on my clit as another finger joins the first, stretching and scissoring inside me.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “But you need to be ready for me. You’re so tight, and I want you to take every inch.”

The heat of his mouth, the filthy sounds of him devouring me, and the relentless pressure shatter my control. I cry out, my back arching and my hand tangling in his hair, desperate to anchor myself as pleasure rockets through me.

He flattens his tongue and drags it up my slit, not letting up until my thighs are shaking and I’m completely spent.

When I finally manage to lift my head, he’s already standing, fist wrapped around his cock. His chest heaves, and the look in his eyes is feral.

“You’re ready for me now,” he rumbles. “Tell me you want it.”

I can only nod, barely managing, “God yes, please. I need you.”

He rips open a condom, rolling it down his length with sure hands. Then he grabs me, spinning me over the couch arm so my ass is tipped up, my body open and aching for him.

“This is perfect. I can watch you take all of me,” he mutters, running his palm possessively over my ass before spreading my cheeks wide with his thumbs.

I glance back at him, swallowing hard. He towers over me, all muscle, ink, and scars. Lukas is nothing like the gentle giant I thought I was bringing home. He’s a contradiction, brutal and beautiful, but he makes me feel worshipped and alive.

Lukas dips two fingers deep between my slick folds, using them to coat his shaft. Then he pushes in slowly, his cock stretching me open in careful, thick inches. The burn is real, but so is the pleasure. His slow surge inside makes me gasp, and I clutch the couch.

“Look at you, taking me like a queen,” he rasps, reverent and filthy all at once. “You’re doing so good, Lily.”

The suggestion that I’m too small, and probably too young for him if we’re going to be honest, sends a forbidden thrill racing through me.

He works himself inside me slowly until he’s finally fully seated, our bodies locked together.

“Christ,” he growls. “You feel like fucking heaven wrapped around my cock.”

I whimper, nails digging into the couch, as he begins to move. Slowly at first, rolling his hips, pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in deep. He runs his palm down my back, a grounding touch, as my body fights to accommodate him.

“Lukas…” I manage, shakily. “I want more. You don’t have to hold back.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “How about we change positions, and then I’ll give you what you want?”

He scoops me up, never breaking our connection, and lays me on the couch. He follows me down, his weight settling over me as he pushes my thighs wide and sinks into me again, even deeper this time.

He withdraws an inch, then surges forward. Each slow thrust makes my body quake, my nails digging into the muscles of his back. For all my inexperience, I know this doesn’t feel like casual sex. It’s too intense and all-consuming.

“I don’t think anything has ever felt this good,” I husk out.

He grabs the back of my thigh, and throws my leg over his shoulder. The new angle feels impossibly deep, and I cry out, every nerve ending lit up.

“Hold on tight, baby. Because I’m about to ruin you for every other man.”

Fuck. I hate to tell him he already has.

Each of his thrusts is controlled but savage, like he’s trying not to break me apart. My moans dissolve into helpless cries, my hips moving with him. Then his fingers slide between us, rubbing fast and relentless circles on my clit, making sparks fire through my vision.

“Come for me,” Lukas growls, pinning me with his gaze.

He leans down, teeth dragging over one nipple, and I break. My orgasm tears through me with a cry that leaves me raw. My inner-walls clamp down around him, and he curses, spilling into the condom with a feral groan.

“Fuck, Lily.” He says my name like a prayer.

We hold still, clinging to each other, the world narrowed to this single, perfect moment.

Finally, he sinks down, his full weight settling over me, his breath hot against my neck. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Me neither. That thought scares me more than it should.

Because this one night is all we have. All we can ever be.