Page 43 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FOUR

HOPE

Some decisions feel inevitable, like you’ve been walking toward them your whole life without knowing it. That’s how it feels as I slip through the quiet hallway, out of the room where Kin sleeps, toward the man who’s changed the course of my life more than he’ll ever realize.

I haven’t been inside his room before. It’s only a few doors down the hall from mine and Kin’s. So close, and yet it feels like entering another dimension.

Pavel’s door isn’t fully closed, and I take it as a sign that maybe I’m not completely losing my mind by being here. But when I step inside, the room is empty.

Whether he’s painting or drowning himself in work, he’ll have to come back here eventually. And when he does, I’ll be waiting. The magnetic pull I feel toward him has grown impossible to ignore—stronger than fear, stronger than reason—and I’m no longer sure if I’m here for his sake or my own.

The space is masculine and orderly. Dark wood floors are softened by a massive area rug, and heavy curtains frame the floor-to-ceiling windows.

A king-sized bed dominates the room, and for a moment, I imagine what it would be like to share it with him, to wake up wrapped in his arms instead of a dinosaur-themed twin bed.

I run my fingers along his dresser, where a few personal items catch my eye. A vintage Rolex. A few Russian paperbacks. A small framed photo that I pick up and carry toward the window for a better look.

There are four people in the picture—a family. A teenage Pavel stands beside a tall, blonde woman with the same smile as him and a broad, dark-haired man. Standing in front of Pavel is a little girl with a mischievous smile and clear blue eyes. Kamilla.

I turn, letting a slash of light fall across her picture. God, those eyes look so much like Kin’s. How has Pavel not noticed? Unless he has… but why hasn’t he asked me about it? Either he’s in denial, or he knows on some level and is waiting for me to tell him.

Guilt grips me. He’s good to Kin, and good to me, but that doesn’t erase who he is or what he’s done. If I don’t stay strong, I’ll never know the true meaning of freedom.

The sound of running water draws my attention to a door across the room, light seeping out from underneath. I replace the photo and move quietly toward what must be his bathroom, pushing the door open enough to peek inside.

The moment I do, I’m hit with a wall of thick, steamy air. The steady rhythm of running water fills the space, and through the frosted glass of the shower enclosure, I make out a large silhouette that is unmistakably Pavel’s.

Shit. I should go. He didn’t invite me here. In fact, he made it clear he needed space. Except, I don’t really care. For once in my life, I don’t overthink what comes next.

My hands move to the hem of my T-shirt, pulling it over my head. My panties hit the floor next. With a steadying breath, I reach for the shower door handle and pull it open before I can chicken out.

My heart stutters as I drink him in. Pavel. Completely, gloriously naked.

Water cascades over his sculpted body, highlighting the intricate tattoos that cover his chest and arms. His hand is wrapped around his very big, very erect cock.

Holy shit.

His eyes snap open, locking onto mine. Instead of embarrassment or surprise, a slow predatory smile spreads across his face. His eyes darken, his gaze traveling down my body with an appreciation that makes my skin burn.

“Hope,” he says, his voice like gravel. “I was just thinking about you.” He drags his fist up the length of his cock, slow and languid, never breaking eye contact.

Every inch of me lights up in response, my nipples hardening and my core tightening in need.

He doesn’t stop stroking himself, doesn’t cover up or turn around.

He watches me with those ice-gray eyes, looking like a Viking god come to life, all hard muscle and primal masculinity, with water running in rivulets over the planes and valleys of his abs.

Abs that I want to explore with my tongue.

Pavel’s smile deepens as he reads the desire on my face. “Are you going to stand there or join me in here?”

His invitation feels like a dare. My mouth goes dry, and desire swirls low and lazy in my belly.

I didn’t know what version of Pavel to expect, but whatever demons he was wrestling with earlier seem to have been exorcised, and the man in front of me is looking for another kind of absolution entirely.

If he wants to play, I’m ready.

I lift my chin and meet his gaze. “I think I will.”

Without breaking eye contact, I step into the shower, immediately enveloped by steam and the scent of cedar. The shower’s large enough that we don’t have to touch, but we stand barely inches apart. His fist has frozen mid-stroke, and his pupils are blown wide with heat.

I pretend to ignore him, though that’s impossible. I pump a bit of his expensive-smelling soap into my hand and begin spreading it over my skin: down my throat, over my breasts, across my stomach.

Am I teasing him? Hell yes.

Am I playing with fire? Absolutely.

Am I going to back down? Not a chance.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I say, gesturing to his hand still wrapped around his thick, hard length. “You should always finish what you start.”

I turn to him, running my soapy hands over my breasts, thumbs grazing my nipples until they pebble beneath my touch. I pinch one simply to enjoy his reaction.

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” he growls, his control clearly fraying.

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Christ, Hope…” He braces one hand against the tile, stroking himself with the other. “Keep doing that, and this shower is going to end with you glazed in my cum.”

His words send a bolt of lust straight between my legs. Watching Pavel stroke himself while his eyes burn into me is enough to make my knees weak.

“You like putting on a show for me?” he rasps.

“Possibly.” I roll my nipples between slick fingers. “Do you like watching?”

His answer is a guttural noise that shoots straight through my core. He grabs my chin, tilting my face toward his. “Look at me. I love watching you. But I want more. I want all of you.”

He’s talking about more than sex, and we both know it. Part of me wants to run from the intensity in his eyes, but a bigger part—the part that’s been starving for someone to truly see me—is ready to surrender.

“Touch me,” I whisper. “Anywhere. Just touch me.”

He spins me around and pushes me up against the slick tile, his hand fisting in my hair. His cock, hard and heavy, slides between my ass cheeks.

He drizzles a handful of soap between them, then squeezes my cheeks together, trapping his length as he grinds between them. His other hand reaches around to find my breast.

“Play with your pussy,” he commands. “Show me how badly you want it.”

I obey, slipping my hand between my thighs, fingertips gliding through slick folds before circling my clit with slow, deliberate pressure. I tease myself in lazy spirals, then shift the rhythm just as Pavel bites down on my shoulder, hard enough to make me gasp.

“Good girl,” he growls, towering over me from behind. Like this, our size difference feels even more pronounced. “You’re so pretty when you’re desperate and dripping, taking care of yourself while I rut between your ass cheeks.”

My fingers quicken as his hands roam my body, and he uses me exactly how he wants to, a mix of control and surrender that feels intoxicating.

“This feels so good,” I whisper, moving my hips in tight, desperate circles. Sparks crackle through me, and the tension coils into something urgent. I toss my head back and give in to the sensation.

He grips my hair, pulling my head back so he can whisper into my ear, “Stroke your clit faster, angel moy. I want you to scream my name when you come.”

I obey, stroking myself faster, rocking against my hand. The tension coils tighter and tighter until I can’t take it anymore.

He surges forward, his hands cup my breasts, thumbs swiping over my nipples, then he pinches them hard, giving me the sharp bite of pain I crave.

I cry out his name as I come, my body jerking against my hand. I feel unmoored, like my soul left my body and is only now floating back down.

When he turns me around, there’s something reverent in his eyes, like he can’t believe I’m real. This man, who commands fear and obedience from everyone else, looks at me like I’m his weakness.

Our mouths crash together in a kiss that’s savage and breathless. His teeth catch my bottom lip, and I bite back, his groan vibrating through me. When we break apart, we’re both panting.

“You need more, don’t you, baby? You need all of me.” When I nod, he grunts his approval. “That’s good, because I need to be inside you again, to feel you milk every drop of cum from my cock.”

My fingers wrap around the base of his thick length, lingering, taking in how the veins bulge along the shaft like a road map. He’s so hard and hot in my palm it makes my mouth water. I stroke him once, twice, letting my thumb tease the swollen head, slick with precum.

Before I can keep teasing, he lifts me like I weigh nothing and presses my back to the tile wall. Water rushes down over us, steam curling around our bodies.

“I’ll pull out,” he rasps.

I stiffen. “When was the last time you were tested?”

His expression darkens, and he pulls back to look into my eyes, his cock nudging at my entrance.

“I haven’t touched anyone in five years, Hope. Since we were together. Not for lack of options, but because no one else compared to you or how you made me feel.” He pulls me closer, his arm tightening around my back with a fierce, possessive grip. “You ruined me for all other women.”

My breath stutters in my lungs. “I-I can’t believe that.”

“Believe it, angel moy. I hate that someone else got to touch you,” he husks out, “but it doesn’t matter because you’re mine now.”

His confession steals the air from my lungs.

Five years.

He’s been celibate for five years because of me?

I search his eyes for any hint of deception but find only raw truth.

I want to tell him no one else has ever touched me either, but the lie it threatens to reveal is too big, too dangerous. So instead, I lean into the only truth I can handle right now.

“I need you.”

His pupils blow wide as he positions himself at my entrance. But instead of thrusting in, he pauses, his massive frame caging my small body against the shower wall. The head of his cock nudges against my opening, and I’m reminded exactly how big he is—how big everything about him is compared to me.

Before surging forward, he slides two thick fingers inside me. He works me slowly, methodically, adding a third finger that makes me whimper at the fullness.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my neck, his free hand supporting my weight. “Let me stretch this tight little cunt for my cock.”

When he finally notches himself at my entrance again, I can feel how much bigger his cock is than his fingers. His broad head pushes forward, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out at the intense stretch.

“Breathe, baby,” he commands. “You can take me. You were made for me.”

The burn is intense as he works himself inside. My frame trembles in his massive arms, completely at his mercy as he claims me with careful, controlled thrusts that still feel perfect and overwhelming.

“Are you ready for me to fuck you properly?” His voice sounds strained with the effort of holding back.

I nod, barely able to breathe, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

A low growl rips from his chest, years of need finally breaking free. My head falls back against the tile, as he drives into me with deep, punishing thrusts that make my vision blur. His mouth claims mine, teeth dragging across my lower lip, as he swallows every sound that comes spilling out of me.

“Five years of dreaming about this pussy, and nothing compares to the real thing.”

He pulls out enough to make me whimper, then slams back in, setting a pace that leaves no room for thought. My eyes roll back in my head as pleasure sears through me in wild, reckless waves.

“You’re so wet I can feel you dripping down my cock.”

With that, he releases a harsh sound of approval and grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand while the other holds me in place. He starts to thrust harder, deeper, until the slap of skin on skin echoes off the walls and I feel him everywhere.

His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping down the column of my neck. The coil in my belly winds tighter as he lifts me higher, letting my breasts drag along his chest.

“Come all over me. Let me feel that greedy little pussy choke my cock.”

A broken moan tears from my throat as I come undone. He holds me there, pounding into me, dragging every last drop of ecstasy from my body.