Page 44 of Brutal Reign (Bratva Kings #3)

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

PAVEL

Feeling Hope convulse around my cock is the most addictive thing in the world. Her tight little cunt grips me like a vise, milking me with every spasm of her climax. I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from emptying myself inside her.

This is what I’ve been starving for. Not just any woman— her . Hope. The addiction I’ve been feeding with fantasies for five years. The only woman who has ever made me lose control.

And right now, I’m hanging on by a thread. Every pulse of her orgasm pushes me closer to the edge I’ve been fighting since the moment she walked into this shower. Every instinct I have roars for me to pump her full of my cum and mark her as mine in the most primal way possible.

But I told her I’d pull out, and even if it kills me, I’ll do it.

This time.

“Hope,” I manage through gritted teeth. “I’m about to explode.”

She’s still panting, her eyes glazed. I pull out of her slowly, letting her feet touch the floor, resting her back against the tile for balance. I wrap my fist around myself, ready to stroke out my release onto her skin, when she sinks to her knees.

The sight nearly stops my heart. Hope, naked and flushed, kneeling before me. Water runs down her hair and over her bare shoulders as she looks up through damp, clinging lashes. I’ve never seen anything more devastating in my life.

“I want to taste you,” she says, her voice husky. Her tongue flicks out to trace the head of my cock, and I hiss out a sharp breath, holding myself back from grabbing her head and fucking her mouth the way I want to.

I’ve already used her hard. She took everything I gave her without breaking, and she’s still here, offering me more.

My knuckles go white against the slick tile. I’m so on edge that the wet heat of her mouth could finish me in seconds.

I groan, my fingers tangling in her wet locks, and give in to the pull of her mouth. “Just like that. So perfect.”

Nothing—no fantasy, no memory—compares to the reality of Hope on her knees in front of me.

Her beautiful plump lips are stretched around my dick, and the raw suction of her mouth feels like a claim all its own.

Water beads along the curve of her cheek as I slip my fingers into her hair, urging her closer.

“Come on, angel moy,” I rasp. “Show me how much you can take.”

She swirls her tongue over the head before sliding down again. Her jaw flexes, throat working, and I can feel every small tremor as she tries to take me deeper. My hips make the decision for her, pressing forward until she gags around me. Her eyes squeeze shut, but I don’t let her hide from me.

“Eyes on me.”

She breathes hard through her nose, water and spit slicking her chin. I could watch this forever.

When I ease back, a line of saliva stretches from her lips to the tip, breaking only when she leans in to take me again. I can’t stop staring; every second of it feeds something deep, dark, and primitive in me.

My thumb brushes her cheek. “You’re getting wet while you suck me, aren’t you?”

She moans, the vibration shooting straight to my balls. When her eyes, brimming with tears, flick up to meet mine, the feeling of pure possession rolls through me.

Mine .

“I’m going to come hard,” I warn her, my grip tightening on her hair. “And you’re going to swallow every last drop, aren’t you?”

She gives a small, breathless nod, and that silent yes detonates the control I’ve been clinging to.

My orgasm hits hard, pleasure so intense it borders on pain. I empty myself down her throat, and she swallows it, her throat working around me, proving how much she wants this.

All I can do after is slump back against the shower wall, breathing hard, watching the water run down her body in rivulets. She looks thoroughly fucked and absolutely beautiful.

When I can finally see straight again, I haul her up against me and kiss her, pouring every ounce of possession into the contact.

The taste of myself on her tongue is intoxicating, proof that she’s mine in every way that matters.

She melts against me, arms twining around my neck as if she never wants to let go.

Good. That’s my intention.

I turn off the water and reach for a towel to dry her off. I work my way down her body with deliberate care. When I reach her hips, I drop to my knees, drying her thighs and calves, before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss on her pussy, breathing in her scent.

“Did I hurt you?”

I wasn’t gentle with her, especially at the end. I couldn’t help taking her like I needed to.

“I’m sure I’ll be limping tomorrow.” Her fingers thread through my hair. “But it was worth it.”

I lean in and drop another barely-there kiss on her mound. She’s well-groomed, with a small landing strip of hair, which I appreciate.

“How about you spend the rest of the night sitting on my face, letting me kiss it better?”

She gives me a slow, languid smile. “I’m going to need some recovery time first.”

I guide her toward the bedroom, and she stops at the foot of my king-sized bed with its dark-gray sheets. Without a word, I pull back the covers, and she slides in, with me following after her.

When I wrap my arms around her and pull her back against my chest, something clicks into place. The feeling that this is where she’s meant to be, meant to stay. But being with her means being honest in a way I’ve never been honest with anyone before.

“I’m sorry, for earlier,” I murmur, nuzzling into her neck to enjoy the scent of my soap on her skin.

She’s quiet for a beat before she turns to face me. “You don’t have to be sorry.” Her quiet understanding breaks through my defenses. “Pavel... I can’t imagine carrying that guilt. I know you blame yourself, but it wasn’t your fault.”

I release a humorless laugh. Of course it’s my fault, but there’s no point in arguing something that can’t be undone. “I haven’t told that story in a while. It brought up memories I’ve buried for years.”

Her gaze is full of understanding. “Did you find what you needed in your studio?”

“Maybe. It’s not peace exactly. I’d call it distraction. Boxing does the same.” I press a kiss to her shoulder. “But you help me forget. You make it better.”

She gives me a sad smile. “I understand that kind of loss more than you know.”

“Your mother?”

She tilts her head. “Have you been looking into my past?”

“I did my due diligence before I came to London. I had to know everything about you.”

“Then you know my mother was murdered by another triad.”

I nod, stroking her hair when her lip quivers.

“My father was afraid his enemies would get to me too. Or at least, that’s what he said.

But now I wonder if he couldn’t deal with a grieving eight-year-old.

” Her voice goes flat, emotionless, but I can sense her hurt.

“And when my father met Simon, I felt like an afterthought. He was the chosen one. His heir. Baba loved me in his own way, but never enough to put me first when it mattered.”

I pull her closer, pressing my lips to her forehead. “You deserved better.”

“I guess we both did.”

We’re quiet as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I saw that picture of your family when I first came in.” She pauses as if trying to gauge how I’ll respond. When I stay quiet, she continues. “Kamilla looked very sweet. I can see why you tried so hard to stay together.”

I clear my throat, a half-forgotten memory surfacing.

“She was. After my parents died, I read to Kamilla every night to help her fall asleep. Fairy tales were her favorite, but she also loved stories about Viking warriors and brave princesses.” My mouth quirks at the corners.

“Where do you think I got the idea for Lukas? My mother’s father was Swedish, so it’s in the blood. ”

She pushes herself up on one elbow to study my face.

“It explains why you actually do look like a Viking.” She runs her knuckles along the stubble of my jawline before lying back down.

“I was the same way when I was a girl. My mother would read to me every night, no matter how busy she was. It was our thing. After she died, books were my escape, one of the only ways to feel connected to her.”

I pull her closer, my arm tightening around her waist. “I’m glad you had your mother for the time you did.”

“She was pretty special. I still have all these memories—like the way she’d make up voices for my stuffed animals, how she always smelled like lavender.

Sometimes she’d sneak me out for ice cream after dinner, just the two of us, no guards.

It was our little secret.” Her voice drops.

“Then one morning she kissed me goodbye at school, and I never saw her again.”

My throat tightens, picturing that eight-year-old girl trying to make sense of a senseless world.

“This was hers.” She lifts herself up, touching the jade pendant at her throat. “A gift from my father. It means ‘dawn’ in Cantonese. Maybe because my mother brought light into his dark world. He gave it to me the night?—”

She cuts herself off, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. But I know where this is going.

“The night we attacked?”

Hope nods, and I brace for her anger, but instead she studies my face with curiosity. “Why didn’t you kill me in Switzerland? After I stabbed you?”

“It’s not something I can easily put into words,” I admit. “But something in me recognized something in you that night—brokenness, fierceness, a refusal to surrender. You carved yourself into my soul, Hope. Made yourself mine before either of us knew what that meant.”

She swallows, and I watch the delicate movement of her throat.

“It’s why I walked away from you in London and never looked back.

I knew if I kept watching you, I wouldn’t stop.

I’d become obsessed. I’d find reasons to interfere in your life, to eliminate any threats, whether real or imagined.

I’d convince myself you needed my protection, whether you wanted it or not.

” My fingers stroke over her pulse point, which flutters beneath my touch.

“Staying away was the only way to let you be free.”

Her smile turns wistful. “That didn’t happen.

Simon showed up six weeks after you left.

At first, I was shocked he was even alive.

But there he was, in my flat when I got home from work.

He had this heroic story of escaping the villa—said he’d promised my father he’d live to protect me.

” She lets out a derisive sound. “At first, I was relieved to see him. After months of being completely alone and scared, Simon felt familiar. He was the only connection I had to my old life.”

Her expression sours. “But within minutes, something felt off. He started talking about rebuilding the Black Company together. Uniting through marriage. That it’s what my father would have wanted. Then I noticed his men blocking my door, and it was clear I didn’t have a choice.”

She presses her fingers to her lips for a moment.

“I’d discovered I was pregnant. I was barely making ends meet, working double shifts, living in that tiny flat.

I wanted Kin more than anything, but I couldn’t protect him alone.

So I used the only leverage I had. I agreed to play the part Simon wanted—even marry him—but only after I had my baby.

It bought me time and kept us both alive. ”

Rage builds in my chest like a slow burn. The thought of Simon cornering her when she was vulnerable, pregnant, alone… She was forced to bargain for her unborn child’s life while I turned my back on her completely.

“I always wondered how much of his story was true,” she adds.

“Probably very little.” I cup her face in my hands. “You’re safe now. You and Kin can stop running.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I can see longing mixed with something like regret. She still needs time to come around to the fact that everything she needs is right here.

After a few minutes, she shifts in my arms, looking up at me with curious eyes. “Were you really celibate for five years? I didn’t think men like you could go that long without sex.”

“Men like me?” I laugh, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” she says with a small smirk. “Dangerous, powerful, probably with women throwing themselves at you constantly.”

“I didn’t exactly plan the no-sex thing,” I admit.

“God knows I’ve had enough meaningless fucks in my life.

For years, I tried to numb myself with sex, with work, with violence.

Anything but real intimacy. Then I met you, and even though I wasn’t who I said I was, when we talked about the world, about life… that felt real.”

The vulnerability of my admission creates a charged silence between us. Her eyes search mine, something like recognition flickering there. It’s the truth. After her, there was no one else for me, even believing I’d never see her again.

“I wouldn’t let myself google Lukas after you left,” she admits quietly, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. “I thought about it. Honestly, I thought about it all the time. I even secretly hoped you would reach out to me again, even though I knew anything more was impossible. The irony is, I was worried about you becoming the Syndicate’s target. ”

A small giggle bubbles up, then another, until we’re both quietly laughing at the twisted irony of it all.

The laughter gradually fades into something warmer, more intimate. I stroke her jaw, and she leans into my touch. When her lips part, I can’t resist kissing her.

When we break apart, she’s smiling, but her eyes are heavy. I watch as exhaustion finally wins, her lashes fluttering closed and her body melting against mine.

I take in the sight of her sleeping, studying the way her lips part and her lashes fan over her golden skin. I’ve never seen anything so perfect.

Eventually, sleep takes me too.