Page 45 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

But my body didn’t listen to logic.

My pulse hammered against my skin, each beat louder than the last.

And as Matvey’s weight pressed into me, pinning me to the wall like I belonged there, need coiled hot and wild in my belly.

I kissed him harder.

Like I needed to remind myself that I was alive. That I was still mine

Even when I was inhishands.

Every cell in my body came alive under his touch. My nipples hardened beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. My core throbbed with need for the man who should’ve been my enemy, but who somehow made me feel morerealthan I ever had.

His hand slipped beneath the hem, dragging higher, until he cupped my breast and brushed his thumb over the stiff peak.

A broken sound escaped me—not quite a moan, not quite a cry.

My wrists strained in his grip. He was holding them down with one hand, easily, like I was nothing to him in strength. But inside, I wanted to hold him. To feel the hardness of his body beneath my fingers. To wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer until there was no space between us.

The hunger from that night, the one he’d left me drowning in, returned with brutal force.

I needed him.

All of him.

I bucked my hips, grinding against the hard ridge of his slacks. He groaned low in his throat, and it did something to me, made the fire twist deeper, hotter.

“You’re making me crazy,” I moaned.

His mouth dragged down my throat, leaving kisses like fire. My head tilted back, giving him everything, even as my breath turned ragged.

Then his hand slid between my thighs, hiking up the shirt with slow, devastating purpose.

I gasped as he tore my panties, the fabric snapping against my skin. Before I could speak, two fingers slid inside me, rough and deep.

My body arched. “Matvey—”

“Say it,” he growled against my throat. “Say you want me.”

“I—” My voice broke. “I want you. Please.”

He paused, breathing heavily. “You’re my wife, but you’re still acting like you belong to someone else.”

Tears stung the corners of my eyes. “I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

He kissed me hard again, like the truth had unlocked something feral in him.

In a matter of seconds, he’d moved us to the bedroom, never once breaking the kiss that consumed us—not until he sat on the bed.

And then he flipped us. I was straddling him, knees on either side of his hips, my hands braced against his chest. His cock strained beneath his pants, pressed hot and thick against me.

“Take off your shirt,” he said, his voice rough with restraint.

I did. Slowly. Exposing myself to him fully.

He stared like I’d just bared my soul. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His hands found my breasts, fingers curling around them, teasing, tugging. My head fell back, another cry tumbling from my lips.