Page 50 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

Then, slowly, I circled around her, both hands around hers, rearranging the angle of her fists as if I had that right.

Which I did.

Her skin was flushed from being outdoors, her pulse racing beneath her wrists.

“You’ve got too much weight in your shoulders,” I murmured, voice husky against the curve of her ear. “Keep your posture centered. Let the hips lead.”

She didn’t say a word in response, but the tension in her body was in all the right places.

I slid one hand lower, nudging her elbow, while the other hand was on her waist to center her stance.

The feel of her, the scent of her—light perfume, fresh sweat, the memories of what we did last night—everything hit me like heat under the ribs.

“You smell like last night,” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper.

She gasped.

“I can still feel you,” I went on, lips against the rim of her ear. “Tight. Wet. Clinging onto me like you never wanted it to end.”

She sucked in a breath, her back arching, but she didn’t pull away because we both knew she hadn’t forgotten.

The way she’d fucked me, the way she’d talked to me with her body long before she’d ever said a word with her mouth, and the way she gripped me like I was the only real thing she had left.

Her hips shifted, and I smiled.

“Good,” I whispered. “Use that tension. That’s how you hit harder.”

She turned her face, and I couldn’t tell if she just wanted to look at me or if a retort was about to slip through those lips of hers. But before she could utter a word, a sharp cough cut through the moment.

We both whipped around to see who it was.

A maid stood at the end of the garden path, eyes lowered, hands clasped in front of her apron.

“Excuse me, sir. Madam. Breakfast is served.”

Zoella shook her hands free from mine and stepped back as if I had burned her.

I didn’t say anything. Just stood there and let her go, fists clenched tight, back still rigid, but her ears had turned bright red.

We walked back to the house together in the sunlight, sunlight glinting off the tall windows of the estate, the stone path warm beneath my feet.

Zoella’s arms were crossed tightly, jaw set, chin held high. She was the very epitome of smug nonchalance. Still, I saw the tremble in her fingers and the flush still blooming just below the curve of her collarbone.

I leaned in, running my hand lightly over the curve of her waist. Just enough pressure to make her know that I could do so whenever I wanted.

She didn’t flinch, but she did stumble. Half a step.

“Careful,” I murmured. “You’re still a bit tender from last night,kotyonok.”

Her scowl could’ve cracked glass. “From your ego, perhaps?”

I grinned. “You didn’t seem to mind my ego last night.”

“That was…. I’m not usually that way. Last night was different, rare.”

My lips curled with a smirk at her excuse. It was amusing to watch her crack her head so badly and come up with that. “Then let’s make you cry out for it often.”

She rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Is that meant to be sexy? You’re like a Bond villain who’s run out of jokes.”