Page 83 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

It didn’t help that I was aware of how impossibly close we stood. It didn’t help that my skin sang for this man, andmore than ever, I wantedhimto be that person to hold me. To reassure me.

I looked at his arms and wanted to remember what it felt like to be held and cradled in them.

No.

We aren’t doing this.

“Don’t,” I whispered, stepping past him, but he caught my wrist gently.

“Zoella.”

I froze at the way he said my name. It wasn’t angry or soft. Just…aching.

He pressed in, close enough that the warmth of his body seeped into my skin. His hand slid from my wrist up to my shoulder, then to my jaw, thumb brushing along the edge like he was committing the shape of me to his memory.

“We’re not doing this tonight,” I murmured, but it didn’t come out steady.

His gaze dropped to my mouth and lingered.

“No?” he asked, barely above a breath. “Who’s calling the shots?”

And then his knuckles skimmed down my side, over the thin fabric of my tube top, a light graze over my shorts, right before his fingernails dug into my hip.

My stomach clenched, my braless nipples peaked, pressing against the elastic fabric, and my breath caught.

It was the kind of touch that said “I want you” without the words. The kind that set fire to everything I’d been trying to hold in.

“Matvey…” I warned, but it sounded more like a plea.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he just looked at me like I was the only valuable thing left in his world.

And maybe that was why, when the storm finally broke between us,I didn’t stop him.

The rest of the night moved quietly.

But this quiet wasn’t eerie like before. It was welcomed, with only the sound of our pleasure rising to the roof as the air between us turned molten, thick with everything we hadn’t said—everything I was too afraid to feel.

I didn’t wait.

I yanked him close to me, my fingers sinking into his overgrown hair, needing him like I needed air.

Our mouths clashed in a heated blur of frustration and mad raging hunger, all heat and desperation, like we could erase the darkness hanging over our heads if we just kissed hard enough.

He lifted me onto the bed with a low growl and dragged down my shorts roughly, pulling the pair off my feet and throwing them to the floor.

His voice dropped to a husky tone that turned my insides to liquid.

“Spread your legs for me,” he whispered, and I did. “Perfect.”

I lay before him with my legs spread widely apart, too wet, too ready for him to devour. And when he ran his fingers over my clit, I whimpered in delight and shuddered shamelessly in anticipation.

Without any warning, his shoulders slipped between my thighs, and my breath caught.

My fingers curled into the sheets.

Then he buried his face between my legs with no hesitation or mercy.

A choked sound tore from my throat, half-moan, half-shock at just how good it felt, like I was being transported to a realm beyond the natural.