Page 84 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

My back arched instinctively, hips twitching toward his mouth as he dragged his tongue through my wet pussy like he was starved for the taste.

He groaned, nipped at my clit, and pleasure unfurled in me like fire licking up dry wood: fast, greedy, and all-consuming.

I clenched the sheets tighter, grounding myself against the onslaught of sensation.

My thighs trembled around his head, and I could barely hear anything over the sound of my pulse racing.

Every flick of his tongue and low growl that vibrated against me pushed me closer to the edge.

And he didn’t stop. He wanted me undone, shaking, shattered in his hands.

And I was so close to giving him exactly that until he paused, raised his head, and left me in painful suspense.

“Mat—”

“Hush, baby.” He smirked, starting for the buttons on his dress shirt. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He peeled his shirt off. His pants went next.

Truly a god. Much more perfect than Poseidon.

His body was solid and warm as he pressed me down into the sheets and nestled his cock between my thighs.

I gasped his name against his throat, and he groaned like the sound of it undid him.

Outside this room, everything was spiraling. There was still the masked man on the loose. But right now, I didn’t care.

Right now, it was just him.

The press of his body over mine. The hard drag of his mouth on my neck. The way his eyes locked on mine like he was shattering and holding the pieces together with only his will.

Every touch lit a raw fire inside me.

With each firm and purposeful thrust of his hips, pummeling his cock deeper and deeper inside of me, I feltbranded, claimed, pulled under by the current I was not sure we would ever truly escape.

For a few quiet hours, there was no Bratva, haunting nightmares of dying at a killer’s hands, or fear of danger.

It was just us,me and Matvey,burning slow and hot in the dark.

Chapter 24 – Matvey

The light from the study window cut across the dark lawn, and I stood behind the sheer curtain, watching her.

Zoella was out on the patio, barefoot, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It was partially dark outside, with the surrounding lamps providing warm lighting. The men stationed outside took turns rotating who would stand farther off and closer to her.

But she seemed unbothered and just stayed there, staring out into the distance, with one hand cradling the small curve of her stomach.

After two months, her bump had become slightly more visible.

The moonlight kissed her skin, but even from here, I saw the shift in her shoulders, the tension she thought she hid so well.

I’d learned to read fear a long time ago, learned to see the way it silently crept in like smoke beneath a door.

Lately, I saw it in her eyes. That flicker of fear she tried to blink away whenever she looked at me. As if she didn’t want me to see it. As if I didn’t already know it was there.

Some days, she was quiet, keeping her distance, wrapped in her own thoughts. Other days, she wore her brave face, firing off sharp words with a lifted chin and having her usual fire in her tone.

But she didn’t hide it well enough because I could always tell. I’d seen too many people pretend they weren’t breaking to be fooled now.