Page 107 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

Just when I think I’ll suffocate from the lack of air, he pulls out of me and picks me up in one fluid motion, planting me on the lounge chair on all fours. He’s mindless, animalistic, and it’s exhilarating that it’s me who drives him to this point.

With no warning, he slams into me, driving me into the chair. I hold on for support, lost in the pleasure barreling through me at back-breaking speed.

“Fuck,” he growls again, leaning into my back to wrap his arms around me and tweak my nipple. I bite back a whimper, his name falling out of my lips like a prayer.

“Adrian….”

“Yes…I’m here.” His other hand slides down and squeezes my clit. “I’m here.”

I scream as an orgasm slams into me like an avalanche. I’m falling, but Adrian holds me upright, slamming into me a few more times before he grunts and crashes against me, getting lost in his wave of passion.

For a moment, neither of us moves. We’re stuck in a boneless heap, trying to catch our breath. Then, he gathers meinto his arms like I’m something precious, something fragile. Like he can’t believe I’m real and here and his. His large hands trace slow, calming circles over my bare back as he pulls me down with him onto the chair again.

I end up sprawled on top of him, my cheek resting over his heart, our skin damp and warm, our breaths still a little uneven.

The silence wraps around us like a second blanket.

His heartbeat thuds steadily beneath my ear. I close my eyes and breathe him in—his skin, his scent, the faint trace of cologne clinging to his chest. He smells like safety now. Like mine.

His fingers tangle lazily in my hair, and I can feel how relaxed he is under me. It’s the kind of peace I didn’t think we could have. Not him. Not me. Not us.

And yet here we are.

I shift slightly, trying to get more comfortable, and he tightens his hold around me like he doesn’t want me to move.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur against his skin.

“Good,” he says, voice gravelly. “Because I’d go fucking insane.”

I smile. He makes it so easy now—to smile, to breathe, to feel like this kind of happiness is allowed.

I press a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart, and whisper, “You’re stuck with me now.”

His laugh is soft. Barely there. But it’s real.

“Best fucking decision I’ve ever made,” he says.

I curl tighter into him, letting the rhythm of his breath lull me.

For once, the world outside this room doesn’t matter. We stay there for a while. Me on top of him. His hands still moving slowly up and down my spine like he’s memorizing me. Like he’s making sure I don’t disappear.

Eventually, he speaks. His voice is low, serious. A bit heavier than before.

“This life isn’t easy, Jennie,” he says. “It’s not romantic all the time. It’s bloody. Ruthless. You’ve already seen the beginning of it.”

I lift my head, resting my chin on his chest so I can see his face. His eyes are stormy. Haunted. A part of him thinks I’ll pull away again.

But I don’t.

“I have you,” I tell him softly. “Nothing can go wrong if I have you.”

His jaw clenches like that both comforts and terrifies him.

“I’m not trying to scare you. But people will come for you again. Because of me. Because of my name.” He swallows. “That means you can’t just be mine. You have to be dangerous too.”

He reaches toward the floor, finds his discarded trousers, and pulls something from the pocket.

A knife.