Page 39 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

One finger slides inside me, then another, and my pussy stretches to accommodate him.

"Anatoly," I fall forward and crash my lips against his.

He kisses me back fiercely as his tongue matches the rhythm of his fingers. My hips rock against his hand, chasing the pleasure building inside me. Now it's my turn to moan and his turn to swallow them as each tiny sound bubbles forth.

His thumb circles my clit, and coherent thought become nearly impossible.

But only nearly.

I still have enough of my wits to break the kiss and press my forehead against his, panting.

"Do you still mean what you said on our wedding day?" I whimper as his fingers take me closer to my breaking point. "That you won't fuck me until I beg?"

He responds by curling his fingers inside me to touch my G spot that sends stars exploding behind my eyelids every time they flutter close.

"Yes, britvochka," he promises, his voice strained with restraint. "I do"

I shower his face in kisses, tasting his eyelids, his nose, his lips, and his cheeks.

My mouth scrape over his beautiful features until my face is pressed against his against his and my lips are brushing his ear.

Every breath comes out as another short, desperate pants.

Pleasure and the dull ache of emptiness build between my legs.

"Then in that case." I give his ear a tiny nibble. "Please."

Anatoly's free hand reaches up, fists my hair, and gives it a sharp yank to expose my throat to him. A gasp tumbles from my lips. The fingers buried inside me pulls out, and leave me empty and aching. So much so that I almost beg him to come back when I feel him tugging my panties aside.

He looks at me, his blue eyes burning with desire, like he doesn't quite believe what he just heard.

"Say it again," he whispers, his voice thick with need. "I need to hear you say it again."

I reach down between us, fingers fumbling with his zipper. The sound of it sliding down seems impossibly loud in the quiet room. I free his massive cock from his pants, and wrap my hand around its thick and heavy length.

The scent of his arousal fills the air between us, musky and intoxicating.

His cock feels hot against my fingers, so smooth and thick and masculine.

I give it a slow up and down pump, letting the slippery precum coat my fingers when I reach the head before bringing it all the way down to the base of the shaft, and my heart skips a beat when I feel it give a phantom of a twitch.

"Please," I whisper, my eyes locked on his. Then, for good measure, I add, "Please fuck me."

Anatoly's jaw clenches and his gaze intensifies as he stares at me.

"Again," he demands, his voice straining.

I shift my hips and hands, moving up slightly and then back down until I feel him pressing at my entrance. But he holds me there with a single strong hand to keep me from taking him inside.

I whimper in frustration.

"Please fuck me," I say again, louder than before, my voice breaking on the words.

He inches the head of his beautiful cock inside of me, spearing my wet and dripping pussy with that delicious wet heat. But he goes no further. The slight intrusion only makes the emptiness worse, teasing me with what could be mine.

Of what should be mine.

I know what he's doing.

He won't fuck me until I beg him properly. Until he is absolutely certain that this is exactly what I want.

So I beg him again, abandoning all pride and pretense.

"Please, Anatoly, I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me. Please."

Each plea earns me another inch of him, stretching me further and further as he pushes deeper. I clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as I keep begging.

"Please," I cry. "Please. Please. Please."

With every breathless "please" that falls from my lips, he rewards me with another inch until he finally buries himself completely inside of me from root to tip.

A tremor rushes through me when he's finally nestled deep inside of me. My breath comes out hard and uneven. I've never been so full before in my life.

I'll never be so full again ever again in my life.

His hand moves away from my hips to cradle my face in their reassuring warmth.

"One final time, britvochka," he whispers. "Just so I know that this is exactly what you want."

I clench my pussy, feel his heart pulsing against my slick walls, and I nip his lips one more time.

"Please," I mew. "Please fuck me."

Anatoly fixes me with a dark and hungry stare that makes my breath catch in my throat. But there's no menace in his eyes. His fist remains tangled in my hair, keeping my head tilted back, throat exposed, vulnerable.

"You begged for this," he tells me, his voice rough. "Never forget that."

He withdraws until only the tip of him remains inside me, the sudden emptiness making me whimper. Then with one powerful thrust, he buries himself completely once again.

The force of it drives all air from my lungs. My mouth opens in a silent scream as my body struggles to accommodate his size. Before I can recover, he pulls back and plunges into me again, even harder.

"Fuck!" I shriek.

Each thrust feels like he's reshaping me from the inside out, remolding me and breaking me into something I can't recognize. My body yields and stretches and shifts to make space for him like I was made for him and only for him.

His to hold.

His to protect.

His to fuck and own.

Forever.

Anatoly establishes a rhythm, rough and merciless and completely addictive.

Every heavy stroke hits something deep inside me and sends lights dancing behind my eyelids. I roll my hips to meet him, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more of everything he's giving me.

A moan tears from my throat as the initial shock transforms into waves of pleasure. My fingernails dig crescents into his shoulders through his shirt and I squeeze my eyes shut again, overwhelmed by sensation.

The sharp tug on my hair forces my eyes open.

"Open those pretty eyes, britvochka," Anatoly commands, his voice a raspy growl. "And look at me when I fuck you."

I obey, meeting his gaze. The connection feels more intimate than his cock inside me. In his eyes, I see everything I've been trying to deny since the moment he walked into that barbershop.

That this is what I wanted all along. Not safety. Not protection. Him. This beautiful, terrifying man who kills without remorse but looks at me like I'm something precious.

I don't care that he's dangerous. I don't care about the blood on his hands. He can kill thousands and burn this city to ashes, and I would still want him—because every violent act would be for me and me alone.

He grabs my hand and twists it behind my back while his other hand holds my head and neck in place. But instead of feeling constricted and restrained, I feel freer than I ever felt.

There's no more pretending of who I am and what I want because he's the only thing that I will ever need.

Each thrust now pulls a scream from my lips. My body tightens around him as pressure builds, threatening to shatter me completely. My eyes flutter closed again.

"Keep them open," he commands. "And look at me while you come for me."

I obey and open my eyes to meet Anatoly's burning gaze—fierce, possessive, and triumphant.

And the moment our eyes connect, I shatter.

The orgasm hits me with a violent force and sweeps through every cell in my body. I feel myself coming apart completely, fracturing under his hands and around his cock.

"Who are you coming for?" he growls as he continues his relentless pace.

"You!"

My body convulses against his, muscles clenching and releasing in waves I can't control. I try to keep my eyes open but the sensation is too much—my eyelids slam shut as a scream tears from my throat.

Anatoly's grip on my hair tightens and he yanks my head back further to expose my neck. His hot mouth latches onto my pulse point. Teeth scrapes against my scraping sensitive skin.

"Who gets to fuck you?"

"You! Only you!"

His hips snap up relentlessly, fucking me through each aftershock of my orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until it blurs the line between pleasure and pain.

But I don't care. Because in this moment, I would let him fuck me until I bleed.

"Who do you belong to?" He snarls against my throat.

"You," I gasp, barely coherent as my body continues to pulse around him.

His hand around my wrist tightens, pinning my arm harder behind my back and transforming me into nothing more than his cocksleeve.

"You're so fucking wet," he praises with one thrust after another. "So fucking tight. Like you're made for my cock. Like this is where you fucking belong."

Yes! Yes! Yes!

The intensity builds again and I'm lost in the sensation, all of it so messy and wet and rough. I turn my head, seeking something, anything to ground me as I scream.

The sound comes out muffled against the pounding of my heart in my head and throat and pussy.

And only when the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth do I realize that I bit down on his shoulder.

And drew his blood for a fourth time.

That's when Anatoly's body tightens underneath me. His cock flutters and twitches. I know what's about to happen a second before it happens. For a moment, I think that I should tell him to not cum inside of me, that I can't let him cum inside of me.

But that moment passes, and instead, my pussy clamps down around his shivering cock as it thick ropes of semen fills me up and marks me from the inside.

The heat of his release triggers another orgasm and sends it crashing through me again. I'm sobbing against his shoulder, trembling and quivering as he holds me tight against his body and empties his balls.

I collapse against Anatoly's chest, my body still shuddering with aftershocks. His arms wrap around me and hold me close as our sweat-slicked bodies cling together.

Lungs burning, I struggle to catch my breath. Each inhale carries his scent deeper into me until I know I'll never get him out.

Not that I ever want to get him out.

Slowly, the realization of what we just did crashes down on me.

I just let him finish inside me. No protection. Nothing between us. The most reckless thing I could have done.

I begged for him. I surrendered control. I gave him power over me.

Total, absolute power.

Not because he made me do it.

But because I wanted him to do it.

I lift my head and look into those piercing blue eyes only to find something unfamiliar there.

Something soft and gentle that makes my chest ache.

"That was reckless," I whisper.

"It was, britvochka." His thumb traces my lower lip. "Does that scare you?"

"Yes," I admit, the truth spilling out before I can stop it. "But also no."

And that's the God honest truth.

Because what I feel is something other than fear and numbness.

Something that feels suspiciously like hope.

And if the last two years have taught me anything, it's that hope is the most dangerous thing of them all.