Page 44 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

INDIGO

FOUR WEEKS LATER

"OH FUCK!"

My body rises off the bed, trembling as another orgasm tears through me. Anatoly buries his face against my neck while his fingers dig into my hips to hold me in place as he rides out his own release.

His breaths are ragged against my ear as he trails hot kisses along my cheeks.

"You're going to kill me, britvochka," he murmurs.

I laugh, panting. "Not if you kill me first."

Anatoly shifts, rolling to his side but keeping one possessive arm draped across my stomach.

His blue eyes roam over my naked body with that intense focus that still makes me shiver.

I run my own hand down the hard ridges of his tattooed body and close my fingers around the thick smooth shaft of his cock.

"Again?" he asks with a knowing smirk.

"Yes," I gasp, not caring how desperate I sound. "Please."

The pleading does something to him. It always does. He loves when I beg now, even though it took me so long to surrender that first time.

But now? I'd beg for him without hesitation.

On my back. On my knees. In his arms. Upside down.

Like me, he also can't get enough.

His eyes darken and he captures my lips in a crushing kiss that drains the breath from my lungs. My hand starts to move, and with each up-and-down stroke, his cock starts growing harder again.

His hand slips between my thighs to find me wet and slippery with both of us. A single finger pushes inside and my hand starts moving faster in response. My free hand grips him by the back of his neck and pulls him closer so that he can swallow my moan as the pleasure builds inside me again.

I've become so desperate, needy, and shameless in my wanting of him. Anatoly has unlocked something primal in me to match the darkness in him.

His heartbeat drums steadily between my fingers as I bring him back to full hardness. He responds by stretching me open again with his fingers before he flips me on my stomach and shoving himself back in.

I loved it when he fucks me like this, with my face down and ass up. His powerful body completely covers mine. His hand grasps a fistful of my hair. Sweat falls down like warm cozy rain on my back, and his cock sets a punishing pace in my sore yet hungry pussy.

After both of us collapse from exertion, boneless and breathless, he pulls me close to him, whispering filthy Russian endearments in my ear as I milk his cock dry.

And that's when the best part happens.

Because every time after we fuck like this, he'll pull me close to his chest while he sits on his haunches so that I might nestle myself in his warm embrace while his cock rests inside of me.

And every time he pulls me up, I wriggle my sweaty back against his muscular torso and turn to bring his lips to mine for a kiss that I never want to end.

It's moments like these—the quiet aftermath to our marathon of sex—that I cherish above all else.

"What are you thinking?" His voice is a low rumble in his chest against my back when he finally breaks the kiss.

I lean back against his shoulder, look up at his eyes, and smile through my exhaustion. "That you've ruined me for anyone else."

"Good."

His arm tightens possessively around me. One hand grasps my throat while the other draws slow lazy circles around my clit.

"Now who's trying to kill who?" I breathe as my pussy flutters reflexively under his touch and my hips start rolling on their own.

Suddenly, three sharp knocks knock against the door, quick and urgent, just as his cock starts hardening again.

"Leave it," I whisper. "Fuck me again. Just one more time."

He presses a kiss to my shoulder. A kiss becomes a bite. And then his hips start to move.

But the knock comes again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

This time, it's joined by Roma's voice. "Tolya! We need to talk. Now."

"Fuck." Anatoly snarls as he releases me. "I can't ignore this."

Suddenly, everything falls away. The warmth of his body. The possessive hand around my neck. The sharp scrape of teeth on my shoulder.

And then the hard shaft of his cock pulls out of me, and I whimper at the sudden emptiness.

I turn slowly and watch him as he steps off the bed and pulls on his pants without a single wasted movement.

"I'll be right back," he says, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"I should get up too," I stretch languidly before sitting up. My heart skips a beat when I see him staring. "It's getting late. We can pick this up after you're done."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He presses a kiss to my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then finally on my lips.

Then, he opens the door just enough to slip through, and then closes it shut behind him.

I fall back against the sweat-soaked sheets. My heart pounds like it might burst through my ribs. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air.

It's been four weeks of this. Four weeks of surrendering to desires I'd locked away for the last two years. Each time we come together, I feel myself breaking apart in the most delicious way against his hands, his mouth, and his cock.

And yet every time we finish, I can't wait for more. My body feels alive in ways I never thought possible. I crave him constantly, like an addiction I have no interest in breaking.

But I can't stay in this bed forever, at least not without him here.

I force myself to rise from the comfort of our bed, wincing a little as I stand on rubbery knees. My body aches in the most satisfying way possible. Every sore muscle reminds me of Anatoly's hands, his mouth, his body against mine.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I cross the room. My red hair is now coming in at the roots, and my skin is decorated with fresh marks from Anatoly's mouth.

I grab a soft t-shirt and cotton shorts I'd carelessly thrown to the side of the bed last night. They smell like him now. Everything does.

After slipping them on, I check myself in the mirror again and run my fingers through my messy hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it. It's pointless. Anyone who sees me will know exactly what I've been doing.

I open the bedroom door and step into the hallway, feeling the cool air against my overheated skin. The mansion is quiet except for muffled voices coming from Anatoly's study.

I walk slowly, my bare feet silent against the polished hardwood.

There's something about moving through this place that still feels surreal.

A month ago, I was barely scraping by, and now I'm living in this fortress of luxury.

A month ago, I was hollow and numb, and now I'm... what?

Happy? I'm not sure that's the right word, but it's something close.

I glance at the ornate grandfather clock in the hallway and notice it's almost ten in the morning. I've lost track of time in Anatoly's arms again.

Svetlana is nowhere to be seen. She must be with Amara at school by now.

The two of them have grown surprisingly close over these past four weeks. Amara was suspicious at first—who wouldn't be when their sister suddenly marries into the Russian mafia?—but Svetlana's dry humor and unwavering honesty won her over.

I smile as I think about how protective Svetlana has become, escorting Amara everywhere with that dangerous grace of hers. I'm grateful for their friendship.

My stomach growls, and I feel a slight queasiness from hunger.

I haven't eaten any real food since last night. I head downstairs to the kitchen, where I assemble a quick breakfast of yogurt and fresh berries.

The food calms my stomach a little, and after eating, I wander to the library that has become almost a second home for me.

I scan the shelves until I find the novel I started yesterday. Book in hand, I walk back down the hallway toward the manicured lawn. As I pass Anatoly's office, I hear raised voices from within. I recognize Roma's urgent tone and Anatoly's deeper, more controlled responses.

I slow my steps. I shouldn't eavesdrop. This isn't my business.

But that's when I hear a third voice.

A smooth and rich baritone that sounds like a jackhammer ripping up the concrete sidewalks to me.

Wait, what?

The world spins around my feet, and the book falls from my hand, clattering to the floor. I feel the light breakfast I just had rising back up before I swallow it back down.

I glance around to make sure no one's watching, then creep closer to the heavy door and press my ear against it, heart racing and breaking with every word I hear.