Page 56 of His Darkest Obsession (Baryshev Bratva #1)

ANATOLY

I bend down and gingerly kiss Indigo. Her lips are soft and warm against mine, and for a heartbeat, she seems hesitant, almost as if she wasn't expecting me to do so.

My heart falters, wondering if I've misunderstood what she wanted.

But then her lips open further and she starts kissing me back.

Relief floods through me. I cradle her face in my hands, feeling the warmth of her skin under my palms.

The water cascades around us, steam rising to envelop us in our own private world. Her hands find my shoulders and her fingers press into my skin as she pulls herself closer to me.

I kiss her slowly and reverently. My tongue traces the shape of her mouth and commits it to memory while hers darts forth to entwine with mine. The roughness of moments earlier is all but forgotten.

Now, all that exists between us is a tenderness that neither of us prepared for but both of us desperately needs.

I want her to feel the promise in this kiss—that I will be her husband in every way that matters. That I will protect her. That I will never let anyone hurt her again.

She presses her body against me, letting her nipples and breast slide against the hard lines of my torso. Tiny moans bubble up from the depth of her throat and I drink them down as soon as I taste them on my lips.

Her hand moves from my shoulder to the back of my neck, and her fingers rake through my wet hair as our tongues slide against each other.

She's perfect. Absolutely perfect. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

I know there will be blowback for what happened today.

But right now, none of that matters.

The only thing I care about is this incredible woman in my arms.

I reluctantly break our kiss, pulling back just enough to look at Indigo properly. Her lips are red and quivering, slightly swollen from our kisses. Her soft hazel eyes lock with mine, wide and vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache.

"Indigo," I whisper, her name a prayer on my lips.

I run my hand down her back, my touch feather-light against her skin. The water creates a slick path for my fingers to follow along the delicate curve of her spine until it rests at the curve of her ass.

She responds by tilting her head back to expose the elegant line of her throat to me.

I can see the traces of what I did to her earlier—small purple bruises blooming like violent flowers against her bronzed caramel skin. Evidence of my anger, my desperation, my need to retake control after she'd ridden me with almost reckless abandon on the floor.

Bending down, I press my lips to the first mark, and then another, and another.

Each kiss is soft and gentle. They're meant to be my own way of trying to erase the evidence of our earlier roughness.

An apology without words.

My other hand roams down her body, cupping her breast and giving it a gentle squeeze. The weight of it fits perfectly in my palm, as if she were made for me. She rewards me with a small moan, and her neck vibrates against my lips as I lick down to the sensitive patch of skin by her collarbone.

That sound tugs deep in my stomach, and sends a wet, warm heat gushing through my core. My cock starts to harden again as blood rushes south with dizzying speed.

Then I feel her delicate fingers sliding down my body, moving slowly along the ridges of my abs before finding the smooth hard shaft. I step forward and she follows my lead back until she's pressed against the wall while warm water pools in the space between us.

"Not yet," I tell her as I resume kissing her.

"Please..." Indigo begs, her voice catching on the word, making it sound more desperate than I think she intended.

I continue working my way down, trailing kisses along the elegant column of her throat, across her collarbone, and down to her chest. The water cascades over us both, making her skin glisten in the soft bathroom light. When

I finally reach her breast and scrape my tongue over her left nipple, feeling it harden in my mouth.

She gasps—a sharp, needy sound—and responds by grasping me firmly by my cock. Her fingers wrap around me with just the right amount of pressure as she slowly strokes up and down.

I'm still sensitive and aching from earlier, and my flesh tender from our rough encounter.

But I let her continue all the same.

This isn't about me anymore. It's about making her feel good.

It's about making her feel loved.

Because that's what I feel about her. I love her.

The realization isn't shocking—it's been building for weeks, and perhaps I knew I was destined to love her from the moment I saw her—but the clarity of it in this moment is overwhelming.

I love this woman with her blue hair and her fierce defiance and her broken pieces that somehow fit so perfectly with mine.

My hand moves away from the irresistible curve of her ass and slips under her thigh. The other hand mirrors the motion.

She yelps when I lift her up so effortlessly as if she weighs nothing and hold her suspended between my body and the slick tiles of the shower wall.

Her moans are getting louder now with each circle I make around her tightening nipple, and she adds her other hand to the mix, cradling and fondling my heavy balls while her other hand slowly strokes my cock.

I release her nipple from my mouth, and she whimpers at the sudden absence. Shifting my grip on her thighs, I begin to lift her higher against the shower wall.

She reluctantly releases me and moves her hands to brace against my shoulders. The absence of her touch leaves me momentarily bereft, almost making me wish I could bring her back down.

But not yet. I need to do this first.

I continue lifting her up the wall, my eyes refusing to look away from hers the entire time. Her soft fingers slide through my hair to grip them gently at the roots. Her breathing turns ragged and uneven as understanding dawns in those beautiful hazel eyes.

"You want me to make love to you like you're my wife?" I ask softly, my voice barely audible over the sound of cascading water.

She nods, her wet blue hair clinging to her flushed cheeks. "Yes..."

I kiss my way down her stomach, my lips leaving a trail of heat across her skin as I continue raising her up in my arms. Heat rolls off her body as I hold her steady.

The intoxicating scent of her pussy beckons me lower and lower until I'm exactly where I want to be. I nip gently at her hip bone, relishing in the softness of her skin.

"Please..." she whispers, her voice trembling with need.

I lick along her thighs, and feel slight bump of the scars that still dot them.

But for the first time, I no longer feel rage.

Instead, I feel this hot sweet pressure to keep her right here with me, to hold her like this, and to show her just what she means to me.

When I finally reach my destination, I lick her from ass to clit in a single long stroke of my tongue before closing my lips around her throbbing clit.

She cries out in response, the sound echoing off the shower walls.

Fingers tighten in my hair. Her body shudders against my powerful arms. Incoherent sounds punch out from her throat as I start to feast.

I devour her with hungry, deliberate strokes of my tongue, savoring every drop of sweetness. Each lick draws a higher pitch from her throat, her moans climbing an invisible scale of pleasure.

Her thighs tremble against my palms as I hold her steady against the shower wall.

"Tolya..." she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair, pulling just enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain down my spine.

The sound of my diminutive on her lips sends another shot of heat straight to my dick, and I slip my tongue past her slippery folds.

She begins rolling her hips against my mouth, setting a rhythm that I match without hesitation. Her body softens and melts into my touch, soft and pliant.

I collect every drop of her essence and swallow it all down, not daring to miss a single drop.

"Yes..." she whimpers, her voice breaking. "Yes... Yes... Yes..."

I open my eyes and look up, needing to see her come undone.

And what I see steals my breath.

Her head is thrown back in pleasure against the wall. Her blue hair with her natural coppery roots plasters over her forehead, her neck, and her chest in wet messy strands. Her breasts rise and fall rapidly with each breath, nipples hard and quivering with each shudder of pleasure rocking her body.

She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I double my efforts, circling her clit with the tip of my tongue before drawing it between my lips. Her thighs begin to shake more violently against my palms.

"I'm close," she pants, her voice desperate. "So close, Anatoly..."

Her words fuel my desire to please her. I hum against her clit, sending vibrations through her most sensitive flesh. Her back arches away from the wall as she pants and cries out, her voice echoing off the tile.

And then, she comes. Her body goes rigid, thighs clamping around my head as waves of pleasure crash through her. Her fingers pull my hair almost painfully as she rides out her orgasm against my mouth.

When her orgasm finally subsides and her body goes slack against me, I lower her slowly until the head of my cock nudges against her entrance.

She's still trembling from the aftershocks, and her eyes flutter open as she tries to catch her breath.

"You okay?" I murmur against her neck.

She nods, her chest still heaving.

When her breathing steadies, I take her lips again. This time, there's no hesitation. She kisses me back with a fierce hunger and her tongue sweeps into my mouth to taste herself. She rakes her nails down my back, leaving trails of sweet fire in their wake.

I ease into her slowly, inch by careful inch, savoring the way her body stretches and opens for me and only me. She's impossibly tight and her pussy grips me like she never wants to let go.

Hot. Wet. Perfect.

She breaks away from our kiss, her head falling back against the shower wall. "Oh God. Oh yes. Yes…"

When I'm finally buried to the hilt inside her, I can't hold back my own groan. The feeling of being completely surrounded by her is almost too much to bear. I press my lips to her ear, my voice rough with desire.

"Are you ready, printsessa?"

Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she breathes. "Stop talking about fucking me and fuck me already."

I pull out almost completely before driving back into her with one powerful thrust. Her body jolts, a broken moan escaping her lips. I repeat the motion—out, then in—establishing a rhythm that has her clinging to me, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist.

"You feel so good," I growl against her ear, mixing Russian and English as I thrust into her again and again. "Tak khorosho... so tight. Moya britvochka..."

Between each word and each thrust, I claim her mouth, swallowing her whimpers and cries.

Her legs tighten around my waist and locks me in place.

The feeling of being trapped inside her—of being held prisoner by her body—is more addicting than any drug I've ever known.

Each time I try to pull back, her ankles cross behind me, refusing to let me go until I'm buried balls deep again.

"Don't leave me," she whispers against my mouth.

“Never.”

The water continues to pour over us, steam caressing our bodies as I drive into her with increasing urgency. Her back slides against the shower wall with each thrust, and her nails leave half-moons in my shoulders.

My entire body is straining toward release. The tension building at the base of my spine threatens to consume me whole. Even as I'm claiming her, I'm also being claimed by her.

She whimpers suddenly, her voice high and needy. The sound vibrates through me.

And finally pushes me over the edge.

Pressure builds and breaks. Pleasure crashes through me in violent waves. And as my release overwhelms me, I strain to get the words out—the truth I can no longer deny.

"I—" The admission of love is right there on my tongue, desperate to be spoken into existence.

But before I can say it, she pulls me in for a deep, consuming kiss that drains the air from my lungs, swallowing my confession as I empty myself inside her.