Page 9 of His Order (Dark Bratva Chronicles #2)

Anya

He enters my room abruptly, and then we stand there staring at each other. I can already feel my pussy pulsing from the heat that radiates in his eyes.

His eyes are fucking feral.He draws his lips tantalizingly close, just a few centimeters from mine, creating an almost unbearable tension in the air. When his lips finally brush against mine, a spark ignites, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through me, a sensation so powerful and consuming that it seems to extend endlessly through every fiber of my being.

Then, like the tease he is, he pulls back, but only enough for him to begin to peel away the layers of clothes off his body.

His jacket slips from his shoulders, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Next, his belt is discarded, the metallic clink echoing in the room. His fingers deftly work at the buttons of his shirt, his face drawing closer to mine. He pauses, a teasing smile playing on his lips, his breath mingling with mine.

“Got something to say, zayka?” he growls.

I smile, raise my chin, and I whisper, “Fuck you, asshole.”

He smirks and starts laughing.“You will.”

And then he grabs me. Fist tangled in my hair, the other hand on my throat. He shoves me gently back against the nearest wall.

I dig my nails into his shirt, dragging them over the exposed skin of his chest with a defiant smirk.He laughs. A low, rough sound that vibrates in my bones.

His mouth crashes onto mine with a ferocious, dominating force—teeth clashing, tongues battling, an electric surge of raw, fuck-you energy. There's not a whisper of softness, not an ounce of care.

Just claiming.

He bites my lip hard enough, and I moan into his mouth.

“You’re such a little rabbit,” he hisses, dragging my shirt off my shoulders.

He whirls me around with his hand and tears down my underwear in a savage yank, leaving my skin exposed to the biting chill of the air that assaults me just as his fingers do, igniting a fiery shock through my body.

He doesn’t start slow.

Two thick fingers shove inside me, rough and deep, and I gasp—my hands splayed against the plaster, my body arching.

“Dripping,” he growls in my ear.

I bite back a moan and glare over my shoulder. “You talk too much.”

He pulls his fingers away and slides them inside my mouth and back into me again.

“Oh fuck.” I moan. “More.”

Then he smacks my ass again. Then again. And again.

Each strike sends fire under my skin, making my thighs tremble with the mix of pain and want.

Then I feel him—pressing against me. Hard. Hot. Bare.

“Say it,” he hisses.

“Say what?” I pant.

His hand slides up my throat, over the curve of my jaw. He pushes my head to the side gently, mouth brushing my ear again.

“That you want me to devour you.”

I grind back against him, defiant. “Do it, asshole.”

His hands are on me, everywhere. Tight and unyielding. His breath is hot against my skin, each exhale sending shivers down my spine, but it’s the control that gets to me—the way he owns every inch of me.

There is something about the way he holds me that makes me want to surrender. To let go. To stop pretending I don’t crave this—the dominance, the control. The chaos.

I can barely breathe and can’t focus on anything but the way his body is pressed against mine. The weight of him is overwhelming, suffocating, and I fucking love it.

“Say it,” he growls again, his voice low and dangerous. “Tell me you want me to ruin you.”

I grit my teeth. “I don’t fucking beg anymore,” I snap.

He’s too fucking pleased with himself, and it pisses me off. But I’m not the one with the power right now.

He drags me back against him, and the feel of his cock, hard and unforgiving, makes my stomach flip. The sting from his slap still burns across my skin, a delicious reminder of how far he’s willing to take this.

“Not begging,” he mutters, his voice dropping to a dangerous pitch, “but you’re fucking begging for this. I can feel it.”

He slams his hips against me with a force that sends a shockwave through my body, making my knees give way beneath me. My body betrays me, responding instinctively before my mind can catch up; my back arches involuntarily, and my breath catches in my throat. I despise how effortlessly he strips me of control, leaving me at the mercy of this raw, overwhelming sensation.

“Don’t think for one second I don’t see right through you, Anya,” he whispers harshly. “You want this. You want me to break you.”

“I want you to shut the fuck up,” I snap, my voice shaking. I can’t back down now. I can’t let him win.

His grip tightens, his hand on my throat squeezing just enough to remind me that he could crush me if he wanted to. “You think you’re in control here, zayka?” His fingers dig into my skin as he speaks, making my pulse race. “You’re not. Not anymore.”

I dig my nails into the wall, desperate to hold on to something that doesn’t feel like him. But it’s useless. I’m fucking lost in him, in the dark, twisted energy we’ve created.

With a quick motion, Pavel spins me back around to face him. My wrists are still bound by his belt, and I hate how exposed I feel, how vulnerable, but I can’t stop myself from reaching for him.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he warns, his eyes flashing with a warning I’m not sure I want to heed.

I don’t listen. I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him down, crashing my lips into his, all teeth and aggression. He responds immediately, his mouth taking mine with a savagery that matches everything else about him. The kiss is punishing and brutal, and I feel like I’m drowning in it. But for once, I don’t care.

I’m not fighting him anymore. I’m letting him have me. Letting him destroy me.

His hands slide down my body, tracing every curve, every line as if he’s mapping me out. When his hand slips between my thighs, I gasp, the sound raw and unrestrained. He smirks against my lips, knowing precisely what he’s doing to me.

“I knew it,” he breathes. “You want this.”

And I do. God help me, I fucking do.

He doesn’t give me time to respond, doesn’t give me time to think. He pulls me back to the wall again, pressing his body against mine, his hardness grinding against me as he slides his hand lower. He’s fucking ruthless with the way he moves, taking from me, owning me.

“Say it,” he demands once more, his voice dark with command. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

I hate how much I need this. Hate how his dominance sends me spiraling. But I can’t stop it.

“Fuck you,” I rasp, my voice rough from the kiss. “Do it, you piece of shit. Ruin me.”

And that’s the last thing I say before he slams into me, the pain and pleasure colliding in a way that leaves me gasping for air, drowning in his brutality.

He doesn’t wait for my body to adjust. Doesn’t give me a chance to breathe. It’s raw and fast, too much, too fucking much, but I can’t escape it. I don’t want to.

His grip tightens on my waist, pulling me harder against him as he forces himself deeper, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge of something I can’t name. My breath comes in jagged gasps, my chest heaving with each stroke. Every part of me is on fire, consumed by the brutal rhythm he’s set, by the way he owns me, body and soul.

"Feel that?" he snarls, his voice low and demanding. "You’re mine, Anya. All fucking mine."

I don’t respond. I can’t. My mouth is dry, my mind spinning, but my body—my body fucking craves him. I can’t help the moan that slips from my lips, low and desperate, a sound I hate because it means he’s winning. It means he’s got me.

“Say it,” he demands again, his hand sliding up to tighten around my throat, forcing my head back so he can look at me, making sure I’m feeling every fucking inch of him. “Say you’re mine.”

I struggle to keep my eyes on his, the weight of his stare making my pulse race. "I’m not yours," I rasp, though the words feel like a lie as they leave my mouth.

He chuckles darkly, a sound that cuts through the thick, oppressive air around us. “You will come to accept what your body already knows.”

With that, he pulls me off the wall, turning me around and pinning me against him, his hands sliding to my hips as he starts to move again, faster this time. I can barely keep my balance, the force of him pushing me toward the edge of sanity. He doesn’t let up. Not for a second.

My hands grip his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscles as I try to steady myself. I’m spiraling, falling faster than I can control it, but it’s so fucking good. Every inch of me is alive with the burn of him inside me, the tension building in a way that makes everything feel sharp, electric.

"Tell me you want it," he demands, his voice almost a growl, as he picks up the pace.

I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But when his hand moves between us and his thumb presses against my clit, all the resistance crumbles. A broken gasp escapes me, and I curse, my body trembling under the assault.

"Fucking hell, you’re perfect, Anya," he growls, slamming into me harder.

The words rip through me.

“Please…” I whisper before I can stop myself.

He freezes, his face darkening with satisfaction.

"Please, what?" he demands, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Tell me exactly what you want."

“Fuck me,” I force out, my voice hoarse, broken. "Please, just fucking fuck me."

That’s all he needs. With a growl, he drives into me harder faster, and I’m drowning in it, in him. My body trembles as his cock plunges into me. One wave after the other, I feel him overpowering me.

The world spins as the tension snaps, and my orgasm rips through me. My body is convulsing out of control.

He doesn’t stop. Even as I come, he keeps going, relentless. He’s not done with me. Not yet.

I’m gasping, clawing at his chest, but he holds me firm, forcing me to take everything he’s giving. And when he finally lets go, when he slams into me one last time, I feel him spill inside me, and everything goes white, the room spinning as he stills, his breath ragged against my ear.

We’re both panting, bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the aftermath of what just happened. Then his mouth slips next to my ear, and he says: "By the way, you’re mine, little rabbit."

I don’t answer. I can’t because he’s right. In ways, I can’t even admit to myself yet.