Page 19 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

The short walk to the front door blurred into a series of breathless kisses and wandering hands.

Kostya pressed her against the wood while he fumbled with the keys, his mouth dragging fire down her throat.

She barely noticed when the lock gave way, only felt the urgency in his touch, the need simmering just beneath his skin.

“Your room or mine?” he rasped.

“Yours,” she answered without thinking, the word spilling out on a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

He didn’t question it. Just scooped her up into his arms, carrying her up the stairs like she weighed nothing. Azriel clung to him, marveling at the sheer strength of his body, the way he made her feel both delicate and powerful at once.

His bedroom was huge, larger than her old apartment, rich with dark wood and velvet textures, but she had no time to register more than shadows and warmth before he set her down at the edge of his massive bed, cupping her face in his hands.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes searching hers, his thumbs brushing softly over her cheeks. “Because if we do this, Azriel... there’s no going back. Not for me.”

“I’m sure,” she whispered, and she was.

The kiss that followed was different. Fierce, aching, full of a hunger so deep it bordered on reverence. His hands explored her body slowly, reverently, as though he needed to memorize her shape, learn every inch with his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, pressing kisses along her jaw, her neck, down to her collarbone. “So fucking perfect.”

He unzipped her dress with agonizing care, peeling it off her like a gift he’d waited too long to open.

It pooled at her feet, leaving her in just her bra and panties.

She should’ve felt bare, exposed, but the way he looked at her?

Like she was art and fire and something holy? It made her feel powerful. Worshipped.

“Let me see you,” she whispered, tugging at his shirt.

He stripped quickly, no show, no teasing, and the sight of him stole her breath. She’d felt his strength, but seeing it? The carved lines of his chest, the defined muscles, the golden skin dusted with dark hair—it set something low in her belly alight.

He lifted her effortlessly, laying her across the bed and climbing over her, his weight caging her in the most delicious way. The press of his body against hers was intoxicating. Grounding. Perfect.

“I want to worship every inch of you,” he said, lips brushing her skin. “Want to make you forget everything but my name.”

And then he did exactly that.

His mouth moved slowly, pressing kisses along her collarbone, the tops of her breasts, the slope of her stomach. He unhooked her bra and discarded it gently, as if it were sacred. The moment his mouth closed around her nipple, she arched off the bed with a strangled cry.

“So responsive,” he murmured, flicking his tongue over the now-sensitive peak, then dragging it slowly to the other breast. “Do you know how many nights I’ve lain in this bed, imagining you here beneath me?”

She couldn’t answer. Could only gasp, hands diving into his hair, holding him close as he took his time worshipping her chest, her ribs, her belly. Every kiss, every touch, built her arousal higher and higher, a slow, burning heat that made her writhe beneath him.

When he finally hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, she lifted her hips in silent permission. He slid them down slowly, dragging them over her thighs, kissing every inch of skin he exposed.

“Perfect,” he said again, voice thick. “Absolutely perfect.”

Then he settled between her thighs, spreading her open with gentle hands, and looked at her like she was a feast he’d been starving for.

The first drag of his tongue over her made her cry out, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

He hummed against her, pleased, and did it again, slow, deliberate, savoring every reaction.

He explored her with his mouth like he had all the time in the world, alternating between broad strokes and soft flicks that sent her nerves into overdrive.

Azriel fisted the sheets, her body trembling under the slow, relentless rhythm of his tongue. He licked her with maddening precision, then sucked gently on her clit, sending white-hot shocks through her.

“Kostya, God, please,” she gasped, not even sure what she was begging for.

He didn’t answer. He just slipped two fingers inside her, slow and deep, curling them with practiced precision as his mouth returned to her clit. The dual sensation made her jerk, her whole body tensing.

“You’re dripping for me,” he murmured against her, voice ragged. “So fucking wet.”

He worked her expertly, fingers thrusting deep, mouth drawing tight circles that sent her spiraling higher with every second. She moaned, whimpered, and cursed his name. Her hips rolled up against his face, and he groaned into her, holding her open as if he couldn’t get enough.

Her thighs started to tremble. Her stomach clenched. Pressure coiled inside her, hot and sharp and close .

“That’s it,” he coaxed, voice hot against her skin. “Let go. Come for me.”

And she did, hard, her whole body shattering as the orgasm tore through her. She cried out, shaking, clutching at the sheets as pleasure crashed through her in waves. He didn’t stop, kept licking her through it, fingers slowing only when she was wrung out and gasping.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth glistened, and his eyes were dark, ravenous.

“Still sure?” he asked, voice low.

She could barely speak. Could only nod, reaching for him.

“Please,” she whispered. “I need you.”

And when he slid up her body and finally, finally sank into her, slow and deep and perfect, it wasn’t just sex. It was surrender. A claiming. A homecoming.

It wasn’t with the urgency she’d expected, it was reverent.

A slow, deliberate slide that had Azriel clinging to him, every nerve ending lit up, her body tightening around the hard length of him.

The stretch was intense, almost too much, and yet it was exactly what she needed.

Full. Claimed. Filled in a way that no one else had ever touched, not just her body, but something far deeper.

He paused when he was fully seated inside her, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths tangling in the silence.

“Fuck,” he groaned, trembling slightly. “You feel like heaven.”

Azriel couldn’t speak. Could only nod, overwhelmed by the sensation of him, of this. Of being wrapped around him, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.

“Move,” she whispered. “Please, Kostya.”

He kissed her, slow and possessive, before he started to thrust. His rhythm was careful at first, gentle, as though he was savoring every inch of her, every tiny gasp that spilled from her lips.

He rocked into her with a precision that made her ache, his hips rolling against hers in a rhythm that felt like it had been written into her bones.

Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him deeper. The slide of his body against hers was slick with heat and desire, and every slow drag sent shockwaves through her. The friction, the weight, the stretch, everything felt right .

“You’re so fucking tight,” he rasped into her ear. “So perfect for me.”

He adjusted slightly, angling his hips, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside her that made her cry out, her nails digging into his shoulders as her entire body clenched.

“There,” she gasped. “Right there, don’t stop.“

He didn’t. His pace quickened, still controlled but relentless, driving into her again and again with a need that felt primal. His mouth was everywhere, her neck, her shoulder, the soft curve of her breast, each kiss grounding her as the pleasure built, fast and hot and unbearable.

Then his hand slid between them, finding her clit with maddening precision.

Azriel bucked against him, her moan breaking in the back of her throat.

“You love this,” he whispered, breathless. “Love the way I touch you. The way I fill you. Look at me.”

She forced her eyes open, and what she saw nearly undid her. Kostya’s gaze was locked on hers, dark, intense, consumed . Not just with lust, but something deeper. Something she didn’t dare name yet.

“I want to see you come,” he said, thumb circling her clit with devastating rhythm. “Right here. Right now. ”

Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up. The orgasm crashed into her like a tidal wave, pulling a cry from her throat that was half sob, half surrender. She clung to him as her body shook, her muscles tightening around him in sharp, desperate pulses.

He groaned her name, deep and hoarse, and then he was following her, thrusting into her hard one last time before he came, his body jerking, his release flooding into her as he buried his face in her neck.

They stayed tangled together afterward, breathless and boneless, his weight comforting on top of her. Neither spoke, but something passed between them in the quiet, a deep, silent recognition.

This hadn’t been casual. It hadn’t been simple.

It had been everything.

Kostya kissed her shoulder, then her temple, his breath still uneven.

“I warned you,” he murmured. “There’s no going back now.”

Azriel closed her eyes, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

“I don’t want to.”

“Stay,” Kostya murmured against her hair, his arms tightening around her. “Don’t go back to your room tonight.”

She should. She should maintain some distance, some boundary between them. But wrapped in his arms, feeling safer and more cherished than she ever had, she found herself nodding.

“Just tonight,” she whispered, already knowing it was a lie.

Just tonight had already become something much more dangerous. Something that felt suspiciously like the beginning of forever.