Page 7 of Konstantin (Marinov Bratva #1)

I drop to my knees on the sofa, caging her in. One hand wraps around her throat, just enough for her to feel it, to wear the promise of who she belongs to. My other hand trails along the inside of her thigh, skimming just past where she aches the most.

“If we do this…” she roughs out. “You can’t kiss me.”

Rage snakes through my veins.

“That’s a pity.” I grab her ankle and lift it, dragging my mouth over the delicate bone before pressing a kiss to her skin. “May I kiss you here?”

My lips climb higher, up the silk of her thigh like a man scaling heaven just to defile it.

“Or here?” My mouth drops to the spot where her hip meets the top of her thigh.

She shivers, and I grin against her flesh.

She’s already mine. She just hasn’t accepted it yet .

“Or would you like it better if I kissed you here?” Roughly, I drag her to the edge of the sofa, locking eyes with her as I slide a finger into her.

Her body bows, craving more.

I’m dying for her. Want to bury my tongue inside her.

“Answer me. Tell me what you want.”

Her fingers sink into my hair, pushing me between those thighs, her expression filled with depraved hunger. “Yes, yes, kiss me there.”

With a growl, I bury my mouth between her legs.

Finally.

The taste of her hits me like violence. Sweet and sinful. Like she was made for this. Made for me. Her moan rips out sharp and raw, hips jolting, hands scrambling for something to hold as she claws into the leather.

“Oh God…”

“You like that?” My tongue flicks her clit, slow at first, then firmer, circling it while I watch her fall apart.

She nods, lips parted, panting, but that’s not enough.

“Words, malyshka,” I growl against her. “I want to hear it. Tell me how much you love my tongue inside you. Say it like you mean it.”

Because now that I’ve tasted her, there’s no going back.

I don’t have to love her to keep her. But Tessa is mine . It’s already been decided. There’ll be no one else. Not for her. Not for me.

And if anyone tries to touch her? I’ll tear them apart piece by piece and feed them every fucking bite.

“Shit, yes, okay. Yes, I love it…” she gasps, the confession punching through my chest like a bullet I’d gladly take again and again.

As her reward, I drag her clit into my mouth and devour her—sucking, teasing, flicking with just enough pressure before I slide my tongue into her tight, dripping hole. She tastes like sin and surrender. Like a drug I never wanted a taste of, but now that I’ve had it, I’m addicted.

“You like it better than her mouth?” Every wrecked word is coiled with frustration, with hunger. “Because you sure looked like you were enjoying it.”

She writhes beneath me, panting, lost in it. “I was pretending it was you…”

Ona menya ubivayet. She’s killing me.

Killing every last piece of logic I have left.

My jaw clenches so tight, it’s a miracle I don’t crack bone. This is madness. Full, unfiltered insanity, and I never want it to end.

I feed two fingers inside her, and she clamps around me like her body already accepts that I own it. My mouth stays on her, tongue flicking, tasting, possessing.

When she finally gives in to her pleasure, her body arches, spasming, crying out like she’s being torn apart in the most beautiful way.

“That’s it,” I growl. “Squirt for me, katyonak. Like the perfect whore I made you.”

The ferocity in her eyes only makes my cock throb harder, like she hates that she’s letting me do this.

Good. Let her rage. Let her fight it. She’ll still come for me.

I slam a third finger inside her, rougher now, and watch her unravel again—face flushed, lips parted, breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. She tries to push me away, nails digging, desperate.

“I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. You’ll take every goddamn thing I give you and beg for more.”

I thrust deeper, harder. The wet, obscene sound of her pussy echoes around us, and it only feeds the beast in me. The one that wants to ruin her, brand her, fucking keep her.

She’s beautiful like this, at my every mercy, bending to my will.

Our eyes lock when she looks up at me, and it happens. Something breaks inside me.

Not rage. Not lust. Something worse. Something far too possessive and primal and dangerous.

She’s not just a fuck. Not just a toy. This feels like more.

And I don’t know what that means except one thing: I will never let her go.

As I drive into her this time, her walls tighten around me, her body quivering, falling apart in waves. I take it all in, savoring the sight of her submitting to her pleasure. A man could really get used to this.

But none of it solves the problem at hand. She needs a job. And there’s no way in hell I’ll let her work at the club.

Though I do have something else in mind…

When her body relaxes, I slip my fingers from her soaked cunt and push them into her mouth. She sucks them clean.

“Good girl. So obedient.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes follow me as I stand, cracking my knuckles and releasing a slow breath.

“You may get dressed now.”

I gather her clothes, handing them to her, and she rushes to slip on her panties, too eager to cover what I should’ve kept mine a little longer. Should’ve made her sit there, soaked and shivering, while I asked the questions that reveal a glimpse into who she is.

As she lifts her arms to slide the dress over her head, I catch something that causes my pulse to spike. Just a flicker beneath each arm, but it’s undeniable.

My jaw tightens, but I don’t say a word. Not yet.

Something in me stills, sharpening into a weapon. Because I know what I just saw. And there’s only one reason marks like that show up in places people don’t expect others to see.

Someone hurt her. Or she hurt herself.

And when I find out why or who…they won’t touch her again. They won’t touch anything again.

She doesn’t know it yet, but whatever scars she’s hiding…they belong to me now.