Page 22 of Only for Him (Starkov Bratva #1)

ROMAN

She’s going to be the death of me.

She pumps me with jerky, aggressive strokes. Nothing gentle, and nothing pretty. But it doesn’t matter. I’m losing control, and I haven’t done that in years. Not like this.

I never wanted to rush her. I wanted to savor every drop of pleasure I can wring out of her and leave her absolutely empty of anything except for me.

For what she knows I can give her.

I hadn’t planned on kissing her here. I hadn’t planned on stripping her in front of me like this.

But somehow my body is reacting purely on its own instincts—raw and primal—whenever I'm around her.

The kiss had been wild, and she tastes like everything good. It leaves me breathless, and I don’t care. All I want is for the final breath I take to taste exactly like her.

Her juices coat my wrist. Her tits bounce against my chest, perfect and flushed, nipples hardening to glass that makes my teeth ache to bite down on them to hear her squeal.

My little viper should hate this. She should claw and hiss and spit, but she’s not. She’s melting under me, blooming around my fingers like she was made to surrender to me.

As she should. Because I’m giving her exactly what she needs: to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into the dark.

But she’s defiant. More defiant than I ever give her credit for.

I hadn’t expected her to grab me.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I should’ve expected that. I should’ve known she would find a way to turn the tables against me the moment she started riding my hand.

I’m still buried in her. Two fingers crooked deep, grinding against her spot while she pumps my cock with reckless abandon.

It’s clearer than ever that this is now a race.

Her orgasm versus mine.

Winner takes all.

I can’t let it be her.

But God, her hand feels like heaven, palm warm and soft and smooth wrapped around my shaft as she pumps.

I reach up to grab her by her dark hair and yank her head back to force her eyes to mine. Her eyes blaze with lust and fury and determination. The need to dominate. To win. They twist into a single perfect flame, reckless and radiant.

She’s a crash in progress. And I need to be the fucking wall she hits.

She squeezes my cock hard enough to test my resolve. Not practiced, but purposeful. She wants to see how far she can push before I snap.

So I push back.

My fingers curl and find the swollen knot of nerves buried deep inside her cunt as my thumb begins a relentless assault on her clit. Her mouth drops open. Her body jerks like she’s been hit by a cattle prod.

I need her to stop.

The thought flickers, and dies instantly when her cunt clenches around me.

Tight.

Wet.

Hungry.

This is a fight that neither of us is winning.

Yet neither of us plans on backing down.

Desperate little mewling gasps punch out from her throat and she strokes me harder and faster.

“Your cunt is soaked,” I growl into her ear, each word trembling in the air between us like a loaded trigger. “So fucking wet for me .”

“And so is your cock.” She spits back. Then as if to prove her point, she squeezes around the head.

Obscene wet sounds fill the space between us, and I clench my jaw to bite back the orgasm threatening to overwhelm me in that moment.

Her other hand reaches forward and cups my balls. The act wrenches a sound from my throat—one I’ve never made for anyone else.

But just then, I feel a slight quiver of her greed around my fingers. A savage smile spreads across my face. “About to come, little viper?”

“Not even fucking close.”

She squeezes my balls, and I feel weakness licking up my spine. The beast I keep chained in my chest starts howling for release.

Her mouth drops open again, and a low moan bubbles out for a split second before I close my hand around her mouth to muffle it.

“Quiet!” I hiss.

She responds by biting my hand.

Hard.

I don’t let go as I tighten my grip to keep her silent. Her eyes glare at me, dark and delirious with need.

I push her deeper against the metal shelving.

Her eyes don’t close. Her pace doesn’t slow.

She wants to see me break.

She takes my cock in both hands now, twisting one way, then the other, rhythm brutal and unrelenting as her teeth sink deeper into the meat of my hand.

She’s not asking for mercy.

She plans on dragging it out of me, squeezing it from the base like she’s wringing a towel.

And it’s fucking working.

I’m thrusting into her hand now, helpless.

Controlled by her grip, her breath, her dangerous mouth clamping against my palm.

I’ll fuck that mouth soon enough. Fill it until she gags.

I wonder if she’ll bite me then.

She’s close, so fucking close, and I want to see the moment she spills over.

She’s good. Too good. Too much. She shouldn’t be touching me at all. And definitely not like this. Not like she fucking owns me. But God, I let her.

I want her to feel the way I throb for her. Ache for her.

I pretend it’s about dominance and power.

But it’s not.

It’s about her .

My little viper. My undoing. My fucking drug.

She knows what she’s doing. I should have seen that she was capable of it—and maybe I did.

Maybe this is what I wanted.

No, I think, desperate and torn. Not yet.

I try to pull back. I’m losing control. My cock pulses in perfect harmony with her hips on my fingers. My balls draw tight. Heat pools low in my core.

“Stop,” I grit out, a warning. My cock jumps in her hand.

Her eyes turn feral now and she defies me yet again. Speeds up. Daring me to do the same.

She covers the head of my cock with a palm and starts to rub in vicious and unforgiving circles.

She’s going to break me.

But not before I break her.

I thrust my fingers inside her, so deep she freezes. Her knees begin to tremble and her eyes finally—finally—roll back in ecstasy as she floods my palm with her orgasm. The walls of her pussy flutter around my fingers and her moan slices the air from under my hand.

Raw and guttural and mine.

That’s when I break.

I cum with a silent hiss, hips jerking and vision blurring. I spill into her hands like I’m being fucking exorcised.

The pleasure impales me. I see stars. My knees threaten to collapse from under me.

I don’t give a fuck about anything except this goddamn woman.

My cum coats her fingers and drips down her wrist. I don’t care. I want her drenched in it.

I want to bury myself in her. I want to ruin her and salt the earth behind her so that nothing else can ever grow where I’ve been.

I want to be inside her when the world ends.

It’s a fucking mess.

I’m a mess.

A mess with nothing but regrets.

Because she still hasn’t let go.

Her fist milks the last of my cum with deliberate strokes, slow and smug. Her dark eyes spark with triumph. She wanted to take this from me.

And she did.

She’s holding it in her fucking palm like a trophy.

For a split second, I think I might want to do more than just possess her.

For a split second, I think I want to own her. To make her feel like she’s making me feel. To chain her to my bed, wrap my hands around her throat night after night, and fuck the truth into her until it’s the only thing she believes:

She’s mine.

Even if she hates me. Especially if she hates me.

As long as she hates me, she stays obsessed and addicted.

Then, breaking the disorienting stillness, we hear it.

The sound of a door slamming.

Footsteps.

We freeze.

Her fist is still around my cock. My hand still buried in her pussy, the slick heat of her coating my knuckles.

If anyone walks in, we’re fucked.

Adrenaline surges. My hand tightens around her mouth. She watches me with bated breath while her pulse threads under my thumb.

Victory is replaced with panic in her eyes, beautiful and real.

Her chest heaves as she takes one short and shuddering breath after another.

I spin her and pull her close against my chest. My hand slides over her sternum and feel the thunder in her heart against my palm.

“Breathe, little viper,” I murmur into her ear, my voice low, steady, slicing through the panic.

I breathe deep as if to show her how, but I’m inhaling her scent so that I can memorize this moment forever.

She matches me. Her chest rising and falling against my hand as our hearts sync, beat by beat.

The footsteps fade. A door slams shut.

And we’re alone again.

I press against her back. My cock rests against her ass, twitching back to life like it never finished. She wiggles once, subtle, daring.

Dangerous girl.

She thinks she’s in control, that she flipped the game.

My temper snaps like a live wire, broiling under my skin.

I flip her around and grip her jaw, forcing her face upward and squeezing her cheeks so that her pretty little lips are parted. The smear of blood by her lips makes them redder than before.

My palm burns, and it is the sweetest feeling in the world because she did it to me.

There will never be any other place for her than in my hands. She belongs to me, so she better get used to it.

Her eyes flash, still dancing with that sharp smugness, but I see the flicker of both uncertainty and awareness in them.

Good.

I grab her wrist, her hand covered in sticky, white cum, and hold it in front of her face.

“Clean it up,” I demand.

The words land hard. She should wither under them. Anyone else would.

But not Giselle.

Not my little viper.

She raises her hand to her lips. With one slow and deliberate flick of her tongue, she licks her fingers clean. And the entire time, she never breaks eye contact.

Her defiance is exquisite.

“Like this?” She laps up the final drop of my cum from her palm.

My restraint frays.

She’s so beautiful that it fucking hurts. She makes me feel like I can break open and start bleeding from the inside out at any moment.

I want to sink my fingers into her hair and bring her bloodied lips to mine again.

Instead, I give her something else.

“Roman,” I tell her. “My name is Roman.”

I tell her mostly because I know I want her to be screaming it the next time I make her come.

She says it. “Roman.”

The sound of my name on her tongue feels like being crowned.

Worshipped.

I brush a smear of white from the corner of her mouth and push it between her lips.

“Put your clothes back on,” I command. “And then back up slowly so nobody sees.”

Then, before I can stop myself, I shove her away gently, just enough so that I can regain a shred of control.

“Tonight,” I murmur as I watch her slowly put herself back together. “You’ll get your answers.”

If I leave her here any longer, she’ll never come out of this room. My plans for her prowl in my head, torturing me with everything I want to do to her.

“Don’t make a girl a promise.” She narrows her eyes as she finishes buttoning her blouse. “If you can’t keep it.”

Then she walks away.

Each step is mine. Every sway of her hips, every tilt of her head, a siren song made just for me.

We’re inevitable, her and I.

And when I finally claim her—when I own her, body and soul—every second of this torment will have been worth it.