Page 16 of Stalked & Bred by the BRATVA (Bred by the BRATVA #6)

I can still feel her on my fingers.

Warm. Slick. Desperate.

I keep my hand closed in my lap like I’m holding the echo of her body inside my fist, like if I open it, I’ll lose the last trace of her heat.

I’ve fucked women. Controlled them. Bent them to my will. But I’ve never touched someone like her. Never undone a girl with so little effort. She didn’t just come, she surrendered . Whispered her yes into the dark like a prayer.

And now I want more.

No. I want everything .

Her mouth. Her cunt. Her tears. Her dreams. I want to break her open and live inside her. I want her to wake up every morning and ache for me, to forget who she was before I stepped into her life.

Before I climbed inside her mind and rewrote the rules.

She said no one had touched her before.

She lied.

Because I’ve touched every part of her.

Even now, she’s probably lying in bed with her thighs still damp, her heart still pounding, her thoughts still a blur of need and confusion. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. She doesn’t know why she can’t stop wanting it.

But I do.

It’s me.

She’s slipping into madness, and I’m the one dragging her down. She should run. Scream. Tell someone what I’ve done. But she won’t. Because she doesn’t want to be saved.

She wants to be ruined .

By me.

I rise from the chair in my study and pace, my blood hot and restless.

My cock is stiff behind my zipper, aching for the feel of her wrapped around me.

I want to rip the nightgown off her body and spread her open on those cheap cotton sheets she hides behind.

I want to feel her nails dig into my back.

I want to fuck her until she forgets her own name and only remembers mine.

This time, the note I leave her only has two words.

Tonight - Mikhail

She’s mine already. I just haven’t claimed her fully. Yet. But she’s ready.

She doesn’t know it, but I do. I felt it the moment she cried out. Felt it in the way her body opened around my fingers, how her whole body tightened and then released as she came apart.

I’ve been patient. Controlled. Methodical. But now… now I’m losing it.

I want to mark her. Scar her. Leave fingerprints on her throat and bite marks on her thighs. Not out of cruelty, but out of the need to own every inch of her. And if anyone ever sees those marks and asks what happened, she’ll smile and tell them the truth.

She’ll say, “He made me his.”

The next time I take her, it won’t be in the dark. She’ll see my face. She’ll watch herself fall. Because it’s already happening.

When she looks at me now, she doesn’t look away. When I brush her in the hallway, she shudders and leans closer instead of stepping back. She wants more. Her silence is permission. Her obedience is worship.

And she will kneel.

Soon.

I sit back down, gripping the armrests like they might keep me tethered to something rational. But I’m past that now. She doesn’t make me feel sane. She makes me real .

All these years, I’ve been the quiet one. The cold one. The shadow no one looked at for too long. But with her… I’m alive. I feel every pulse of blood in my veins. Every twitch of muscle. Every raw edge I’ve tried to keep buried under discipline.

She makes me burn . And she doesn’t even know what she’s done. Or maybe she does. Maybe that’s why she wore the nightgown again. She wanted me to come back. She wanted me to see her spread on those sheets, waiting.

If I’d touched her again, I would have taken everything. And she needs to beg first. She needs to look up at me with those wide eyes and say, Please. I close my eyes and imagine it. Her on her knees. Her lips parted. That voice soft and wrecked.

I won’t last much longer.

She’s unraveling. I can feel it in her movements, in the way she breathes around me. And I’m not just watching anymore. I’m hunting.

The next time I walk through her door, it won’t be to tease her. It won’t be to whisper in the dark. It’ll be to fuck her. To ruin her. To make sure she never forgets who she belongs to.

And the best part is…She’s ready.