Page 18 of Stalked & Bred by the BRATVA (Bred by the BRATVA #6)
I should feel satisfied. I should feel sated. I came so hard I saw stars. Felt her clamp around me, heard her scream my name like a confession.
And yet—
I want more.
She’s beneath me, gasping, sweat-damp and limp, her skin flushed from her orgasm, her lips parted like she’s still trying to catch up to what just happened.
But it’s not enough.
Not yet.
I pull out of her slowly, watching her shudder as my cock slides free. She winces, over-sensitive, her inner thighs slick with everything we’ve made together.
Beautiful.
Destroyed.
Still not ruined enough .
She blinks up at me, dazed. “I… I can’t feel my legs.”
I grin. “You will.”
Then I slide down the bed.
Her eyes widen as I push her thighs apart again, spreading her open with both hands. She tries to move, to protest, but she’s weak and too soft now to stop me.
“Mikhail—”
“I’m not done.”
I dive in.
Her taste is stronger now, muskier, the salt of sweat and sex clinging to her folds. I groan as I drag my tongue through her slit, lapping up everything I left behind.
She cries out, her back arching violently.
“Oh God—wait—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.”
She tries to close her legs. I press them wider.
“Keep them open,” I growl against her pussy. “Let me finish what I started.”
She moans, loud and helpless, her hands clawing at the sheets as I suck her clit into my mouth. She’s trembling already, still raw from the first orgasm. Her whole body is twitching, spasming, overwhelmed.
But she doesn’t tell me to stop.
She never tells me to stop.
She sobs my name and grabs my hair, grinding up against my face like she’s forgotten where she ends and I begin.
Good girl.
I slip two fingers back inside her. She’s soaked. Slippery. Still warm from where I came.
I curl them just right and she screams .
This time she comes harder.
This time she thrashes.
I hold her down as she convulses, every muscle in her body locked tight, her throat raw from the sound that tears out of her. I don’t stop until she goes limp. Only then do I crawl back up her body, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and watching her try to open her eyes.
She’s wrecked.
Eyes glazed. Legs twitching. Sweat clinging to her hairline.
Still not enough.
“Roll over.”
She doesn’t move. I flip her. She gasps, weak and shaky, but she lets me position her on all fours. Barely. She can’t hold herself up. I hook my arms around her hips and pull her back until her ass is pressed against my thighs. My cock is hard again, angry and wet with precum.
“You’re going to take me again,” I say.
“I—I don’t know if I can—”
“You can.”
And then I’m inside her.
This time, I don’t go slow. This time, I fuck her like I want to break her.
Her arms give out after the third thrust. She collapses forward, but I don’t let up. I hold her hips and slam into her again and again, her soft cries muffled by the mattress, her body reduced to shuddering heat and friction.
I watch myself disappear into her. Watch the slick mess we’ve made.
I own this now.
I own her .
Her thighs are shaking when I finally spill inside her again, biting down on her shoulder to keep myself grounded.
It takes me a moment to breathe. To move.
But when I do, I’m calm. I ease out slowly, gently, and this time, she whimpers. Not from pain. Not from fear.
From need .
Even now, she doesn’t want me gone.
I stand and walk to the bathroom, returning with a warm washcloth.
She hasn’t moved.
Her arms are folded beneath her, legs still spread. I kneel beside her and start to clean her. Carefully. Thoroughly. She flinches, but I shush her.
“You did well,” I murmur. “You took me so perfectly.”
She opens her eyes, dazed.
I stroke the cloth gently between her legs, wiping away the mess.
“Next time,” I say, leaning in close, “you won’t be allowed to stand. So it can take.”
She trembles.
But she doesn’t look away.