Page 45 of The Bratva’s Arranged Virgin Bride (Fokin Bratva #8)

“I couldn’t have gotten rid of it,” he said, his dark eyes searing into mine. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Nat. But still not as beautiful as you.”

Everything stopped being muddy, then. Everything became crystal clear, and it was as if I could finally relax after holding myself ready for disaster for months. Everything was fine now. I forgave him with all my heart and stepped into his arms.

He said my name, and the sound of it sent a ripple through me as I tipped my head back to look into his eyes. I recognized the look in them and pushed myself up on my toes. Leaning down to meet me, our lips touched.

Sighing, I melted against him. His hands roamed down my back, holding me tight against his hard body.

I reached to wrap my arms around his neck, to bring his head closer to mine, to deepen our kiss.

My hand was still wrapped with a washcloth, and he pulled away, taking it and looking at it with a frown.

“Your hand,” he said.

“It’s fine.” I shook the cloth away to show him the bleeding had stopped.

He still frowned, reaching for my head, his hand resting gently at the base of my neck. “Your head.”

“Also fine.”

With a low growl, he kissed me again, still holding back out of fear of hurting me.

All my aches and pains had receded into the far distance, and all I could feel was his warm palm against the back of my neck, his chest brushing against my breasts, and his mouth claiming mine.

I wanted more, so much more. How long had it been?

A week? Less? Much too long. All that not getting along and not trusting each other had to go.

It was in the past, where it was going to stay.

Wrapping my leg around him, I pulled myself closer, feeling the stiff bulge pulsing against the front of his jeans rub against my belly. I moaned into his mouth.

“Kolya,” I said, feeling airy and weightless in his arms.

“Whatever you want,” he said, going back to kissing me.

I pulled away just long enough to shimmy out of the oversized robe.

Kolya’s eyes eagerly followed its descent as it puddled at my feet.

His pupils dilated, almost blending with his dark eyes, as he took me in.

There was a slight frown as he saw the bruised blotches on my arms, the welts on my wrists, the red marks around my neck, but I shook my head and tangled my fingers into his silky hair.

“I’m not thinking about it, so you shouldn’t, either.”

“What should I be thinking about?” he asked, the mischief in his voice giving me goosebumps of anticipation. His big hands rolled slowly down my arms, smoothing them away.

“How about getting those jeans off?”

He immediately shoved them down and kicked them away, pulling me close.

Sliding his hands down my back, he cupped my behind and lifted, my body slowly grazing against his.

I clamped my legs around his waist, grinding my heated core against him, gasping as he ducked his head to nibble the spot behind my ear that made me wild.

I was aching for him. My head lolled back so he could kiss his way down to my collarbone.

Holding onto me, never stopping his trail of kisses, he turned, and I saw there was a couch along the far wall.

It looked like he was setting up this well-lit room as a new studio for me, as well as using it to finish the portrait.

He sat me down on the couch and spread my legs wide, dropping onto the floor between them. Hoisting my ankles over his shoulders, he dove into my wet heat, lapping at my slick pussy. I bucked under his masterful tongue, pressing back into the couch cushions as I gripped his shoulders.

He was suddenly savage, like he could never get enough of me. And I could never get enough of him, not the way he was licking me. I was in another world, enjoying every sensation he gave me. When his fingers thrust inside me, stretching me for his cock, I shouted, then bit his shoulder.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice ragged.

“More,” I demanded.

He yanked me closer to the edge of the couch, so he could delve deeper. Glancing up at me with a quick grin, his face was slippery with my juices. I squeezed my thighs around his head, pressing his head down between them.

“More,” I said again. “Do. Not. Stop.”

He shook his head, his teeth grazing my sensitive folds. His tongue was deep inside me, then his fingers again as he circled my swollen clit. I moaned and growled and rocked my body with his movements, until he made an impatient noise and grabbed my hips, pinning me against the edge of the couch.

“Let me eat your sweet little pussy and make you come,” he said. “Don’t you know how much I want to fuck you?”

“Then do it,” I begged, struggling against his firm hold.

He chuckled, only holding on tighter as he teased me with the flat of his tongue, dragging it up to suck at my clit. “Not until you come, little girl. I want to feel this pussy of yours clamping down on my cock. I need to hear you screaming when I ram it inside you.”

I shook as he kept working my body, teasing me, pulling away. His shoulders were shaking as he continued to hang on. I kept begging. Pleading. Making promises.

The only thing he wanted was to force me to have a mind-blowing orgasm, but he wasn’t letting me.

I grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him up using what little strength was left in me.

I shoved him back onto the floor, and when he was lying flat, I straddled him, grinding against his rock-hard cock.

With a groan, he reached up to tweak my nipples to tight peaks, sliding his hand behind my neck to pull me down for a kiss. As soon as his mouth was on mine, he reached down to find my clit, stroking sinuously with his fingertips.

And then he got that scream he wanted so badly. Within seconds, his cock was deep inside me as I pulsed around his stiff shaft. He grabbed my hips and bounced me up and down as I moaned and shuddered with each new ripple of pleasure.

Reaching for his chest, I ran my hands up and down, over his shoulders, up into his hair. I leaned over and kissed him, and he eased up on his grip, letting me set the pace.

“Sit up so I can see your pretty tits,” he said, his mouth hot against my ear. “Let me see them bounce while you ride me.”

I obliged, blushing under his gaze. It was as if he were possessed, unable to look away. I raised my arms over my head, and he ran his hands up my sides, strumming back and forth over my nipples with his thumbs. All while I took every inch of his cock deep inside me as I lifted and lowered my hips.

“I’m never going to get tired of this. I can already feel myself wanting you again,” he said, his eyes moving down my belly to where our bodies were joined. His fingers found my slippery clit, and I moaned as he slid just one finger over it, up and down, around and around.

“I’ll never get tired of that,” I said, my voice already quaking as he brought me to another orgasm.

As I shook and whimpered, he closed his eyes, and I pressed myself against him, wanting to feel all of his skin. He grabbed my backside and began moving me again, harder and faster.

“Now,” he commanded.

I tightened around him, calling out his name, probably deafening him. But he was just as loud as he emptied himself inside me, his hands finally loosening their grip on my hips. They fell to his sides with a hard slap against the wood floor.

“Oh my God,” I murmured. “You were on the floor this whole time. Your poor back.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” he said, but wrapped his arms around me and neatly lifted me, carrying me back to the couch. “I barely remember landing there.”

I laughed. “You made me do it.”

We were wrapped up in each other’s arms, and he made a move to get his fingers between my soaked thighs. I squeezed them tight together. “A few minutes of rest,” I begged.

“Sounds like a plan. You drained me dry, little girl.”

“And I’ll do it again,” I promised.

We lay quietly together for a little while, catching our breath and nuzzling at each other, and finally, my eyes landed on my painting.

I took in the different blues and greens of the sky and ocean, the little puffy clouds, all those colors I had mixed for the flowers.

Kolya noticed me looking at it and held me a little tighter.

“I should have let you known sooner that I didn’t get rid of it,” he said. “I was a stubborn ass. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve got some things I should probably apologize for, too,” I said, thinking of all those times I imagined him suffering. I held on tighter, thinking about how he must have felt when he got those pictures of me from Vissarion. I didn’t want him to suffer anymore.

“Later,” he said, kissing down the side of my neck. “You still have to see the house.”

“Later,” I told him, drawing him closer. “I’m done resting.”