Page 8 of Watched and Bred by the Bratva (Bred by the Bratva #7)

He lays me flat across that vast bed like I weigh nothing. The canopy looms above but I barely notice it. What devours my attention is his face—every line etched with torment as he braces over me.

“I should let you rest,” he mutters. “Should give you more time. But I can’t. Not when you look at me like that.”

His mouth finds mine, rough and punishing, before softening unexpectedly, tracing instead of tearing. The whiplash makes my head spin. His lips chart every inch: temple, cheekbone, eyelid, throat. A map only he can possess.

“Do you know what you are to me?” he growls between kisses trailing lower, down to my sternum. “Light. Breath. Everything.”

My shirt is stripped over my head. My jeans follow. Peeled with slow violence, tossed aside like they offend him.

I think he’ll take me right then and there, but instead his hands lock around my wrists, pinning them above my head. “Don’t hide,” he orders, dragging his gaze down my body. “Not one inch.”

He kisses all over. The valley between my breasts, the slope of my ribs, the soft spot under my arm that makes me startle.

He kisses down the seam of my hip. Then lower still, reverently pressing his lips to the inside of my thigh.

It makes me ache worse because he doesn’t rush.

He takes his time, telling me without words that he intends to own every piece of me.

When I finally whimper a broken plea, his eyes flash with triumph. “Good girl. Beg me.”

Then his mouth is on me.

He starts slow, tongue dragging through slick heat, then closes over my clit with ruthless suction. My back arches violently, sound tearing from my throat. No hesitation. No mercy. It’s like he was born to destroy me with his mouth.

And then his fingers breach me—one, then two, sliding deep. I jolt at the shock, unready, but his tongue keeps lashing until the awareness floods me. I’m dripping. I’m opening. I’m hungry.

He scissors his fingers, opening wider. Wider. Testing me. I whimper at the stretch but his tongue keeps me from caring. My sobs twist into begging curses. My thighs tremble so hard I can’t hold them still.

Then he drags my own hand down, forcing my fingers over my breast, around my nipple, pressing until I have no choice but to squeeze myself while he fucks me slowly with his fingers. “Touch,” he orders without lifting his mouth. “Touch everywhere I’m not. Learn your body while I remake it.”

I cry out, rubbing my breast in rhythm with his mouth, and I come violently, hips jolting off the bed.

But he doesn’t stop.

He works me again, faster now—stroking, scissoring, curling his fingers deeper until I can’t breathe. His tongue rasps harder, plumbing deeper as if he can drink me. When I scream, he only presses harder, pushing me through the climax until I’m thrashing, soaked, the sheets beneath me sopping wet.

“You hear that?” he groans into me, a low rumble against my clit. “The sound of you soaking my bed? That’s mine. That’s how ready you are for me.”

I want to argue, to insist I’m ready, beg for his cock. But he shifts lower.

His tongue slips further, lower than I ever imagined. He licks down, around, until he’s teasing the forbidden star behind, circling it with wicked patience. I shriek in shock, mortified, my thighs snapping to close. But his huge hands shove them wide, holding me open like a feast.

It’s filthy. Wrong. But the sensations burst so hot I can’t deny them.

That new stimulus floods me, wrecks me. I come again, scalding and impossible, screaming hoarsely as I soak the sheets all over again. He rides me through, devouring, until I’m shivering wreckage.

Only then does he crawl up my body, his mouth savage on mine, feeding me my own taste. “Beg for me again,” he growls.

“Please,” I sob, gripping his neck. “Please, take me—”

But he shakes his head, eyes wild. “Not until I’m certain. Not until your body craves me more than you crave air in your lungs.”

And then his fingers are inside me again. Three this time. Mercilessly spreading, curling, testing. He presses the blunt head of his cock against my entrance, then pulls away, then again. Easing back, pressing again, stretching me little by little.

“Hold your knees,” he finally orders, voice guttural.

My arms are weak, but I obey, pulling myself open as he watches, devouring the wanton display.

He shoves his fingers in deep, spreads me with them so wide I think I’ll break. Then he slides out, slick with my release, and rubs the head of his cock against me. Pressing lightly. Easing back. Pressing again. Testing. Never fully giving me what I want, driving me insane.

My body is on fire. My voice is gone from begging. My chest is slick with tears and sweat. Still he torments me, checking, testing, forcing me to bear it until my entire body screams for him.

And only when I’m clawing at him, shaking my head, gasping please, please, does he finally push in.

Slowly. Brutally. Until I take every inch.

He pushes inside. Slow. Unrelenting.

And I wait for pain. Wait for the sharp break I’ve dreaded since I first learned what sex even meant. I brace, clutching his shoulders, prepared to split apart—

But it doesn’t come.

There’s a sting, yes. A bite the instant he breaches me fully. Then nothing but stretch. A fullness so shocking it steals my breath, so consuming it feels like the air is pulled from the room. My lips part in disbelief.

“It… it doesn’t hurt,” I whisper, voice shaking.

Nikolai groans, forehead dropping to mine. His whole body quakes with restraint. Muscles drawn and rigid as he holds himself still above me. “You’re killing me, sweet one. Wrapped so tight. Squeezing me like a fist. Your body knows I belong here.”

I moan and clutch him tighter, overwhelmed. He doesn’t move until I tilt my chin up, kiss him deep, and give him one clear, deliberate nod. Consent.

That’s all it takes.

He kisses me until I’m gasping, until I stop thinking about anything except him filling me, sealing me, making me whole. Then I suck in a shaky breath, and he feels it—feels me signal that I’m ready.

He growls, pulls back just enough, and thrusts inside again.

The sensation detonates through me. No pain. Just impossibly deep pleasure, the heavy slide of him claiming everything inside.

I arch under him, stunned, and whisper brokenly, “I was so afraid…”

“Never again,” he snarls against my mouth, thrusting again and again, finding a brutal rhythm. “Never fear again. Not with me.”

I gasp with each stroke until he suddenly catches my wrist, drags it down between our bodies. He slams into me and forces my trembling fingers to my clit.

“You’ll have to finish it,” he growls, voice raw, wrecked. “I’m too close already. Work yourself, little one. Show me how you come around me.”

I whimper, rubbing frantic circles on myself, the sensation doubly intense with him driving inside so deep I feel him in my ribs.

“Yes,” he gasps, hips pounding, sweat dripping from his temple onto my chest. “Good girl. Perfect girl. My Zara. My sunlight.”

The praise undoes me.

My body tightens, bows, heat sparking everywhere, until the dam breaks. I scream as my orgasm detonates. My walls clench violently around him, pleasure wracking me so hard I almost black out.

He roars, slamming flush, grinding impossibly deep until I swear he’s fused into me. My body milks him, shudder after shudder, as he empties inside with brutal groans, every thrust sealing his come deeper.

When at last he stops, he stays buried, crushing me into the bed as his chest shudders against mine.

His lips find my ear. His voice is gravel, but weighted with something I’ve never heard before—reverence.

“Every fucking drop stays inside you,” he mutters, holding me down when I instinctively try to shift. “You’ll keep me, Zoya. You’ll take everything I give you. I’ll put my child in you, and I’ll never let you go.”

Tears prick my eyes. Not from pain, but from the terrifying, beautiful certainty in his tone.

He tips my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes as he kisses me slow this time. Bruising turned tender.

“You’re mine now. Do you understand? There’s no undoing this.”

I nod against his mouth, dazed, half-crying and half-smiling. Because deep down, I already know—

I never wanted to undo it anyway.