Page 42 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
I pound into her for a few more minutes, the rhythm becoming a blur of friction and heat. I’m relentless, driving into her with a raw, primal force that makes the bed creak beneath us. Every time my hips slam against hers, I feel her walls clenching tighter, pulsing around me as she nears the edge.
“Mike…I’m—I’m coming!” she cries out, her voice a frantic, breathless sob.
The sound of her peak is the final blow to my restraint. My own climax hits me like a tidal wave, hot and violent. I driveinto her one last time, buried as deep as I can go, and let out a guttural growl as I spill into the condom.
She screams my name, her body arching and trembling as she’s swept away by the force of her orgasm. We cling to each other, our heartbeats thundering together, lost in a storm of pure, blinding sensation. I stay buried in her, my forehead pressed against hers, both of us gasping for air as we slowly drift back to earth.
I try to pull her closer. Instinctively, I reach for her, wanting her against me. But Ellie pushes away.
The movement is subtle, but firm enough that I have no choice but to release her. She slips out of bed without looking back.
I feel it immediately, the shift.
The walls going back up.
“Ellie,” I call softly. “Ellie?”
She ignores me.
She walks straight into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
I remain where I am, staring at the empty space she left in the bed, feeling something twist painfully in my chest. The rejection is quiet, almost casual, but it lands harder than any confrontation ever could.
Minutes pass.
When the bathroom door finally opens again, she steps out, composed. She picks up her nightwear and slides it back on with careful, deliberate movements.
Then she returns to the bed and lies down.
Her back to me.
The message couldn’t be clearer.
I want to reach for her. The urge is immediate, almost instinctive. But the way she holds herself—the rigid line of hershoulders, the deliberate distance—tells me everything I need to know.
She doesn’t want me to.
So I don’t touch her.
I let the silence stretch between us.
I’ve forced obedience from people my entire life. Compliance has never been difficult for me to obtain. Fear, loyalty, respect—those things come easily when power is involved.
But this is different.
And somewhere in that silence, a truth settles uncomfortably in my mind.
I don’t want compliance from her anymore.
I want willingness.
The realization is as dangerous as it is undeniable.
After a while, I slide out of the bed and head toward the bathroom. The cool tile under my feet grounds me slightly, but my thoughts are anything but calm.
As I close the bathroom door behind me, another truth settles into place with unsettling clarity.
This is no longer strategic.
