Page 94 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
Before I can respond, he grabs my arm and yanks me close, pressing his lips against mine. The kiss is sharp, demanding, claiming. My hands rise instinctively to his chest, trying to hold onto him, to ground myself, even as heat and tension ripple through every nerve.
I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, my tongue tangling with his as I lose myself in the familiar, intoxicating scent of him. I need him. I need the heat to burn away the fear and the guilt.
“Make me forget, Mike,” I whisper against his lips, my voice trembling with a desperate urgency. “Please.”
I know I’m being selfish. He’s still recovering, the bandages around his stomach a stark reminder of the price he paid for us. But the hunger in his eyes tells me he needs this just as much as I do. He needs to feel alive, to feel me.
He drags his lips away from mine, his breathing ragged, and pushes me onto the bed. I fall back into the pillows, my hair splaying out as he looms over me, a dark shadow of raw, unadulterated intent. He doesn’t wait; he’s on top of me in an instant, his weight a heavy, welcome pressure that pins me down.
His mouth finds mine again, more brutal this time, while his hands roam over my curves with a possessive ferocity. He’s reclaiming me, inch by inch, and as his fingers hook into the hem of my dress, I know there’s no turning back. I don’t want to. I want to be consumed by him until there is nothing left but this fire.
He yanks the dress over my head, the fabric catching briefly before he tosses it aside with a rough, impatient flick of his wrist. I’m exposed, my skin prickling under the heat of his gaze. He doesn’t stop, his fingers moving to the front clasp of my bra. With a sharp snap, it’s undone, and he sweeps the lace away to reveal my breasts, already aching for his touch.
His eyes drop to my panties, and he hooks his thumbs into the elastic, dragging them down my legs until I’m completely bare beneath him. The air in the room feels heavy, thick with the scent of us and the desperation of the moment.
He doesn’t wait. He leans down and takes one of my nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the peak before he suckles deeply. A sharp, jagged cry escapes my throat, and I arch my back, my fingers digging into his hair to hold him there. He’s relentless, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core.
“Mike,” I moan, my head thrashing against the pillow.
He ignores my plea, moving his mouth to the other breast, devouring it with a primal hunger that makes my vision blur. His hands aren’t idle; one pins my wrist above my head while the other slides down, his palm flat against my stomach, inching lower and lower. The tension in my lower body is a physical weight, a coil of heat that’s winding tighter with every wet, rhythmic pull of his mouth.
He continues to devour my breasts, his mouth a hot, wet vice, while his fingers work me into a frenzy down below. He’s slicking me with my own heat, pushing one finger then two inside me, his rhythm rough and demanding. The friction of his hand against my clit, combined with the pull of his lips, is too much to bear.
“Mike, please. Now. I need you now,” I gasp, my voice breaking with a desperate, raw need.
He groans, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He reaches down to unhook his pants, his movements frantic. I see him start to reach toward the bedside table for a condom, but I can’t wait another second. I don’t want anything between us—no barriers, no delays. I wrap my legs around his waist, my heels digging into his lower back, and pull him toward me with everything I have.
“Fuck,” he rasps, the word a ragged exhale of defeated willpower.
He gives in to the gravity of our shared hunger and slides into me.
The sensation is overwhelming. He’s thick and searing as he fills me, stretching me to the limit. I cry out into the crook of his neck, my fingers clawing at his back as he settles deep within me. For a moment, we both freeze, eyes locked, lungs burning as we adjust to the sheer intensity of being one.
Then, he begins to move, his hips hitting mine with a heavy, rhythmic thud that echoes the frantic beat of my heart. There’s no more talking, no more hesitation—just the animalistic drive to lose ourselves in each other until the world outside this bed ceases to exist.
The friction between our bodies is a fever, a blur of heat and skin that drowns out the rest of the world. Mike pounds into me with a raw, desperate power, his breath coming in ragged, uneven hitches against my ear. Every thrust is deep and deliberate, hitting my center with a force that makes my vision go white.
“Mike,” I gasp, my fingers digging into the muscle of his back, my legs tightening around his waist. “I’m close…I’m coming.”
“Wait for me,Solntse,” he growls, his voice a dark, vibrating command. “Don’t go yet. Stay with me.”
I moan, a broken, needy sound that catches in my throat. I try to hold back, try to tether myself to the edge, but he makes it impossible. He shifts his weight, his pace becoming faster, more punishing. He’s relentless, his hips slamming into mine with a primal urgency that demands everything I have.
We’re a tangled mess of sweat and desperation. I can feel the tension winding up inside him, the way his muscles are coiled like a spring about to snap. He pounds into me for anotherfew minutes, pushing me higher and higher until I’m sobbing his name into the pillow.
Finally, he tilts his head back, his jaw tight as he delivers a series of deep, soul-shattering thrusts.
“Come now, baby,” he rasps, his voice breaking. “Now!”
The command shatters the last of my restraint. My orgasm hits like a tidal wave, a violent explosion of pleasure that arches my back off the mattress. I scream as the waves pulse through me, and a second later, I feel him follow. He lets out a guttural, animalistic roar as he spills deep inside me, his body shuddering with the force of his own release.
We crash together, our heartbeats thundering against each other’s chests as we slowly sink back into the bed, tangled, exhausted, and finally, for this moment, at peace.
After we catch our breath, tangled and warm in the aftermath, I shift slightly, turning to Mike as he gathers me into his arms. His touch is steady, grounding, like nothing in the world could touch us here.
“I want training,” I say. “Not protection. Not confinement. Training.” My words land deliberately. “If I’m going to survive this world, I won’t do it as a bystander.”
Mike doesn’t argue. He only nods, eyes dark with something fierce, and says, “Okay. We start tonight.”
