Page 41 of Her BRATVA Protector
“Sweetheart.”
“…yes.”
“Take off your dress.”
I reach back with shaking fingers, find the zipper, drag it down, and shrug out of the sleeves, while Adam’s staring with his hand on his belt, his full lips parted, those Mad Scot eyes blown black. AndLord,we’ve done this so many times in the last two weeks, and it still feels like the first time. Every damn time.
I push my dress over my hips, down my legs, and kick it off. My bra and panties follow. And through it all, his eyes never leave me…
And now I’m naked in Adam Maksimov’s childhood bedroom, in his family home, on his land, in the Highlands of Scotland.
“Adam.”
“Mm.”
“Are you going to…”
“Aye, hen. In a minute.”
He’s justlooking.That porch-on-day-one look. The kitchen-counter look. The altar look. The ,I am takin’ my fuckin’ time lookin’ at what’s mine,look. His eyes slowly traveling down my body. They linger, go again, come back, like he can’t decide where to land: my thighs, the soft of my belly, my full breasts.
His voice drops to gravel, “Christ,look at ye. All fucking mine.” His hand flexes at his side. “I could spend a year on your thighs alone.”
I burst into flames. All over. Tingling, shaking, breath short, pussy spasming, clit throbbing, nipples painfully hard. And wet, so fucking wet I feel it between my thighs. But Adam just keep looking at me. Until I’m fucking whimpering. Before he’s even fucking touched me. Just hiseyes. Him. Big, tall, wild, fucking feral for me. Only then does he move.
His shirt goes over his head, revealing ink, bare chest, muscle, and the dark line coursing down his belly. Then his hand goes to the buckle of his belt and slowly works it.
“Mrs. Maksimov.”
“Yes,” I breathe out, taking in all that’s my fucking husband.
“D’ye know what I’ve been thinkin’ about all night.”
I shake my head, feeling like I’m about to pass out if he doesn’t touch me in the next five seconds. “…no.”
He nods slow, beard twitching with one of his arrogant smirks. “Aye, ye do.”
I bite my lip. “…tell me.”
“I’ve been thinkin’,” he drawls, dragging his belt out of the loops of his slacks, “about my wife on my lap in the pub. In a dress that runs too short on her thighs. My hand on her the whole time. And every one of those bastards wishin’ tae God they had what I got.”
“Adam…”
“My wife.” His voice is all rasp now. “My wife. In my pub, in my village. On my fuckin’ thigh.”
He drops the belt. The rest follows. And now he’s naked, hard all over, his monster cock curved up against his belly, the steel bar at the tip making my mouth water… Then Adam climbs on the bed, over me, and plants his hands at the sides of my head, his face an inch away from mine.
“Baby, yourparents…”
“Are at the far end of the house, love. And I wouldn’t fucking care if they were two feet away. I’m takin’ ye in my bed, in my house, on my land.” He leans to whisper in my ear, “and I’m goin’ tae make yescream.”
Lord.
Then he kisses me. Deep and slow, with a hand in my hair, his thumb at my jaw, his other hand sliding down my body, palming my breast, dragging over my belly, finding me dripping wet and slipping between my thighs with a low ‘Christ, woman’against my mouth.
“Always so fuckin’ ready for me.”
“Always, baby…”
