Page 15 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
He slams into me, over and over, hand on my clit again, faster now, meaner. The table groans. My skin stings where his hips smack my ass. I’m past words. I sob out his name. The pressure builds hard and fast and explodes without warning. I come again, violently, legs shaking, stomach clenching, stars burning behind my eyes.
He grunts, biting the back of my shoulder as I fall apart. He slows only slightly, like he’s holding the line with both hands.
I collapse onto the table, soaked and shaking, my chest dragging against the wood as I gasp for breath. My arms won’t hold me up anymore, and my thighs feel wrecked, open and aching, but he doesn’t stop.
He’s still inside me, still thick and rock-hard, still holding my hips tight in both hands. I feel him draw back, just a little, thenslam back in so deep, I choke on the sound that rips from my throat.
“Dominik—”
He doesn’t answer. His grip shifts, one hand sliding up my back to tangle in my hair. He yanks my head back as he fucks me, hard and fast, hips crashing into me in a brutal rhythm that makes the table knock into the wall again and again. My knees buckle, and he pulls me up by the hair until my spine arches and my throat’s exposed.
“Stay open for me,” he growls in my ear.
“I can’t,” I gasp.
“You fucking will.”
He thrusts in again, deeper than before, and I cry out, raw and half-broken. The edge of the table digs into my hips, but I don’t care because he’s using my body like it’s his to take, and I’ve never wanted anything more.
The slap of our skin is loud and wet. Heat clings to the walls, sweat everywhere. His cock drags against every nerve inside me, and when he grinds forward, I feel him throb. He’s close. His breath turns ragged, chest pressed to my back, every muscle locked tight as he chases that finish.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he growls, voice shredded. “So fucking tight. I should’ve had this years ago.”
“Then come,” I whisper. “Come inside me.”
He growls like an animal and slams in one last time, burying himself deep. His hips lock. His body jerks.
Then he comes.
I feel it—his cock pulsing hard inside me, his grip turning bruising on my hips, his chest vibrating with the groan he tries to swallow but can’t.
He doesn’t pull out. Not right away.
He stays there, bent over me, his breath hot against my back, cock still twitching deep inside, hands sliding up my sides in something almost tender. I can feel his sweat drip onto my skin.
Neither of us speaks.
Not until he finally exhales and murmurs, rough against my neck, “Now you’re done.”
I laugh, broken and breathless. “You’re fucking insane.”
“You’re still standing,” he says. “Barely.”
He pulls out slowly. I hiss at the stretch and stumble forward against the table. His hands catch me again, steady, unshaking. I feel ruined. I feel claimed.
I feel like I’ll crawl back to this exact moment in my head every time I ever need to remember what it means to be wrecked on purpose.
Dominik drags me up into his arms, naked and boneless, and carries me like I weigh nothing. “If this is all we have, Ana, I need more.”
5
DOMINIK
Icome back to myself in pieces. Her breath first, slow and even, warm against my neck. My hand rests at her waist. She’s half on top of me, hair loose, mouth slack with sleep. A faint crease stays between her brows, stubborn even in rest.
I ease my hand away and sit up without haste. The floor is cold under my feet. I reach for my shirt, then stop and listen, counting the space between her breaths. Whatever this bought us, it wasn’t peace.
I don’t wake her. I won’t be the one who steals the last stretch of stillness she gets. Padding into the kitchen, I gaze at the city outside before dawn. The streets are empty, the silence stretched thin. On any other morning, it might pass for sleep. Today, it feels alert.
