Page 23 of Kept By the Bratva

I stepped closer, needing his touch. As I moved, my leg stung. Blood had dried on my calf, and with it caked and hardened, it tugged on my flesh.

“Amy?” He noticed my wince and picked me up with ease.

The sudden sensation of being swept into the air upset my stomach, but I held on to him as he walked me through the apartment, bringing me to the bathroom. He started a shower, still holding me. When he set me down, he didn’t go far.

“I need you,” he uttered with a gritty rasp, like he hated that he did. Like he knew he shouldn’t but was helpless to.

I swallowed hard as he tugged his bloody shirt off and flung it to the side. We remained close, flush to each other, and I drew in a deep breath of him. That musky spice. The smell ofhim, the scent I remembered from our one night and the moment in the alley.

I wanted to ask why. How. He’d acted like a stranger in the alley, and it was confusing and alarming with how he’d stalked me out of that club, but words failed to come.

“I’ve needed you all this time,” he said in that same low, gravelly voice, loathing the confession he didn’t want to make.

I stood still, fired up, placing my hands flat on his chest. He embraced me, wrapping his arms around me roughly as he slammed his lips to mine. A guttural moan left his lips, and it caused an echo of need to slip from my mouth.

I parted it as his tongue slipped in, demanding a taste our distance and time apart had denied him. Kissing him felt wrong. Surrendering to his seductive, dominant tone and actions had to be the opposite of a logical reaction in this moment.

I knew, more than ever, that he was bad news, but my body betrayed me. I acted on the small, persistent part of my heart that always yearned for someone to be mine, for me to belong to someone else.

He growled into the hard, wet kiss as steam filled the room. Bending me back as he dipped his head toward me and demanded my mouth to surrender to his, he shed his clothes.

I didn’t dare stop. I kissed him back as hard as I could. Feverish for contact with his hard, chiseled body, I clung to him and groped for more touches as he hurried to rip this stupid dress off my body.

We entered the shower together, as one. He picked me up, bringing me into the stall with him. Our lips remained locked, sealed with this wet, drugging kiss. I held on to him and fought back the urge to cry at the bliss of having his hands on me again, of having his tongue sliding with mine and his mouth stealing my breath.

He rubbed over my cut as I wrapped my leg around him, but it was with a minimal spin and distracted effort that he tried to clean me. We couldn’t stop kissing, desperate to stay lip locked and together. Flush to his wet body, I held on and prayed he’d never let me go.

This was no gentle lover. He wasn’t a random stranger stalking me in an alley. Nik was a lying, ruthless, and powerful killer. And still, I wanted him to push his hard dick into my wet pussy.

Desire drowned me, and because of this rabid-hot need for him, I didn’t protest when he quickly pulled me out of the shower with him.

I didn’t feel cleaner. A thousand showers and ample cases of soap couldn’t wash off the filth of ever being in that warehouse. Blood had been removed, but I wasn’t whole. I wasn’t clean. I felt dirty and used, taken and touched.

“Amy.”

He dropped me onto a bed, following me down. Of course, he’d noticed I was slipping away, dragged back into the horrible memories from earlier.

“Fuck.” He grabbed my hands and thrust them above my head. With a slight shift and lift up, he lined himself up and drove into my pussy with one hard thrust.

“Ah!” I cried out and closed my eyes at the brutal sting. I was wet, aching, and dripping for him, aroused against my better judgment.There was no chance my body would lie. I wanted him, and in some weird, sick way, I felt like his impatient, rough thrust like this erased the reminder of how I’d been searched. Even though the man didn’t touch me inside, he’d looked near my pussy, and that stare was violating enough.

“Amy.” He couldn’t stop saying my name, and I wasn’t going to complain. Each time he gritted it out, like a beast consumed with unstoppable lust, I felt more like myself. Like a woman who mattered. Like a lover he would always covet.

“Fuck!” He ground into me, pushing me into the mattress as he fucked me hard and fast. “Open your eyes. Open your fucking eyes and look at me.”

I did, gazing into the depths of his light eyes, mesmerized with how wild and determined he looked.

Just like this, he filled me and stretched me. He pumped that big dick deep into my pussy, spearing up to my womb. His rock-hard body rubbed along mine, brushing against my nipples, grinding onto my clit and giving me that much-needed hit of friction.

Over and over, he covered me and pounded me without pause. In this thrilling race to come, I lost sight of all the horrors. I ceased to remember that stark fear. I shed the anxiety of wondering whether I’d die.

In his arms, I was safe—for now. Wrapped around his steely cock, I was nearing pleasure—not only pain. He stretched me so good. The burn of his skin slipping into mine heated me up. And when he lowered his head to latch his mouth over my nipple, I cried out and came.

Waves of pleasure and bliss rocketed into me. He wasn’t far behind. Two more brutal thrusts in, and he spilled his cum deep inside me. I milked him as he twitched, ramming his hips to mine with a final encore of needing my tight clench.

But he didn’t stay. The distraction of his desire stopped short as he stood. That sweet escape of a punishingly strong orgasm faded as he left me panting on the bed.

Glaring down at me, his dick glistening with our juices and the evidence of our fast fuck, he shook his head.