Page 50 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

“Harder,” she gasps. “I told you I’m not fragile.”

I grip her hip with one hand, angling her for deeper penetration while my other hand tangles in her hair. The new position makes her scream, and I have to capture the sound with my mouth to avoid alerting the entire household.

“Touch yourself,” I order against her lips. “Then I want to feel you come on my cock.”

Her hand slides between us immediately, fingers finding her clit with practiced efficiency. I can feel the added pressure through the thin wall separating us, feel the way her body starts trembling as she works herself toward another orgasm.

“That’s it,” I encourage, thrusting harder. “Come for me, Serena. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hits like a vise, her inner muscles clenching around me with rhythmic pulses that make maintaining control nearly impossible. I fuck her through it, chasing my own release while she shudders and gasps beneath me.

“Where?” I manage, the question rough with strain.

“Inside,” she gasps. “I’m on birth control, so just come inside me already.”

The permission shatters what’s left of my control. My rhythm falters, becomes erratic, then I’m coming hard enough to see stars—buried deep inside her while pleasure crashes through me in waves that seem endless.

We stay locked together for several long moments, both of us breathing hard, sweat-slicked skin pressed together in the aftermath.

When I finally pull out, she makes a small sound of protest that I file away for later consideration. I collapse beside her carefully, mindful of her injuries despite the boneless satisfaction making movement difficult.

Serena turns her head to look at me, her expression complicated—satisfaction mixed with uncertainty and something else I can’t quite identify.

“So,” she says finally. “That was insane.”

“Yes.” I reach over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Regrets?”

She considers the question seriously. “Ask me again when I can think clearly.”

“That good?”

“Fishing for compliments?” But she’s smiling, the expression transforming her bruised face into something radiant.

“Simply confirming satisfactory performance.” I pull her closer, arranging her against my side with her head on my uninjured shoulder.

She fits there perfectly, curves pressed against me, one leg thrown over mine in casual intimacy that feels both foreign and exactly right.

“This complicates things,” she murmurs after a while.

“Yes.”

“We should probably talk about what it means. For the arrangement, I mean.”

“Later.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Right now, just stay here.”

She doesn’t argue, just settles more comfortably against me with a sigh that sounds like contentment.

Something that feels uncomfortably close to genuine connection.

That’s a complication for tomorrow. Tonight, I have Serena in my bed, satisfied and willing, and that’s enough.

Chapter Nineteen - Serena

The first night after we have sex, I return to my own room out of habit. I gather my things, go through my normal evening routine, try to pretend that what happened in Pavel’s bed doesn’t fundamentally alter everything between us.

That illusion lasts exactly twelve hours.

“Your things are being moved to my room,” Pavel informs me the next evening over dinner, his tone suggesting this isn’t up for discussion.