Page 52 of Forced Marriage to the Cruel Bratva Pakhan

The question is so unexpected that honest answer escapes before I can filter it. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He sets down the vodka glass, using both hands now to frame my face. “You’re thinking about the other night.”

My breath catches. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Serena.” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “I can see it in the way you look at me. The way your breathing changes when I get close. You want me to touch you again.”

“That’s arrogant.”

“That’s accurate.” He leans closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with something darker underneath.

He waits, giving me the opportunity to refuse.

I don’t take it.

Instead, I close the remaining distance and kiss him.

The response is immediate and overwhelming. His hands move from my face to my waist, pulling me flush against him while his mouth claims mine with possessive intensity. I make a small sound—need or surrender or both—and feel him smile against my lips.

“Bed,” he murmurs between kisses. “Now.”

We barely make it. Pavel walks me backward until my legs hit the mattress, then follows me down, his body covering mine with controlled weight. The position should feel confining but instead feels safe, protected, exactly where I want to be.

His mouth moves to my throat, finding the pulse point that makes me gasp. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” The admission comes out breathless. “I want you.”

“More specific.” His teeth scrape along my collarbone. “Tell me exactly what you need, Serena.”

The demand for verbal participation makes my face heat, but there’s something intoxicating about saying it out loud. “I want your hands on me. Your mouth. I want—”

“What?” He pulls back slightly to look at me, pupils blown dark with want. “Say it.”

“I want you inside me again.” The words tumble out, shameless and desperate. “I want to feel you like I did before. I want everything.”

The confession seems to snap something in his control. He strips my clothes with efficient precision, then his own, until we’re skin to skin with nothing between us.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and the reverence in his tone makes my chest tighten. “Every time I see you like this, it gets harder to maintain distance.”

“Then don’t.” I pull him down for another kiss. “Don’t maintain distance at all.”

What follows is slower than our first time—less frantic urgency, more deliberate exploration. Pavel takes his time mapping my body with hands and mouth, learning what makes me gasp versus moan versus beg.

When he finally pushes inside me, the sensation is just as overwhelming as before. I arch beneath him, taking him deeper, and watch his expression shift into something almost vulnerable.

“Serena,” he breathes, and my name has never sounded like that before—reverent and possessive and raw with need.

We move together, finding rhythm, and I’m overwhelmed by the sensation of him filling me completely. Every thrust drives deeper, hitting spots that make coherent thought impossible. My legs wrap tighter around his waist, heels digging into his lower back to pull him impossibly closer.

“Look at me,” he orders, his voice rough. “I want to see your face when you come.”

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there steals my breath—dark hunger mixed with something softer, more vulnerable. He’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that exists, like nothing else matters beyond this moment.

“Pavel,” I gasp as he adjusts the angle, grinding against my clit with each thrust. “I can’t—it’s too much.”

“Yes, you can.” His hand slides between us, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling with practiced precision. “You’re going to come on my cock, Serena. I want to feel you fall apart.”

The dual stimulation is overwhelming. I arch beneath him, chasing the pleasure building with frightening intensity. My nails drag down his back, probably leaving marks, but he just groans and thrusts harder.