Page 106 of The Bratva King

Her eyes are dark, hungry, matching the storm in my chest. I grab her waistband, popping the button before dragging the zipper down. I spin her around and shove her forward over the desk, scattering papers. I yank her pants down. I twist the fabric in my fist and tear it.

“Nik!”

“I’ll buy you new fucking panties.”

She’s bent, ass up, wet, and waiting. I slip my hand between her thighs. My index finger slides across her slick heat.

“You like sucking my cock,” I hiss against her ear. “You’re wet.”

“Nik, shut up and fuck me.”

I smirk. If I didn’t want to fuck her so badly, I would tease her. But I don’t have that kind of self-control right now.

I line myself up and slide inside her. I drop my head back and clench my jaw to keep from exploding right away.

“Dammit. Your fucking pussy was made for me.”

I grip her hips hard enough to bruise and drive into her with punishing force, each thrust slamming her against the edge of the desk.

“Take me,” I demand.

She pushes back, taking me just a little deeper.

She gasps, fingers clawing at the desk, but I don’t ease up. The rage from the sabotage burns through me, and I fuck it out against her tight, slick heat, pounding deep and relentless.

I reach around and rub her clit hard, circling fast as I bottom out again and again. “Come on my cock,” I order. “Now.”

She shatters with a choked cry, her walls clamping down so tight that it nearly pulls me over the edge. I fuck her through it, harder, chasing my release while her moans turn broken and desperate.

My free hand fists in her wet hair, yanking her head back so I can bite the side of her neck. “You feel that? That’s me claiming you.”

Her body quakes again, another orgasm ripping through her as I grind in deep. I follow right after, spilling inside her with a guttural snarl as pleasure burns through the last of my fury. For a long moment I stay buried, breathing hard, my hands still locked on her like she might disappear. Then I pull out slowly, watching my cock slide from her body. I’m still hard. I want more.

But I’ve got a disaster to deal with. I grab a tissue from the desk and clean her up.

“Get dressed.” My voice is still thick. She straightens on shaky legs, her face flushed, and her eyes glassy. I tuck myself away and adjust my wet clothes, the leftover anger still simmering, but quieter now.

She turns and pulls up her pants. “You tore my panties and busted my button off.”

“I was going to buy you new ones anyway. Go home, Gabby.”

She puts a hand on her hip. “What about you?”

“I need to handle some things.”

Pasha, knocks and the door opens before I can answer. He steps inside, takes one look at me, then at Gabby, and I see the moment he realizes what he almost walked in on.

“Am I interrupting?” The smirk on his face says he knows the answer.

“No,” I say flatly. “Gabby was just leaving.”

She shoots me a look that says we’re not done talking, but she knows better than to argue in front of Pasha. She nods at Pasha and walks to the door.

“I’ll see you at home,” she calls back.

Home. She called it home.

I watch her leave, then turn to Pasha. He’s still got that stupid grin on his face.