Page 6 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

We’re on each other instantly.

The tension that’s been simmering between us since we violently collided backstage—the heavy, magnetic pull from the terrace and the suffocating heat of that booth upstairs—explodes the second we are behind closed doors.

Samuel lets out a low, rough growl, the plastic hotel keycard slipping from his fingers and clattering uselessly against the floorboards. Before I can even draw a full breath, his massive arms are wrapped securely around my waist, his large hands anchoring me against the solid, unyielding length of his body.

He lifts me slightly, completely erasing our height difference, and pins me against the door, kissing me with a raw, demanding vigor that leaves my head spinning. His lips are hot, possessive, and entirely unhurried, yet filled with a hunger that tells me he’s been waiting for this exact second all fucking night.

My hands fly to his shoulders, my fingers gripping the expensive fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there isn’t a single millimeter of air left between us.

I am not feeling a single ounce of regret.

Whenever I make a decision, I’m ten toes down behind myself. I don’t look back, I don’t second-guess my instincts, and I don’t apologize for what I want. The logical, disciplined side of my brain knows this is completely out of character for me. I don’t do hookups. I don’t let strangers into my space, and I have absolutely never thrown myself at a man like this—especially one I just met a few hours ago. But looking at Samuel, feeling the dangerous, intoxicating heat of his touch, I don’t care about my usual rules.

He’s arrogant, he’s entirely too confident, and he’s a complete disruption to my carefully ordered life. But right now, I’m determined to enjoy every single second of him.

I arch my back into his touch, my dark eyes opening for a fraction of a second to lock onto his piercing blue gaze as my fingers slide up to tangle in his tousled black hair, drawing him deeper into the kiss.

His hands tighten on my hips, his thumbs digging into my skin with a possessive weight that makes a low gasp escape my throat. He drags his lips down the column of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.

“Fucking hell, you’re so beautiful,” he growls against my collarbone, his voice rough and completely stripped of that smooth, easygoing baritone he used all night. “I want to worship every single inch of you, krasavitsa.”

The foreign word rolls off his tongue like a dark, velvety promise, sending a violent shiver straight down my spine.

He pulls back just enough to look down at me, his striking blue eyes blazing with a dangerous, heavy hunger that leaves no room for argument. His hands leave my waist, his arms bracing against the door on either side of my head, trapping me completely within his massive frame.

“Undress for me,” he commands, his voice dropping to a low, dominant murmur.

The blunt authority in his tone makes a sudden, white-hot heat pool directly between my legs. Ordinarily, if a man tried to order me around, I would dismantle his ego before he could even blink. I’m the one who dictates terms, sets boundaries, and maintains absolute control in every room I walk into.

But looking up at Samuel—seeing the unyielding, dominant focus in his gaze as he waits for me to move—I feel my need for control slip away into the background. I don’t want to lead right now. I don’t want to manage a single thing. I want to surrender to the sheer, intoxicating freedom of being wanted this intensely.

Keeping his burning blue eyes locked onto mine, I slowly reach back for the zipper of my emerald blazer dress. The metallic slide of the zipper sounds incredibly loud in the quiet penthouse. I slowly peel the structured fabric off my shoulders, letting it slide down my arms and pool around my heels, leaving me standing before him in nothing but my lacy black undergarments and designer heels.

Samuel’s breath hitches sharply. His gaze darkens, tracing the full, unapologetic curves of my body with a raw, predatory appreciation that makes my skin tingle as if he’s already touching me.

My breath hitches as I let the lacy black fabric slip from my skin, leaving absolutely nothing between us but the warm air of the room.

Samuel falls completely silent. The easy, cocky smirk is entirely gone, replaced by a heavy, reverent quiet as his blue eyes trace every single curve, every dip of my waist, and the full swell of my hips. He doesn’t move a muscle, but the sheer, predatory appreciation in his gaze is so intense it feels like a physical touch.

Under his unrelenting focus, a deep, hot blush creeps up my chest and stains my cheeks. I’ve never felt this exposed, yet I’ve never felt more desired.

“Fucking beautiful,” he rumbles, his voice incredibly deep and rough as he finally steps closer, his gaze locking onto mine. “When I’m done with you, Ashley, you won’t be able to look at another man. You’re going to forget anyone else ever existed.”

A sharp, breathless gasp escapes my lips, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs at the sheer, possessive promise in his words.

“Get on the bed,” he commands softly, his eyes darkening. “Now.”

Without a word of protest, I step back, my knees hitting the edge of the mattress before I climb onto the crisp white sheets, keeping my eyes locked on him.

But Samuel doesn’t immediately follow. He stands at the foot of the bed, holding my gaze with an absolute, unshakeable confidence that completely blows me away. Slowly, deliberately, he begins to undress.

He unbuttons his tailored black shirt, peeling it back to reveal a broad chest, rock-hard abs, and dark, intricate tattoos that crawl over his shoulders and down his arms. Next comes his belt, the heavy click of the buckle echoing in the quiet room, before he slides his trousers off.

My eyes bulge slightly, my throat going completely dry at the sheer size and power of him. He is built like an absolute god—all lean, dense muscle, rugged scars, and imposing height.

He catches the look on my face, and a slow, wicked smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he murmurs.