Page 95 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

“Fuck, your hand feels good,” he says, his voice strained.

I increase my pace, my thumb circling the sensitive head on each upstroke. He twitches in my grip, his breathing growing ragged.

“Vera,” he warns. “If you keep doing that, this is going to be over very quickly.”

“Then maybe we should do something else.”

I guide him toward the couch, pushing him down onto the cushions. He goes willingly, his eyes dark with desire as he watches me step out of the rest of my clothes.

I straddle his lap, positioning myself over him. His hands find my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh.

“Slow,” he says, his voice rough. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I sink down onto him inch by inch, letting my body adjust to the stretch. He fills me completely, the sensation overwhelming in the best possible way.

When I’m fully seated, we both let out a shuddering breath. I rest my forehead against his, our breaths mingling.

“Move,” he says.

I lift my hips and sink back down. Each stroke sends sparks of pleasure through my body, his cock filling me just right.

His hands guide my movements, his fingers digging into my hips as I ride him. The angle is perfect, and before long I’m moving faster, chasing the pleasure that’s building inside me again.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice rough. “Take what you need, little bird.”

I brace my hands on his shoulders and pick up the pace, my hips rolling in a rhythm that makes us both gasp. The sound of our bodies coming together fills the room.

“I’m close,” I whimper. “Roman, I’m really close.”

“Me too.” His hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit. He circles it in time with my movements, pushing me higher and higher.

I throw my head back and cry out, my body clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me.

He follows me over the edge a moment later, his hips jerking up as he spills inside me. He groans my name, his hands tightening on my hips hard enough to bruise.

After, he pulls me close so he can bury his face in my neck.

Then, he reaches over to a box of tissues to clean up. He gets up after we both dress, returning with two glasses of water and a blanket.

“Drink,” he says, and I curl into him again.

We’re still tangled together on the couch when the glass behind me shatters.

Roman moves faster than I can process. One second I’m in his arms, the next I’m on the floor with his body covering mine. His weight presses me into the hardwood, his arms caging me protectively.

“Stay down,” he snarls.

The crack of a rifle shot reaches my ears a fraction of a second later, followed by shouting from somewhere outside. Roman’s security team, mobilizing.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I can feel Roman’s heartbeat, rapid but steady against my back.

“Sniper,” he says, his voice clipped. “Perimeter position. My team will handle it. Fuck, this place was supposed to be secure!”

“How?” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Don’t move.”

We lie there for what feels like an eternity, my face pressed against the floor. The shouting outside grows louder, then fades. A single gunshot rings out, followed by silence.