Page 30 of The Bratva's Forced Bride

“You’re so fucking irresistible, baby.”

“Mark …I’m … Oh God,”

I squirmed, wanting his lips on mine. And he caught the signal. His lips detached from my nipples, and we groaned into each other’s mouths. I was so close.

“Hermosa,” He growled like a wild animal.

His fingers danced on my clit as he shoved his cock deeper and deeper into me, pushing me to the edge of the cliff. I clung to him as if my life depended on it, burying my face in his neck, and waiting for him to say the magic words before I let go.

“I want you to come for me, baby. Come all over me.”

And that was all it took for the two of us to explode with nuclear force. The enormity of it was so big I feared I’d never be the same. How could I ever go back to okayish?

The next orgasm came shortly afterward when his head was between my legs. And the one after that, when he pulled me on top of him.

Mark took something from me that I would never get back. Something that wasn’t his to have but he would own it anyway.

Chapter 11 – Mark

“A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes.” – Charles Spurgeon

We lay on the bed, still breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling, she hidden under the silk sheets and I, stretched out with one arm under my head, stark naked. From the periphery, I saw her eyelids flutter as if she didn’t want to look at me.

The corners of my mouth ticked upward, and I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing.

She was fucking adorable, with her messy hair and her just-fucked look: Swollen lips, and red bite marks on her body. A sense of pride swelled inside me. I’d done that. Marked her. Made her mine. Although, I already had plans underway to make it official. I wondered what her reaction would be after I told her the news.

She tossed beneath the sheets and finally turned to me with a small grin on her face. Her eyes sparkled in the light, and she fidgeted with her fingers.

“So …,” she cleared her throat, “You speak French.”

I turned my head to the side to get a full view of her body. I knew she had a lot of questions in her head, but I found it surprising that she wanted to talk about my language skills.

I nodded.

“Yes, and of course Russian, English, Spanish, which you also know—and a little Mandarin.” I hummed. “I’m multilingual.”

I could see a smile forming on her cheeks, but I didn’t want to sit around talking about languages. There were more important things to talk about.

“That’s impressive. You know, I’m partly Latina, and I don’t even speak much span—”

“We’re getting married in a few weeks.”

She choked on her words, her eyes widened, and she stared at me as if several bombs had exploded simultaneously. She clutched the sheets to her chest, straightened up, and furrowed her brows.

“What are you talking about? Who’s getting married?”

I kicked my legs off the bed and strutted to the closet, picking out a pair of shorts. “We are, you and me, hermosa.”

Her chest rose and fell and the shock in her eyes turned to concern. She mumbled something to herself, not realizing that I was hearing every word. And when I heard his name from her lips, my blood boiled.

“What about Logan and our engagement? What should I do about it? Throw it all away as if it meant nothing. As if it never existed. No ... Never.”

When she looked up at me, it was like she’d figured it out. “The measurements at C’est Magnifique. Maeva knew.” After a minute of silence, she shook her head. “No.”

Funny, how she thought she had a say in this. “I didn’t ask,” I said sharply.

“But you can’t do that!”