Page 20 of Claimed By the BRATVA Grump

I lift my thighs, spreading myself as much as physically possible while he pumps vigorously.

“Please,” I breathe, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Just more. All of it. Everything he has.

“Look at you,” he growls, his voice breaking. “Look at this perfect pussy. These perfect tits. You’re everything. You’re fucking everything, Sammie, and I’m going to make sure you know it. I’m going to make sure you never forget who you belong to.”

He comes with a shout that echoes off the balcony walls, his cock jerking in his hand as thick ropes of cum splatter across my pussy, my thighs, marking me, claiming me. It’s hot and obsceneand the most intimate thing anyone has ever done to me. He makes sure every drop lands on me, working himself until he’s empty, until he’s shaking, until he’s spent.

It takes a second for the word he shouted to register. But before I have a chance to unpack it, he collapses forward, his forehead pressed against my chest, his breath coming in harsh gasps against my skin. He stays there for a long moment, and I run my fingers through his hair, holding him, feeling the aftershocks ripple through both of us.

When he came, he shouted the word “mine,” long and loud.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are clear and fierce and absolutely certain. He looks down at where his cum is smeared across me, where I’m a mess of him and me and us, and he smiles. It’s not a kind smile. It’s a predator’s smile. A promise.

“Now you’re mine,” he says. Reaffirming what I hear moments ago.

And I realize that he’s right. I am his. Completely. Irrevocably. I’ve been his since the first time he walked into my café and ordered black coffee like it was a challenge. I’ve been his since he let Lucifer sit on his phone and didn’t complain. I’ve been his since he carried me out of my safe little world and into his fortress and made me feel safer there than I ever had anywhere else.

I look up at him, this terrifying, beautiful man who has just marked me as his own, and I know with absolute certainty that no one else will ever measure up. No one else will ever see me the way he does. No one else will ever touch me the way he does. No one else will ever make me feel like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

I’m ruined. He’s ruined me. And as he gathers me into his arms and carries me back inside, his cum still drying on my skin,his name still echoing in my bones, I find that I don’t mind at all. In fact, I can’t think of a single thing I’ve ever wanted more.

Eduard

The call comes at four-thirty.

“Popov wants to meet.” Jasper’s voice is flat and devoid of any emotion. Like that request is just another boring day in the office.

My gaze automatically sweeps over to Sammie, who is curled up on the sofa watching some British baking show or other.

“Fine, neutral territory, set it up.”

I join her on the sofa. The afternoon bleeds into night, I go down on her again while she still tastes of both of us. She comes apart on my sofa and I wonder if I could make her come in every room of this apartment before morning.

Jasper calls again at just after seven.

“The meeting is set up, eight o’clock, so get moving.”

He sends directions straight to my phone as I pull Sammie onto my lap for a kiss.

“I have some business to deal with,” I tell her, stroking a tendril of hair back behind her ear. “Then everything should go back to normal.

Disappointment flashes in her eyes, gone as quickly as it came.

“Okay,” she says. “Anything I can help with?”

I shake my head. “No, I shouldn’t be long.”

I hate leaving her.

Dmitri notices I’m not my usual self but keeps his thoughts to himself as he drives to the restaurant where I’ll meet Mechislav before heading into the meeting.

Mechislav is waiting inside the doors with two vehicles idling and six men I chose myself, and he takes one look at my face and skips the greeting.

"Terms or war?" he asks. That's Mechislav. Twenty years at my father's shoulder, then mine, and he's never once needed a sentence where a word would do.

"Terms," I say. "Unless they're stupid."

"They're Popov’s. Stupid is the family business." He falls into step beside me, handing me a thin folder as we walk. "Neutral ground is Orbeli's back room. Their choice, which means they swept it this afternoon, which means we swept it an hour ago. Vladislav is bringing four men and the nephew."