Page 77 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

His tongue worked patiently, soaking the cotton until it clung to every fold. Only then did he hook his fingers in the waistband and drag them down my thighs. The cool air hit my exposed skin, and I bit back a whimper.

His lips brushed the outer folds first, feather-light, teasing. Then his mouth sealed over me entirely, sucking hard. Everything I was already leaking, he swallowed down. I should've felt ashamed—I hadn't even showered, but the thought dissolved under the heat of his tongue.

He licked me open slowly, thoroughly, like he had all the time in the world. Then his tongue pushed inside, mimicking the rhythm of something thicker, something I wanted with an ache that made my knees shake.

I grabbed his hair and came apart, gasping his name.

Before I could recover, he stood and lifted me like I weighed nothing. He carried me to the couch and laid me down, his hands already working the buttons of my blouse.

When my bra came off, he cupped my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples. "Fuck, these are perfect." He lowered his head and sucked one peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling until I arched off the cushions.

His fingers found the other nipple, pinching lightly, then pulling upward. The sensation shot straight between my legs. I felt him undo his belt, heard the rasp of his zipper. Then he was there, thick and hard, pushing inside.

He didn't move.

I was soaked, aching, and he just stayed buried to the hilt. The fullness made me squirm.

"Varlam, please..."

"Still planning to leave?"

I hesitated.

He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, then slammed back in. Hard. The drag was exquisite torture.

"I'm not. I won't quit."

"Good girl." He sank in fully, bottoming out, and started to move. His hands roamed my body, kneading the soft curves of my hips, my waist, my breasts. I couldn't stop the sounds spilling from my throat—soft, broken gasps that turned into low, helpless moans as he rolled his hips in a deep, deliberate grind.

"You like it like this, don't you?" His voice was rough, his hips snapping forward harder, the wet sound of our bodies meeting filling the space between us. "Taking me so well."

It was overwhelming. My body responded violently, waves of heat rolling through me, thighs trembling around his waist. But beneath the pleasure, something hollow twisted in my chest. He'd done this with Brinny. Said these things to her. Probably been gentler, more careful.

My mood sank.

But Varlam didn't slow down. If anything, he got more intense. His mouth found my ear, breath hot and ragged as he murmured against the skin. "Only you make me feel like this." His hand slid down to where we were joined, his thumb circling with precise, relentless pressure that made my back arch. "You're incredible. So damn perfect."

Only you.

Those words unraveled something in me. The emptiness filled back up with warmth, with want. My pleasure climbed again, sharp and dizzying, every thrust driving me higher. I clung to his shoulders, nails digging in as he kept praising me—my body, the way I felt around him, how good I was—and I believed him. His rhythm never faltered, his hands never stopped worshipping every inch of me, squeezing, stroking, claiming.

We didn't stop until we were both wrecked, trembling, too exhausted to do anything but hold each other, sweat-slick skin pressed close, hearts still racing in the quiet aftermath.

Chapter Twenty-One

Varlam

After that night, Briony never mentioned quitting again. I asked her permission and brought her back to my office, back to being my assistant.

But I hadn't set foot in the company for days.

I never exposed my heart to anyone. I gave orders. That's what I did. But Briony changed me. That's what scared me.

I walked to the window and lit a cigar. Smoke crawled across the glass, blurring the view outside. I dragged deep, tasting bitterness in my throat. Even though I'd kept Briony close, I still couldn't define what we were.

Brinny's return made everything worse.

"You're in love with Briony."