Page 9 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

I frowned. That caught me off guard. She'd dated Makar?

Makar and I were half-brothers. I didn't pry into his life. Who he dated, who he married—none of my business. I only went to his wedding because it was Petrov family tradition. We had to pretend to be close, at least on the surface.

But I hadn't realized Makar was a bigger asshole than I thought. Our father kept him away from the dangerous bratva life—not so he could hurt innocent, good women.

"That bastard's blind." I meant it. "I guarantee every strong man out there would kill for your body."

She propped her elbow on the table, resting that face—the kind that drove men insane—in her palm, looking at me.

"Does that include you?" Her voice was thick with alcohol.

"What if I said yes?"

Her eyes—like two rare gems glinting under the lights—locked on mine.

"Then someone should do something about it." She closed her eyes, her curled lashes trembling.

The faint lemon soap scent on her skin crawled up my nose and into my lungs. I could feel her breathing quicken. She'd worked up serious nerve to say that—to ask a man she barely knew to kiss her.

Refusing would be ungentlemanly.

I leaned in. Her lips felt like cream melting against mine. She touched my tongue first, tangling with it. Her mouth still tasted of sweet liqueur. I swallowed her sugary saliva greedily. She was like a peach bursting with nectar, begging to be devoured.

When we stopped, her hands were still wrapped around me, her chest pressed against mine. Her neckline gaped open, her breasts pushed up by the square cut of that white dress, displayed like a feast.

Good thing our booth was secluded. Barely anyone passed through here.

"Varlam." She said my name, straddling my lap, fingers wandering restlessly across my chest.

She was shattering my control. I was losing my fucking mind.

Sure, Makar didn't deserve her. But that didn't mean I could just do whatever I wanted. She was drunk, completely unguarded. I didn't want to take advantage—especially not of Briony. But I had to admit, she was the most perfect gift the universe had ever given me.

I needed to cool off. If this kept up, I'd take her right here. Trust me, that wouldn't be good for either of us.

"I need to step away." I clenched my jaw, easing her back against the couch. "Wait here."

I left, ignoring her protest. I checked the surroundings first, making sure Briony would be safe. I knew I was being an asshole, but I had no choice.

I walked into the bathroom, crushing down frustration and need, and shut the door. The air in the enclosed space felt thick and scalding.

Her image flashed through my mind again—straddling my lap.

"Fuck—"

I could picture exactly how good it would feel to be inside her.

Her thick thighs wrapped around my waist, soft belly pressed to mine, my cock buried deep. Her tight, slick pussy clamping down on me. Her full breasts bouncing with every thrust.

Those breasts felt like water in my hands, spilling between my fingers when I squeezed. I already knew how deadly that felt. I reached for my zipper, yanked down my briefs. My cock sprang out like it had been waiting.

The cool air made the tip even more sensitive.

I imagined her riding me, trembling under my touch, golden hair damp with sweat. My hand started pumping.

She'd collapse against me, nails digging into my back, begging me to go deeper. Then that impossibly tight cunt would squeeze me, milking me as she came.

I wanted her. Wanted to ruin her for anyone else. Wanted those heavy tits wrapped around my cock, wanted to paint her face with my cum. The images burned through my brain, heat pooling in my gut.