Page 7 of The Bratva Stalker and His Pregnant Bride

Before I can answer, he moves with a predatory grace, climbing onto the mattress and settling his massive, heavy frame directly over mine, trapping me beneath his heat.

He looks down at me, his striking blue eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them, burning with a hunger that makes me shiver beneath him. Then, he bends his head and captures my mouth.

The kiss is deep, hot, and consuming, his tongue tangling with mine as he claims me completely. My hands automatically fly to his shoulders, my fingers digging into the hard, tattooed muscle of his back, pulling him closer as if I could never get enough of his weight.

He slowly pulls his lips away from mine, letting out a low, gravelly growl of satisfaction. He drags his mouth down the sensitive line of my jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses against my throat, making my head tilt back into the pillows.

“So soft, krasavitsa,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my collarbone.

His lips travel lower, tracing a path of fire down my chest to the full, aching swell of my breasts. When his tongue first brushes against my nipple, a sharp, electric jolt shoots straight to my core, and a breathless whimper escapes my lips.

He takes his time, paying slow, agonizingly thorough attention to me. He circles the highly sensitive peaks with his tongue, blowing hot air over the wet skin until I’m arching my back off the mattress, begging for more. He cups the weight of my breast in his broad, tattooed hand, squeezing gently before taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking with a deliberate, slow rhythm.

A high, breathless cry of pure pleasure escapes me, my fingers tightening in his thick, dark hair. I lose all sense of time and control, completely submerged in the overwhelming sensations he is pulling from my body.

Beneath his massive, heavy frame, I am entirely raw, writhing and whimpering as he worships my skin with a possessive, unhurried intensity that leaves me completely breathless.

His large, warm hand slides slowly down my stomach, the calloused palm a stark contrast to my skin. When his fingers trail lower, past my hips, and finally sink into the wet heat between my thighs, another high, broken cry rips from my throat.

He circles my clit with his thumb, applying a firm, teasing pressure that has me blindly tilting my hips up into his palm, desperate for friction.

“Samuel, please,” I beg, my voice sounding entirely unrecognizable to my own ears—husky, raw, and desperate.

He pauses the movement, leaning up on one elbow to look down at me, his striking blue eyes wild with dark satisfaction. “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his thumb swiping once more across the hypersensitive center of me. “You’ll take my cock soon, but you’re far too tight right now. I need to prep you first.”

Before I can process his words, he drops his mouth back down to my breast, rolling my nipple with his tongue as he smoothly plunges one long finger into my tight heat.

A sharp whimper catches in my chest. He doesn’t wait, immediately establishing a slow, rhythmic pace, fucking me with his finger while his mouth keeps me entirely focused on the white-hot ache in my chest.

I can feel the sheer thickness of his hands, the strength in his forearm as it rests against my inner thigh, stretching me open.

He pulls his finger nearly all the way out, then pauses against my entrance. “Can you take two, Ashley?”

I can barely think, my mind entirely short-circuited by the pleasure, so I just nod frantically against the pillow.

He sinks a second finger inside, the sudden fullness making my walls clamp down hard around him. He tries to push deeper, but I’m incredibly narrow, my muscles tight with an intense mix of anticipation and overstimulation.

Samuel lets out a low, gravelly chuckle against my skin, the vibration trembling straight through my chest. He pulls back just enough to look down at my flushed face, a wicked, dominant smirk playing on his lips.

“Fucking hell, you’re so tight for me,” he rumbles, his eyes gleaming with absolute possession. “If you can’t even take two or three of my fingers, krasavitsa, how the hell are you going to take my cock?”

Without warning, he pulls his fingers completely out of me, and a desperate, broken cry rips from my throat at the sudden, freezing loss.

“Samuel, please—no, don’t stop,” I beg, my hands sliding down his shoulders to grip his wrists, completely unconcerned with pride or control anymore. I’m entirely at his mercy, desperate for him to fill the agonizing ache he just created.

Instead of answering, he slowly raises his hand between our faces, his breathing heavy and ragged. His eyes dilate, the blue of his irises nearly swallowed by black as he stares at his own glistening, wet fingers. He doesn’t look away from me as he slowly slides those fingers into his own mouth, wrapping his lips around them and sucking them clean.

A low, dark groan rumbles from deep in his chest.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his voice thick and entirely undone. “I have to taste you. All of you.”

Before I can even process his words, his massive hands grip my thighs, spreading my legs wide and draping them over his broad shoulders. He slides down the bed with a predatory urgency, his heavy weight settling between my knees.

I barely have time to gasp before his mouth buries itself directly against my wet center.

The first stroke of his tongue is wide, hot, and incredibly firm, pinning me to the sheets. I scream his name, my hips instantly bucking off the mattress, but his hands clamp down like iron vices on my hips, locking me in place beneath him.

He shows absolutely no mercy. He uses his lips and tongue with a devastating, relentless precision, sucking at my clit while licking deep inside me, drinking me in as if he is starving.