Page 43 of Forced By the Bratva

I kept my arm around her, holding her close while our heartbeats gradually found the same slow rhythm.

She was mine now in every way that mattered. And in the silence of the room, I knew we’d crossed a line neither of us could return from.

This marked the beginning of a new chapter in our lives, but the question was: Were we ready for this change?

Chapter 15 – Iris

I woke up to the sound of chirping birds outside my window, the rising sun casting its warm glow on my face.

The backs of my fingers rubbed my eyes as the memories of last night slowly crept back into my head. I couldn’t believe it happened. We’d had sex, and it was good.

He was gentle with me, his strong arms claiming every inch of my body as if he owned me. A faint flutter rose in my chest as I recalled how he’d kissed me so fervently, how I’d lost control and moaned at his touch.

My thighs still felt tender, and between my legs, a dull throb reminded me of his relentless strokes.

I drew in the scent of him lingering on the tangled sheets as I lay still, staring at the ceiling. The sound of my own voice begging him to fuck me harder echoed in my head.

I knew that I was going to regret everything I’d said to him in the heat of the moment, but I didn’t care. I’d been too horny to think straight.

The man knew how to please a woman. His tongue was impressive, so impressive that he actually made me come without penetration. It was my first time, and yet, he managed to make me squirt all over the sheets.

Ilya took his time to explore every curve of my body. He paid close attention to my needs and moved according to my rhythm. Last night wasn’t about him. It was about pleasing the woman he was attracted to.

The more I tried not to think about the incident, the more my mind kept returning to it.

I shifted carefully. The bed was empty beside me, but the air still carried his heat. I turned my head and found him on the floor, back against the wall, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out.

His head had tipped sideways against the plaster. One hand rested on the edge of the mattress, fingers loose, close enough that if I reached I could touch them.

I expected him to have left in the middle of the night. But here he was, still around and sleeping peacefully on the floor.

Something in my chest pulled tight as I watched him in silence, tugging the hem of the sheets over my breasts. He looked so harmless. Handsome.

I watched the rise and fall of his chest for a long time. The cut on his forearm from the slope had been cleaned; a thin dark line crossed the muscle.

I remembered the way he’d shoved me out of the path of the spikes, the weight of him covering me as we tumbled. I remembered the fear in his voice afterward, when he shouted at me. I’d never heard him raise his voice before.

The longer I looked at him, the more images from last night flooded my mind. The way he lifted me onto the table by the window. The fervent kiss.

The way he’d stared up from between my legs, eyes dark, chin wet, and said nothing—just kept going until I came so hard the room blurred.

Then the careful way he’d pushed inside me when I told him I was a virgin. The stretch that burned, then slowly turned into something else.

My pussy tingled just from recalling the details of the incident.

I’d told him I belonged to him, that he owned me. And now, all I felt was shame. I was embarrassed by what I’d said, and it made my face heat.

A part of me regretted ever letting this happen because now I’d crossed a line I was never supposed to cross. Another part of me, however, was glad that he made a woman out of me.

Every cell in my body had come alive at his touch, kisses, and caresses. I hadn’t known what I was missing until he gave it to me.

There was a problem, though—and that was my growing attachment to him. We’d connected on more than one level. It was as though there were a piece of him in me and a piece of me in him.

I’d given him my innocence, and although I hadn’t admitted it yet, I knew deep down that I would do that over and over again. And that was the problem.

The line between captor and prisoner was now blurred, and I had no idea what we were to each other.

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