Sinful Blaze (Chekhov Bratva Book 1)

“Hey, Pash—mmf!”

The kiss that silences her is brutal and crushing, but so is every emotion raging war inside me as I haul her onto the kitchen island and step between her thighs.

I want her.

I need her.

And I need her to understand how things around here, between us, actually work.

She’s changed out of her work clothes and into a more comfortable lounge set of sweatpants and a tank top that won’t quite cover her baby bump as well as it used to. It’s also stretched tighter around her breasts than I recall.

Just like that, all the blood pounding in my head rushes straight to my dick.

I already tossed my coat and tie aside, and was in the process of working my shirt buttons open when I came into the kitchen. Now, everything between her skin and mine is a barrier that pisses me the hell off.

With one swift move that makes her yelp with surprise, I yank her top off over her head and her pants down.

No panties. No bra.

Naughty plamya.

“Pasha, what are you—ohhh…”

Her confusion melts into pleasure the moment my tongue sweeps through her folds. With her legs draped over my shoulders and my hands firmly gripping her thighs, there’s nowhere to wriggle away to.

Just like I want her: at my mercy.

Ideally, I’d have her bent over the table and screaming my name as I plowed into her from behind. But she’s carrying my baby, and that swell has grown to the point where doing such a thing would be stupidly reckless and selfish on my part.

You know what else is stupidly reckless and selfish?

Not calling me for help when assholes like Ewing cause trouble.

The memory of him in his apartment reminds me of how pissed I am. How fucking possessive I am over the woman now panting and moaning as I devour her sweet slit.

Her naked body is mine to enjoy. Mine to worship.

Not his.

I’m so lost in my roiling thoughts, I don’t even realize I’m sucking yet another lovebite into Daphne’s inner thigh. She whimpers in a mixture of pleasure and pain, so I let go and kiss the hurt away wordlessly.

I won’t apologize for marking my territory.

“Pash,” she whines when I slid a finger into her. I press deeper, curling when I find that sweet spot. “Pash… please… I’m so close…”

She’s right where I want her. I stroke a few more times, savoring the way she squirms on the countertop and tries to grind herself against my face.

But when she’s right on that edge, I stop.

“Wh-what?” Daphne looks so sweetly confused, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen from my kisses. “What’s wrong?”

“Ewing,” I rasp. “He came to your workplace. He put his hands on you.”

The sudden rush of pink to her cheeks is not because I’m touching her.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I… I didn’t…” Daphne swallows hard. “I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t think it mattered.”

I hold back the true depths of my anger. Didn’t think it mattered, as if what happens to her doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s not her I’m angry at—it’s whoever gave her the idea that she could ever be a bother when she needs help.

“Look at me, Daphne.”

She doesn’t. She’s too busy biting her lip and looking away in her shame and embarrassment.

“Do I look like the kind of man who’s okay with another man coming after my woman? Touching her, kissing her, forcing himself on her?”

Again, her brow furrows. “‘Your woman’?”

“Yes, Daphne. You’re my woman. That should be pretty fucking obvious.”

“How—”

“You sleep in my bed. You⁠—”

“That’s a technicality.” She clears her throat and finally meets my eye. “You own this apartment. You own the whole building, if I remember correctly. Every room is your room.”

I growl low in my chest. “You sleep in my bed. You wear my jewelry, and my mark. You wear my scent. You take my cock. You’re carrying my baby. Everything I have is yours. How are you not my woman?”

Unshed tears glisten on her lashes. “Isn’t that it, though? You only want me because I’m carrying your baby.”

I grab her face so there’s nowhere else she can look but right back at me. “I wanted you, Daphne. You. Long before either of us even knew about our baby.”

Her eyes fall low and she worries with her teeth at the inside of her cheek for a while. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to, I just… I didn’t know if I could.”

That’s what I’ve been waiting for.

So when I slide into her, it feels like sliding into home. Warm, tight, safe.

Daphne clings to me as I hike her legs up around my waist and work myself deeper into her. I keep my hands clamped tight on her hips, unwilling to let her go anywhere else but where she belongs.

Right here. With me. On me.

She’s ready to come almost instantly, but she does so good, so fucking good, to bite my shoulder and wait for me to tell her she can go ahead and let it all out.

Cruel bastard that I am, though, I don’t. Instead, I slow the pace until I’m seated balls-deep inside her and just grind there. No pull, no thrusts, but every inch is filling her to the brim and making her feel just how badly I need her.

“Pasha, please…”

I hold her face in my hand and kiss her hard. “Show me you can listen to me,” I breathe in her ear. “Show me you can keep your word.”

A pitiful mewl emits from her throat, but she nods and buries her face in my neck. I can feel her kiss my skin, then suck it between her teeth, and a thrill like no other shoots from my head to my toes at the knowledge that my woman is marking me.

When her body feels calmer, I start back up again. This time, my thrusts are harder, longer strokes. Her toes curl. Her fingers dig into my shoulder blades.

“That’s a good girl. Come with me,” I grunt.

She doesn’t need anything else to push her over the edge—and neither do I. We fall over together into that wet, dark heat.

I won’t mind at all if this is how we need to have serious discussions. If the only way she’ll ever grasp things is by me pounding it into her beautiful body until she screams and comes apart at my command, I’m more than happy to oblige.

“We don’t keep secrets in this house,” I mumble against her stomach as I ease her back down. “Understood?”

She’s dreamy-eyed and perfectly satisfied. I’d be lying if I said that’s not a major turn-on in itself. I love knowing I’m the one—the only one—to make her feel this good.

“Okay,” she breathes. “Okay.”

I caress her waist, pressing more kisses to the precious swell of her womb. “You’re mine, Daphne. You and our baby. You have no idea how⁠—”

I cut myself off before I openly admit it. Before I say, out loud, how fucking scared I was that something had happened to her. To our daughter.

So instead, I pull myself out of her. “If Ewing ever comes back, you call me. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“If anyone lays a finger on you, or makes you feel unsafe in any way, you give them hell until you’re able to call me. Not Sofi, not Mak, not my mother. Me.”

She nods, a tiny smile playing at the edge of her lips. “You really want to take care of me, don’t you?” She says it like this is the very first time she’s actually fully understood the concept.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“No,” she admits as the grin spreads. “But… I might need reminders. Constant, lengthy reminders.”

I nip at the swell of her breast and grin right back. “Your wish is my command.”