The Bratva’s Captive: Chapter 23

SLOANE

Instead of telling me why he needed a baby from me—which he already had—Maxim grabbed the back of my neck and advanced toward me. My back slammed against the shower stall at the same moment his lips collided with mine. Thrown straight back into the maelstrom of desire, I caved to the wicked pressure to kiss him back just as hard. Everything was a fight with him.

For this lust.

For permission.

Something about this Mafia boss just pushed my buttons and I felt like a hypocrite to want him so badly. It was like he could read my mind and know how thrilled I was for him to be so commanding with me. Like he could read my body and guess that he was making me drip and so damn aroused when he played rough like this.

This isn’t right.

I knew that. I was well aware that I wasn’t behaving in any appropriate way. He’d kidnapped me, and I wasn’t supposed to be welcoming his tongue into my mouth, his fingers in my pussy as he pistoned them and made me cream faster for him.

He was a master of seduction. His interest in me was a carnal one, and I hated how weak I was to want him to be forceful with me like this.

“Hold on to me,” he growled, jerkily reaching back one hand to shut off the water. Without backing up, keeping his mouth against my cheek, he maneuvered us until I was back in his arms, being carried out.

He didn’t have to ask me to cooperate. There was no need to instruct me to follow his lead. Magnetized to him and craving him so potently like this, I was drawn to stay close. Kissing him hard, I felt so guilty to enjoy his highhandedness as he walked out of the bathroom.

Every step he took pushed his dick against me, bumping against my aching pussy. He’d fucked me not even an hour ago, and already, that massive cock was hard and angling to spear inside me.

And I wanted it.

I needed it.

Instead of explaining why he wanted a baby from me, he made good on his claim that he would fuck me as many times as it took. He didn’t need to shoot his cum into me again. I was already pregnant with his baby.

But I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t confess because he might not follow through. If he didn’t get that big dick into me now, I’d cry at the tease.

“Spread your legs for me.” He dropped me onto the bed, not caring how wet we still were from the shower. As I fell back, bouncing a little, I stared up at him as he kneeled onto the mattress. Looming over me like this, he looked like a beast intent on feasting on me. His mouth hung open as he breathed hard and fast. His chiseled chest and abs tensed, all his muscles emphasized with those sculpted ridges. And his eyes, those dark, sinister eyes, heated me up faster.

“Be a good girl, Sloane.” He advanced toward me, his erection bobbing straight out and pointing at me.

Letting my knees fall to the side, I locked my stare on his long shaft and wondered if his mission to impregnate me would mean I’d never be able to lick him and taste him, to take that cock in my mouth and suck him down.

was pregnant. It wouldn’t be a waste to swallow his cum.

No. You can’t be this stupid.

I refused to think of the possibility that I was so rabid for sex, for him, that I could think about submitting any further.

“Good girl,” he crooned wickedly as he fitted his cockhead to my pussy. “You take this.” He slammed in, making me arch my back and drop my head back as I rested on my hands to watch him. “You take this cock.” He leaned down to cup my ass cheeks, holding me up so he could set up a punishingly fast rhythm of rocking into me and dragging his penis back out. Each bump and ridge of his shaft teased me, and the wide stretch of letting him fill me shoved me back to that bliss that was becoming my salvation.

I didn’t have to worry. Under his hungry stare and surrendering to his body, I didn’t have to do a single thing other than feel the glorious escape.

No thoughts about my debt lingered. No worries about my apartment or having to dance nonstop or put up with lousy sleep.

With him fucking me so brutally like this, I had no chance to think at all.

My former life faded as distant memories with the impact of his hips smacking against mine.

My future as the mother of his child receded as faraway issues under the rough dig of his fingers in my ass cheeks.

I was so, so bad to enjoy this. But how could I not? No one had ever consumed me like this. No one had ever forced me to abandon my responsibilities and obligations to just be and feel.

“Take it,” he demanded, straining under the pressure to fuck me as hard as he could, like he wanted to drive all the way into me and imprint my brain. “Take it, Sloane.”

I nodded, watching as he sank into me and pulled out again, shiny with my juices each time. Loud, sluicing, suction sounds filled the room, broken only by our hard breaths.

And then once more, he showed me what he wanted. He demonstrated why he’d kidnapped me.

To fill me with his cum.

I came with a scream and trembled when he followed me, lying down over me and hugging me close.

That was how I fell into a new routine.

Instead of busting my ass and working nonstop to stay afloat, I was his fuck toy.

Instead of my silent treatment and his isolating method, I was his mistress to pound into with his goal of impregnating me.

And like a horrible, greedy idiot, I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t admit that I was pregnant already. Because the second I did, he might not do this anymore. I’d lose this bliss of ignorance. He’d cut me off from the escape that I was already too hooked on.

I fell asleep next to him each night, hating myself for being such a pushover and weakling, but by morning, I was reminded that he wasn’t raping me.

He wasn’t using me only for his needs.

I came every time. Multiple times. Every time I found that sweet relief with him, I lost the battle of reminding myself that this couldn’t last. That I couldn’t consider bending to his will and letting him think he had the ultimate control over me.

Keeping this baby a secret was the only tool I had left in this power play that persisted. And the longer I tried to stay strong and not let myself be too attached to him, not the sex, I deluded myself into thinking he would never fully own me. My body, maybe. But not my mind. And never my heart.

This wasn’t love. This was… something else that remained too complicated to understand.

One morning a week after he came into the room and stripped, I woke up with his mouth on my pussy, lapping at me and startling me.

“Maxim?” I tried to get up, but he pushed his hand on my stomach to keep me flat on my back.

“You gonna be a good girl today?” he asked between long, sensual licks.

I moaned, nodding at this wakeup call, and threaded my fingers through his thick, brown hair to keep his face there.

“Then fuck my face.” He slipped out from my grasp and shifted us until he was lying back and I was straddling his head. Wrapping his fingers around my thighs, he held me in place as I humped his mouth, crying out loud and with tears of happiness when I came.

“Good girl,” he praised, leading me over so he could kneel behind me. Fisting my hair in his hand, he tugged me backward until his dick poked at my entrance.

And again, he filled me with his cum.

And again, when we cleaned up in the shower, I refrained from telling him the truth that I was already carrying his child.

As I came down from the high, I tried to imagine what would happen if I told him.

I’d still be here, trapped and captive.

But then my baby would be too.

It was twisted to not want freedom from Maxim because he was practically drugging me with sex, but I couldn’t forfeit my child’s freedom with mine.

“You like being my good girl, don’t you?” he asked as we got out of the shower.

I whined. “Oh, my God, Maxim. I need like two more minutes. You’re going to make me so sore.”

He chuckled, kissing the top of my head, clearly proud of himself.

“Would you agree to cooperate with me?” he asked as he toweled himself off.

“How?” As soon as I asked it, I laughed dryly. “I mean, you’ve made it clear I have no control here.”

“Not just in this room,” he clarified. “In this house.”

I perked up but tried not to show it. “You mean you’d let me out of this room?”

He nodded. “It’s not feasible to keep you only in here. You will be my woman, Sloane. That won’t change. You are my mistress and you will give me a child.”

I swallowed hard. Yeah, I know—more than you do. I interpreted his words as his continued plan to own me and keep me here, not that I’d carry a baby. But hearing him repeat his intentions to keep me captive, a small voice that hadn’t died out in the back of my head yelled louder.

No, I’m not. I’ll never be your woman. I couldn’t willingly agree to commit to him as his woman like that. Because this survival instinct hadn’t died out. I had to get out of here. If not for myself, then for this baby to have a free life.

“Will you cooperate with me—in all ways—if I permit you access to more of this house?”

I blinked, surprised and cautious about why he was cutting me some slack. I wouldn’t be duped to think that he’d trust me.

Maybe this is a trick.

“I have commitments to see to, and as much as I’d rather be in here with you as often as I was this past week…” He stepped closer to me as I tied a towel around myself. Tipping my chin up, he kissed me tenderly at first but ended it with a nip.

He had been in his room more this week—all to fuck me. The isolation wasn’t as bad because when he was gone, I could rest from the intensity of sex.

“I can’t be here all the time.”

I nodded, not entirely sure what I was agreeing to or acknowledging. Now that he’d put it out there, I had to work with him however I could to get closer to escaping.

I was too independent not to.

I was too stuck with my vow to never be controlled by a man.

No matter how sexy he was. No matter how excellent of a lover he was. And no matter how skilled he was at making me come so hard that I felt like nothing could bother my soul again.

“Will you cooperate and be my good girl, Sloane? In all ways, even outside of this room?”

I licked my lips and nodded as I stared him in the eye. Without a flinch or letting him guess that I was lying, I said, “Yes, Maxim. I’ll be a good girl.”

I couldn’t tell him that I’d be his good girl.

I wouldn’t ever swear myself to him.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if he’d noticed that difference in what I’d said.

With another slow and possessive kiss, he seemed to seal our deal.

One that I would break as soon as I could.

The second I saw an opportunity to reclaim my life and be independent again, I was taking it.

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