Glazov (Born Bratva Book 1) by Suzanne Steele Page A

open and viewed Glazov entering.
    I watched him as he stared at me. He said nothing while he undressed. His large chiseled body was tan, and his long blond hair hung loosely over his shoulders, accenting his ice-cold blue eyes. He looked like a man carved from granite and hewn by the gods themselves. I was certain that women fought to be in his presence, yet here I was fighting to get away. Maybe that was what captivated him; I was the first woman to challenge him. That was my nature, fighting, clawing, and willing my way through life. I survived. Ironically enough, that’s why he saw himself in me.
    I stood mesmerized by his rock hard, tan body. I knew there were times he used a tanning bed. He once told me the heat eased his sore muscles after a strenuous workout. I’ve seen the workouts he subjects his body to and they’re brutal. Honestly, all the men who work for him looked like Neanderthals, the only difference being that Glazov was handsome in a professional type way. He was meticulous in his wardrobe, and there was nothing he wore that wasn’t tailor-made. The effect looked good on him. I saw how other women looked at him when we went out. They didn’t even care enough to try and hide it from me. They looked at me with thinly disguised hatred and eyed him as if they wanted to eat him alive. The amazing thing about it was that he never took his eyes off me. When he was with me, it was like no one else existed. We lived in our consummated bubble of engrossed unity, unaware of anyone else’s presence.
    He reached under my arms and lifted me out of the water. He placed both his hands on the tile wall on either side of my head to trap me in.
    He began biting at my breasts, just hard enough to make me wonder what he was up to.
    “I’m going to ask you nicely, Ptichka, and if you lie to me, I’m going to hurt you.”
    He spoke to me calmly as if he were asking me what restaurant I preferred. I knew Glazov well enough to know he probably already knew about my visitor today.
    “Please, Glazov, I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t say anything.”
    His bites were getting harder, and he roughly sucked and pulled on my breasts. It hurt in an odd way that felt good, and I was becoming aroused. I could feel the moisture between my thighs and the wrenching need building in my lower abdomen. I was scared, he was hurting me, and it was arousing both of us.
    He grabbed both sides of my head by two handfuls of hair and stared at my trembling lip before he covered my mouth with his own. That kiss held more passion than most people feel in a whole session of lovemaking or, hell, probably more than a lifetime of lovemaking. The intensity between us was a raging inferno of raw lust and need. We were matches and gasoline, a dangerous combination of combustible need that threatened to explode and consume not only each other, but also anything and anyone in our world. There was no threat of that, though, because we guarded ourselves against the outside world, fearing anything that might come between us. Here I was, with a man who was afraid of nothing and no one, yet he exhibited fear when confronted with the threat of losing me. We both knew we would never find what we had with each other in someone else. This was a rare kind of love that only came along once in a lifetime. It was the kind of love people coveted and wrote about in history books.
    He picked me up and spread me open, literally impaling me on his hard cock.
    I bent back and palmed the wall, trusting him completely to not drop me. He held me up with ease while he fucked me. I felt small, protected, and sated in his arms. I was right where I needed to be.
    He leaned in towards me so he could bite, lick, and roughly suck any part of my body he could reach. As he assaulted me with his mouth, tongue, and teeth, I cried out in response to the mixture of agony and ecstasy only he could provide.
    “Do you think I am going to allow you the opportunity to testify against