Page 91 of Scarred Bratva King

“I was just practicing Russian,” I manage, though my voice falters as he pulls me against him, his hands firm on my waist.

“Then let me give you something real to practice,” he says, his lips brushing against mine before claiming them fully.

The rest of the world disappears as his kiss deepens, his hands exploring the curve of my back.

He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to the cozy corner of the store, the one we designed together with its plush chairs and soft lighting.

“Maxim, the store?—”

“Is closed for lunch,” he growls against my neck, his voice sending shivers down my spine. He flips the sign before prowling back toward me.

I can’t argue, not when he’s looking at me like this, not when every touch makes me forget my own name.

“And miss the chance to sell more books?” I counter, leaning back against the counter, letting my silk blouse slip just enough to reveal the delicate lace of my bra. “Never.”

He chuckles, a deep rumble that sends shivers down my spine. “You know better than to challenge me, wife.”

“Do I, husband?” I step out from behind the counter, my heels clicking softly. The hem of my skirt brushes against my thighs as I move, and I catch the way his jaw tightens. Good. Let him want. Let him ache.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my arm as I pass him, heading toward the row of shelves where the erotica section hides.

I can feel his eyes on me, hot and heavy, tracking my every movement. I stop in front of a shelf, my hand hovering over a book with a scandalous cover.

“Have you read this one yet?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks up a worn copy of Crime and Punishment from a nearby table and flips it open, his expression unreadable. But I know better. I know that under that calm exterior, he’s already plotting his next move.

I bite my lip, watching him for a moment before I set the book back on the shelf. Slowly, I let my hands wander to the buttons of my blouse.

One by one, I undo them, letting the fabric slide off my shoulders and pool at my feet. The cool air kisses my skin, butit’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze when he finally looks up.

“Veronica,” he growls, his voice rough. The book slips from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

I laugh, the sound light and teasing. “Careful. That’s a very expensive first edition. I doubt you can afford it.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he strides toward me, his eyes locked on mine. I step back, my hips swaying with each step, until I reach the edge of the reading nook.

Without breaking eye contact, I lower myself onto the cushioned seat, crossing my legs slowly, letting my skirt ride up just enough to tease.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice dangerously soft.

“What does it look like?” I purr, standing again and moving toward him. I place one hand on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “I’m giving you a show.”

His hand catches my wrist, and for a moment, I think he’ll stop me. But then his grip loosens, and he lets me continue.

I sink to my knees in front of him, my hands sliding up his thighs as I look up at him through my lashes. “Relax. Just enjoy the view.”

He growls something in Russian, a curse or a promise, I’m not sure. But the sound only fuels me. I rise slowly, my body brushing against his as I stand, my hands trailing up his chest to his shoulders.

I lean in, my lips grazing his ear. “You always said I had a way with words, maybe it’s time I showed you how well I can use my body too.”

He groans, his hands gripping my hips as I begin to move, grinding against him to the rhythm of the jazz playing overhead. I smirk, knowing I’ve got him right where I want him.

But he isn’t one to stay passive for long. In one swift motion, he spins me around, pressing me against the bookshelf.

His body pins me in place, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and raw need. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.

“You think you’re in control?” he rasps, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs. “Let me remind you who really runs this marriage.”

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