Page 45 of My Bratva Stalker

“Let me go.”

His body stiffens. Then, his grip tightens.

“Not yet.”

My stomach twists.

Not because I’m afraid. But because being in Viktor’s arms still feels like home. And that’s the problem. I can’t trust a man who’s been watching me. Controlling me. Hunting me. A man who never gave me a choice.

Even if my body still craves him. Even if I know I don’t want him to let me go.

I shove harder, twisting away, but he doesn’t let go.

His grip turns firm, his chest pressing against my back, his lips at my ear.

“Don’t fight me.”

His voice is like silk over steel, low and soothing.

I squeeze my thighs together, heat pooling low in my belly, betrayal stoking deep in my pussy.

No.

No.

I won’t fall for this. Not again.

I shove one last time, hard, finally breaking free.

His arm drops, but I feel his eyes on me as I sit up, pulling the sheets around myself.

I don’t look at him. I can’t. Because if I do—If I see the softness in his expression, the raw need in his gaze—I might not be able to pull away.

Silence stretches between us. Thick. Heavy.

Then he says, “you’re still fighting me.”

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to come out steady. “I’ll fight you until the day I die.”

His exhale is slow and measured.

Then, the bed shifts.

Viktor

She thrashes against me the second I put my hands back on her.

With fury. Heat. Panic.

I barely have a second to smirk before her small fists shove against my chest, her body twisting, trying to get away.

It’s fucking adorable.

Like a kitten trying to fight a lion.

I let her writhe for a few seconds, giving her the illusion of control.

Then I grab her wrist, flip her on her back, and cage her under me. She’s pinned. Trapped.

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