Page 13 of Obsessed Bratva King

Another city that doesn’t care about me? Streets filled with strangers who would step over my body without a second glance. Out there, I’m nothing. But in here…

In here, I’m something. Something he wants.

I don’t trust this feeling. I don’t trust him. I don’t trust the way he looks at me like he already knows what I’m thinking before I do. I close my eyes, sighing to myself. God, what’s wrong with me?

“Thought you’d have gone by now.”

I look up. He’s standing in the bathroom doorway, towel low on his hips. A rush of steam spills out around him, curling alongthe polished marble floors. “Glad you decided to stay,” he adds with a smile that makes my pussy tingle. “I’m enjoying your company.”

Water clings to his skin, trailing down the hard ridges of his stomach, carving paths I force myself not to follow.

Jesus.

He was dangerous before. Fully clothed, shrouded in that unreadable calm of his. Now, stripped down to nothing but muscle, he’s something else entirely.

My throat tightens, but I lift my chin, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. "I’m just using you for a warm bed."

His lips curve into a slow, wicked half-smile. "That suits me just fine."

My stomach flips. I roll my eyes. "You must be really lonely to want to hang out with a homeless beggar."

His smirk deepens. "You’re also a thief, let’s not forget."

"Oh, yes," I mutter, glancing around the extravagant suite. "I’ve already emptied your wallet.”

“Now I know you’re lying.”

“How come?”

He chuckles, low and dark. "I didn’t bring it."

"You paid for clothes, food, and the room. You must have a wallet.”

“My word is enough.”

“What you’re planning on buying me next. A leash? Seeing as I’m apparently your pet for the night."

His expression sharpens, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. "Sit up and beg."

My breath catches. Heat rolls through me before I can shove it down.

I scowl. "You’re disgusting."

"And you’re stalling," he says, stepping closer. "Why are you still here? Try the truth, you might like it."

I could say I have nowhere else to go. That I don’t trust myself out there. That he’s dangerous, but out there is far worse.

Instead, I cross my arms. "Because I’m comfortable."

He snorts. "You don’t look comfortable. You look on edge."

"Maybe your expensive sheets are too soft," I snap.

“So toss them on the floor.”

His gaze flicks to the way I’m gripping the sheet. His smirk returns, slower this time.

The air shifts. The teasing edge vanishes. Something heavier settles in its place. I exhale sharply, trying to ignore the way my pulse hammers against my ribs. He’s too close now.

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