Page 66 of Obsessed Bratva King

I want to argue. I want to fight back. But I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Not when his touch is making my body betray me. My breath hitches as he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear.

“You’re going to apologize,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re going to tell me how sorry you are for trying to fight. And then, maybe, I’ll forgive you.”

His words send a jolt of heat straight to my core. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him. But I do. God, I do.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Ivan pulls back slightly, his eyes narrowing. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again, louder this time. My cheeks burn with humiliation, but I can’t look away from him.

“Good,” he says, his lips curling into a smirk. “Now, tell me why you’re sorry.”

“Because—because I tried to fight you,” I stammer, my heart racing.

“And?” he prompts, his hand moving to grip my waist.

“And… I belong to you,” I admit, the words heavy on my tongue.

Ivan’s smirk widens. “That’s right. You do.” He leans in again, his lips brushing against mine. “Say it again.”

“I belong to you,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath.

“Louder,” he demands, his grip tightening.

“I belong to you!” I cry out, my voice breaking.

Ivan’s smirk turns into a full-blown grin. “Good girl.” He kisses me, hard and demanding, his tongue slipping into my mouth before I can think to resist. Not that I would.

When he finally pulls away, I’m breathless. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks down at me. “Now, let’s see how sorry you really are,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “I want you naked. Now.”

I obey, my heart pounding, as he undresses himself. First the tie, then the jacket, then the shirt. Each piece of clothing is removed with precision, revealing the hard, sculpted muscles beneath.

By the time he’s down to his boxers, I can barely breathe. The injuries just make me want him more. What is wrong with me?

“Get on the bed,” he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I obey without hesitation, my legs carrying me to the bed as if they have a mind of their own. I lie down, feeling the cool sheets against my skin, and watch as he finishes undressing. When he’s finally naked, I can’t help but stare. He’s perfect. Every inch of him is hard, defined, and utterly intoxicating.

He climbs onto the bed, his knees pinning my legs apart as he leans down to kiss me again. This time, his kiss is slower. His hands explore my body, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through me.

“Ivan,” I whisper.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down my neck.

“I want you,” I admit, my breath hitching.

“That’s not enough,” he says, his teeth grazing my skin. “What do you want me to do to you?”

“I—” I start, but I can’t finish. The words are too much, too raw.

“Tell me,” he demands, his voice firm.

“I want you to touch me,” I whisper, my cheeks burning.

“Where?” he prompts, his hand trailing down my stomach.

“Everywhere,” I admit, my voice breaking.

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