Page 23 of Obsessed Bratva King

A gasp spills from my lips, a shiver racing through me, not from fear but from the raw intensity in his eyes—molten dark, smoldering with a hunger that terrifies my soul as much as it heats my body.

“You belong to me,” he murmurs. “Say it.”

The command ripples through me. My body responds before my mind can catch up. My lips part, but the words tangle in my throat.

He leans in, the heat of his skin searing against mine, his breath brushing my ear. “Say it, Cora.”

A tremor rolls through me. “I belong to you.”

His hands slide up my sides, fingertips tracing fire along my ribs, then lower, molding to my waist as though I was made to fit beneath him.

A kiss lands just below my ear, then another, descending, trailing heat down my throat. His scent, the faint spice of something forbidden makes my head spin.

“You are mine,” he says, his lips hovering above mine. “Forever.”

My pulse hammers against my skin, every nerve attuned to him, to his touch, to the way his body cages mine without crushing.

“I will always protect you,” he vows, his mouth brushing against my collarbone, the warmth of his breath sending goosebumps skittering over my skin. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

A moan escapes me. His hands tighten on my hips, guiding me, his body pressing me deeper into the bed. My skin hums where he touches, every inch of me alive with anticipation.

“Ivan,” I whisper, clinging to the sound of his name. “Take me.”

He pulls back, just enough to meet my eyes. “Of course, Cora. You will come. Say my name.”

He slides into me and I groan, my nails clawing at his back.

“Ivan.”

The world tilts. Darkness curls at the edges of my vision, creeping closer, pulling me away. No. No, I don’t want this to end.

But it’s too late.

I jolt awake with a sharp gasp, my chest heaving. The sheets are tangled around me, damp with sweat. My skin still tingles, mybody trembling from the remnants of the dream. The room is silent, cold, empty.

It takes a second to remember where I am.Not there. Not with him.

My tiny New York apartment is dark except for the pale, early light slipping through the blinds. No rich silks. No scent of leather and expensive cologne. Just the faint, lingering scent of sawdust from the recent renovations downstairs, and the thin, cheap cotton of my sheets sticking to my skin.

I sit up, pressing my palms against my face. It was just a mistake from more than a month ago. One night. So why can’t I stop dreaming about it?

My body still craves him. Still betrays me. Even now, my thighs clench at the thought of his touch, my skin hypersensitive. My breathing is uneven. I hate that.

My hands curl into fists, nails digging into my palms. I force the feeling down, bury it where all my other regrets live.He doesn’t matter. No one does. Only me.

The world doesn’t give. It only takes. That’s the first lesson I ever learned, and the only one that’s ever held true. He took what he wanted, then made clear he was done with me.

I pull myself out of bed and move toward the bathroom, my bare feet silent on the polished wooden floor. The apartment is tiny—just a single room with a kitchenette and an even smaller bathroom—but it’s mine.

I looked round a few places when I first arrived, did the math, worked out they would all eat through my stolen cash way too fast. Then I did more math and realized how fast I’d get throughthe money staying in a crappy hotel room in Brooklyn. So I sat wondering what the hell to do.

Then the landlord of one place I viewed calls me up out of the blue, offers it to me for half the rent it said on the ad.

I didn’t ask why. I’ve learned not to question when something good happens. It’s usually followed by something much worse. I thought he might try to hit on me but no. If anything he looked afraid when he handed me the contract, God knows why.

Next day, I’m moving in when I get a call from one of the jobs I applied for. Offered it to me at a higher rate of pay than in the ad. Hell, maybe New York’s not as bad as they all say.

I smile at myself in the mirror. My bruises are gone. The deep shadows beneath my eyes have faded now that I can afford decent food, but my eyes still hold that wary edge, that hollow sharpness I can’t shake. I look healthier. Stronger. And yet, still like someone waiting for the world to come crashing down.

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