Page 30 of Obsessed Bratva King

Unaware that I’m barely holding myself back.

She lays back, stretching her legs slightly, her book open in one hand, the other tracing absent patterns on her thigh.

She shouldn’t be alone like this. She shouldn’t be without me.

She sighs, her fingers brushing higher. Too high.

I touch myself through my pants, my breath heavy. I shouldn’t. I should look away, focus, find the rest of Darren’s men and end them.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

She shifts again, legs parting slightly, and my control frays.

Her fingers slide lower.

My jaw tightens.

She bites her lip, breath hitching, her movements slow, unhurried. I watch her chest rise and fall, watch the way she arches slightly, watch the soft, helpless expressions flit across her face.

She’s beautiful like this. Untouched by the world.

And yet she doesn’t even know she belongs to me.

I should be the one touching her right now.

I undo my belt with one hand, my other stroking in time with hers, my body aching for her.

She moans my name.

“Ivan…”

I lose control.

My body jerks in time with hers. I barely contain the growl in my throat as I ride it out, my gaze locked on her, on the way her chest rises and falls, her skin flushed, her body spent.

I exhale, my body tense, still strung tight despite the release. The obsession doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens.

8

CORA

Iwake with a sharp gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs, my body twisted in damp sheets. Ivan again, holding me, fucking me, owning me.

I feel his eyes on me. I look up at the ceiling, half expecting to see him up there, clinging to the plaster like a vampire. Of course there’s nothing. Just darkness and my thoughts. He’s not here. I’m never going to see him again. I need to get over this.

I can still feel the roughness of his palms, the possessive grip of his fingers pressing into my hips, the way he growled my name.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the thoughts away as my alarm blares into life. So much for going back to sleep.

I shake my head, forcing my focus forward, planting my feet on the cold wooden floor as I cancel the alarm. I have work. I have a job to get to. I don’t have time for ghosts.

But the moment I stand, my stomach lurches. Not again.

I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m on my knees, retching into the toilet. My stomach clenches violently, my entire body shuddering as I grip the porcelain.

The nausea eases after a moment, but the unease lingers. Two days in a row.

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