Page 82 of Obsessed Bratva King

She flinches, just slightly. She looks at me. “If I don’t show, he won’t. You have to let me do this.”

She stares up at me, her chin tilted, her pulse a frantic beat in her throat. She’s trembling, but it’s not fear. It’s something else. Anger. Frustration.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shrink back. If anything, she steps closer, the heat between us unbearable now.

She presses her hands against my chest, but she doesn’t push me away.

Her breath is sharp, her body tight, and then suddenly—her voice drops. Softens. And that’s what fucking guts me.

“You don’t trust me,” she says quietly. “You think I’ll fail, same as everyone else. Say it.”

“First time in my life, Cora, I’m scared. I don’t want you to die.”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I’m your wife. Let me be part of your world.”

I hate that she sees through me, sees the war raging inside of me, the one I can’t seem to win.

I want her safe. But I also want her to be my queen. And those two things don’t coexist.

I grab her face, tilting her chin up roughly, forcing her to look at me.

Her lips part in shock, but before she can say a damn word?—

I crash my mouth into hers.

The kiss is violent. Bruising. Punishing.

She gasps against me, but she doesn’t pull away. No—she fights back the only way she knows how.

Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, even as she shoves at my chest. Her nails dig into my skin, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

22

CORA

His lips are on mine before I can even think to protest. God, the man kisses like he’s claiming territory.

His tongue slides against mine, and I feel it everywhere—my chest, my stomach, lower. His breath is hot, his scent intoxicating, a mix of cologne and something darker, something dangerous. I’m already dizzy when he breaks the kiss, his eyes burning into mine.

“People could see,” I murmur. My eyes dart down the hallway, but it’s empty. For now.

“Let them see,” he says, his tone daring, challenging. His hand moves lower, skimming down my neck, over my collarbone, until it settles on my hip. His fingers dig into my skin, and I gasp. “I don’t care. I need to feel you, Cora. Now.”

His hand slips under my skirt, and I suck in a sharp breath. His fingers brush against the edge of my panties, and my legs tremble. “Ivan—” I start, but he silences me with another kiss, this one even more demanding than the last.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough, raw.

I shake my head, but my body betrays me, arching into his touch. His fingers slide under the fabric of my panties, and I moan into his mouth.

He’s right there, right where I need him, and he doesn’t hesitate. His fingers stroke me, slow at first, teasing, and I grip his shoulders to steady myself.

“Good girl,” he growls, and the praise sends a rush of heat through me. His fingers work me with precision, knowing exactly how to make me come. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and I cling to him, my nails digging into his suit jacket.

My hips buck against his hand, and he groans, pressing his forehead to mine.

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