Page 27 of Forced Bratva Bride

“Larissa,” he said, my name a question in his mouth.

I looked up, and the air between us changed, charged suddenly with something electric. His gaze had darkened. His hands on my back seemed to burn through the thin fabric of my blouse.

We stood frozen, neither advancing nor retreating, suspended in a moment of possibility. I watched his throat work as he swallowed and noticed the slight flare of his nostrils as he inhaled. He was affected too, I realized with a jolt.

I don't know which of us moved first. One moment we were staring at each other, and the next his mouth was on mine, soft and questioning. The gentleness of it stunned me. I never thought a man like Gio Lebedev could kiss so softly.

My hands slid up to his shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath the fine fabric of his suit. His lips moved against mine, patient, waiting for me to decide.

And my blood flowed straight to my core, telling me what I needed.

The next thing I knew, my lips parted beneath his, and his arms tightened around me, pulling me close as the kiss deepened. I felt every inch of his body, my legs trembling from how intoxicating he was making me. His tongue traced the seam of my lips before dipping in again, warring with mine.

Heat flashed through me, setting every nerve ending alight. My fingers slid into his hair, thick and silky between my fingers, and I tugged him closer, needing more. A sound rumbled from his chest, half growl, half groan, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

This was madness. Yet, I felt so damn alive.

Gio backed me against the bookshelf, one hand cupping my face, the other at my waist, his thumb stroking the strip of bare skin where my blouse had ridden up. The cool wood pressed against my back, and his kisses grew hungrier, deeper. I matched him beat for beat, lost in the sensations cascading through me.

His mouth left mine to trail along my jaw, down the column of my throat. I gasped when he found the sensitive spot beneath my ear, my head falling back to give him better access. His teeth grazed my skin, followed by the soothing heat of his tongue, and my knees nearly buckled.

“Gio,” I breathed, not sure if I was asking him to stop or begging him to continue.

He returned to my mouth, the kiss now almost desperate in its intensity. His hands were everywhere—cupping my face, tangling in my hair, sliding down to my hip to pull me tighter against him. I could feel my panties get wet and thought of what I wanted to come next, and the realization of how far things had gone, how quickly, hit me like a bucket of ice water.

What was I doing? This man was holding me prisoner, and I was melting in his arms like snow in the spring sun.

I tore my mouth from his, pushing at his chest. He released me immediately, stepping back to give me space, though his breathing was as ragged as my own.

“Larissa—” he started, his voice deeper, rougher than I'd ever heard it.

“No.” I shook my head, pressing my fingers to my swollen lips. “This is wrong. This can't happen.”

His face shuttered, but then he covered it with instant control, though his eyes still burned.

“I'm your prisoner,” I continued, my voice shaking. “I'm here because you took me. This… no.”

Before he could respond, before I could weaken again at the sight of him, I pushed past him and fled the room. I didn't stop until I reached my bedroom door, fumbling with the handle before practically falling inside.

I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it, my heart hammering so hard that I thought it might break through my ribs. My body still hummed with desire, and my lips tingled from the pressure of his. I slid down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees, and thought about how I had kissed Giovanni Lebedev and liked it.

Chapter 9 - Gio

I poured myself a second cup of coffee to wean off the fatigue and reluctantly dived right back into the paperwork scattered across my desk. I hadn’t slept well last night. How could I, when the ghost of our kiss still lingered on my lips? All night, I thought of Larissa. She was an unwelcome guest in my dreams, but how I hated to see her go when I woke.

Once again, I found myself thinking of her. At forty-two, I should have known better than to let Larissa Ajello, the sister of a man who had it out against our family, get under my skin. But there she was, twenty-five years old and so full of life, of sass, of fire.

She reeked of trouble, I knew that. But why couldn’t I get her out of my mind?

I sighed and looked at the clock. I was running behind schedule and found it hard to work. But time waited for no man, and so, I forced myself to focus. I had barely regained my flow when I heard a knock at my door.

“Come in,” I said, in a somewhat annoyed tone. I looked up, expecting to see one of my men, but to my surprise, I saw Larissa. She walked in wearing those tight, gorgeous jeans that make me go wild, along with a large, chunky sweater that left much to the imagination. Her hair, beautifully blown out, shone in the light as she flicked it over her shoulder.

Her gaze met mine, and for a second, mine lingered away to the gloss on her lips, before I focused back on those beautiful blue-green eyes that drew me right in like a flame. Did she know? Did she know how beautiful she was?

She stood before me, shifting her weight between her legs.

“Larissa?” I asked, sensing this might be a long conversation from the stance she stood in.

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