Page 28 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

I’m still riding the high of my orgasm when his own hits. He buries his full length inside of me, cock pulsing as he fills me, and I tighten around him to get every last drop.

His arms shake as he lowers himself down to kiss me, tenderly now. Sweat slicks our skin between us. I feel boneless, my legs are jelly, and there’s no way I’m moving for the next hour. Or two.

“You were worth the wait,” he murmurs into the side of my neck. “So fucking good.”

He rolls to the side, and I wrap myself around him, unwilling to let go for even a second. Now that we’ve been so close, it’s all I want. I prop myself up on one elbow and drink in the sight of him. Shining with sweat, hair a mess, he still looks too good to be true.

But that feeling I get when he snakes an arm around me and pulls me close so he can kiss my forehead and the tip of my nose? It’s way more than lust. It hums through me and coils around my heart. I think I’m falling in love.

***

Sunlight wakes me. There’s a gap in the curtains just wide enough to let in a beam of it. I stretch, relishing in how sore mybody is, the sharp little reminders of the night before. When I roll over, expecting to find Anton curled beside me, I find the bed empty instead. For a moment, I panic. Did he run off so he didn’t have to face me? But then I hear the shower water running and relax, stretching out toward all four corners of the mattress.

After a few minutes, I kick the covers off and get out of bed, wrapping myself in one of the plush robes the hotel provides. When Anton gets out of the shower, I’ll surprise him with nothing on underneath and get a repeat performance. My body is already craving more of him, like there’s a bottomless pit of need for him. Something primal that can’t be sated.

I start the coffee, making it extra strong the way he likes, and scroll through my phone as I wait for it to brew. When it begins to bubble and hiss, I grab two cups and pull the cream from the fridge. Anton made sure it was stocked when we got here because, in some ways, he’s surprisingly sweet.

A knock at the door makes me pause. Who could it be? Anya, probably, or maybe room service if Anton ordered breakfast before getting in the shower. It’s exactly the kind of thing I could see him doing. I hesitate. If it’s Anya, it’s a little awkward that I’m wearing nothing but a robe in her brother’s room, but it’s so plush she probably won’t be able to tell, and anyway, leaving her waiting will only be more suspicious.

“Coming,” I call, tightening the robe around me before pulling the door open.

Men, dressed head to toe in black, barrel into the room. They shove past me, knocking me into the table beside the door so hard the breath is knocked out of me before I can even scream.

Chapter 15 - Anton

I pull on a pair of sweatpants and rub a towel through my hair, just enough to keep it from dripping. I’m still high from last night, from having Ella finally admit how much she wants me. I was beginning to think it would never happen.

Something thuds outside the bathroom and I pause, listening. Did Ella drop something in the kitchen? Another thud, and this time, it’s followed by a small squeak that makes my blood run cold. I open the bathroom door and duck beneath a man’s outstretched hand, catching the arm in a brutal hold that snaps his elbow the wrong way.

I’m scanning for Ella, heart pounding at the thought of something happening to her while I was a room away, but the room is in chaos. There are men everywhere. One in the kitchen, the man whose elbow I just broke, and one more in the living room. Before I can take another step into the room to find Ella, the man with the broken elbow swings at me with his other arm, this one clutching a knife nearly the length of my forearm.

The thought of armed men in the room with Ella sends me into overdrive. I dodge to one side, avoiding the knife, and kick the man in his gut hard enough to send him backward into the wall. His head cracks back against it with a thud. While he’s dazed, I leap forward and follow it with a kick to the groin, then knock the knife from his hand when he doubles over.

It slides across the floor, and we both reach for it, but he’s slow, groaning in pain, and my hand closes around it first. I slash once, twice, at his neck, and blood streams from the gashes. His fingers clamp over the wounds, but it’s obvious to both of us that there’s no staunching the flow; he’s a dead man.

“Ella?” I yell, heart pounding in my ears.

Ella screams, and I spot her struggling up from the couch where a man is pinning her down. My vision tunnels to that one man. He’s going to regret that. I rush forward, but the man from the kitchen tackles me. He’s huge, at least a hundred pounds on me, and he’s using it to his advantage. We crash together into the table, and he’s got one hand on the back of my head, trying to brain me on the edge of it. But my arms are free, and I reach back, driving the point of the knife into his stomach, burying it to the hilt. Blood seeps over my fingers and my grip is slick, but I manage to pull it up and stab again.

The man slumps over on top of me and fuck he’s heavy. I roll out from underneath him and yank the knife free as I go, wasting no time. There’s only one man left, and he’s been my target this entire time, the man with his hands on my girl. It’ll be the last thing he does.

He’s distracted by my approach, and Ella takes the opportunity to try and break free, but the man grabs her by the throat and flings her back down onto the couch. Hard. She hits it and then the floor, but with him between us, I can’t get there to cushion her fall. This bastard is going to die a painful death.

I lunge at him before he recovers from abusing Ella, slicing at his face as he turns back to face me. The blade catches him in the cheek, and the skin splits. I was aiming for an eye, but the handle is so wet with blood that it’s hard to control. I’m pleased to see that his arms and neck are covered in angry red scratches from Ella’s nails. She’s a fighter.

I should’ve given her the tools to defend herself before this, and I’ll be pissed at myself for that mistake for a long time—self-defense classes, time at the shooting range—but I trusted that her distance from all this shit would protect her. It’s my fault she’s in danger. She’s scrabbling backward, and mystomach flips with relief that she’s able to move, not knocked out cold by this asshole. Who the fuck hits a woman like that?

He throws out a kick when I get in range, and I slam the blade home into his thigh, punching through skin and muscle. Stumbling backward, his knees hit the couch and he folds. I’m on him, pounding my fists into his stomach and face, everywhere he leaves uncovered for a second.

My knuckles tear and split, but so does his nose, his lip, his eyebrow. He gets in a punch that doubles me over, right to my kidney, because I’m too blinded by rage, by the need to rip this man apart, to bother defending myself. Despite the beating he’s taken, he capitalizes on the moment by shoving me off of him and driving us both to the floor. It’s clumsier than he wants it to be with his useless leg, and the second we’re down, I flip us over, pinning him to the floor and raining another series of blows down on his head.

He groans, and this time, I don’t think he’s getting up again. I get to my feet and yank the knife from his leg, releasing a gush of blood that quickly puddles on the floor, then drive it down into his throat.

“That’s for touching my girl,” I say, over his final, gurgling breaths.

I leave him to bleed out, breathing hard as I go to Ella. She’s curled up with her knees to her chest, sobbing. There’s blood everywhere, and I’m sure I look gruesome because her eyes widen in fear when I kneel down in front of her and gently pry her hands from where they’re covering her face.

“You’re okay now,” I soothe, checking her over as best I can for any injuries. She’s so curled in on herself that it’s difficult to tell. “You’re okay. They’re gone.”

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