Page 49 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

“God, you guys,” Anya chimes in from her spot on our couch, “get a room. You’re gross.”

Anton doesn’t bother turning. “Thisisour room. You don’t like the view, you’re welcome to get out. In fact, that sounds like a great idea.”

He moves my hair aside and starts to kiss his way down my neck. Suddenly, I’m on board with kicking Anya out of the room. But, she’s pretty much become my best friend, so I listen to the angel on my shoulder and duck out of his grip, trying not to die a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” I say with a sheepish smile. “Just so excited about the construction finally happening!”

The spot we picked out is officially under construction, with the new casino and hotel combination expected to be finished in about a year. This marks the expansion of the Milovs’ influence into a new part of the world, which is why our new alliance with the Shevchenkos is so important. The bigger we get, the more we push, and the more enemies we will attract. We need all the friends we can get.

We. That’s how I think of myself now, as one of the Milovs. I never imagined it happening, but with Anton on one side and Anya on the other, I’m beginning to feel like a part of the family

“And with the Shevchenkos at our back? We’re basically untouchable,” Anya says with more than a hint of pride. She’s been stepping into her own in the family business, despite Anton trying to hold her back, and it’s obvious she’s going to be formidable in her own right soon enough.

“Don’t get cocky,” Anton warns, earning an eye roll from Anya and an elbow in the side from me.

“Come on,” Anya groans. “Give us this one night where you’re not a total party pooper. One night!”

“Tonight is all about celebrating,” I remind him. We’ve just gotten back from a dinner out and the champagne is still buzzing through my body.

“Speaking of,” Anton says, drawing me close again. Out, please, Anya.”

“Ugh, fine.” She grabs her purse and tugs it over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow for brunch, right, Ella?”

“Right,” I murmur, already lost in the way Anton’s hands are moving down my back.

When the door closes, he kisses me but stops before I can deepen it the way I want. My lips part, pouting.

“Marry me,” he says, cupping my chin.

The world spins beneath my feet. Did he really just say that? Then he kneels and says it again.

***

Three days later, we’re supposed to head to a business meeting in Paris, but instead we’re playing hooky in Champagne-Ardenne on our honeymoon. Honeymoon. The ink on the marriage license is still drying, yet we took a private jet, turned off our phones, and ensconced ourselves in a chalet.

Not a single regret. I can’t stop staring at the ring, the physical reminder that I’m officially Ella Milov, and Anton is my husband. Mine. Forever.

I turn when the door opens. He steps out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips, and my stomach flips because that man can take the breath right out of my lungs. I drink in the sight of him and crave more.

“Ella,” he warns, stalking across the room to me. “You can’t look at me like that.”

“Why not?” I say, hooking my finger in the waistband of the towel. His skin is warm and damp, and a drop of water runs down the channels of his abs, disappearing beneath the fabric. I want to follow it with my tongue.

“Because it does this to me,” he says, grabbing my hand and placing it over his hard cock.

He tilts my head and kisses me, and my body goes molten. His fingers make quick work of the string on my nightgown, a gauzy, barely there thing. “Maybe,” I gasp outaround kisses, and he drops his head to my shoulder to kiss his way along my collarbone to the hollow of my neck. “Maybe that’s what I wanted.”

“Filthy girl,” he says, stubble tickling my sensitive skin. “Filthy wife.”

I tug his towel off and wrap my hand around his cock, stroking my thumb over the sensitive head. “Just whatyouwanted.”

“Fuck yes,” he groans, bucking into my grip. I could do this all day, just to watch the way he melts for me. He throws his head back when I rub up and down the length of him, excruciatingly slow. The slower the buildup, the harder he’ll cum, and I want to make him see stars.

Something about watching this powerful man crumble for me gives me a high like others. I take my time, pushing his hand away each time he reaches for me. Finally, he ducks down and catches my lips again in a gentle kiss. His tongue twists around mine, and I taste the mint of his toothpaste and the other, sweeter taste that’s all Anton. I’m so familiar with it now, but I’ll never get enough.

Sucking on my bottom lip, he strokes a hand over the curve of my hip, and I’m too deep into the kiss to stop him now. His fingers move as slowly, lazily as my own around his cock, tracing lines of heat wherever they go.

Just like that, the balance of power shifts and I’m the one aching for more, pressing into his touch. I palm him faster, stroking from root to tip and back again, and catch his gasp with my kiss. It’s a race now, and he wants to win.

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