Page 19 of Bratva Boss's Secret Baby

“You’re holding me prisoner.” I mean to sound accusatory, but it sounds almost… seductive when the words emerge.

“Yes.”

I lick my lips. “I should be trying to escape again.”

His smile appears more sincere this time. “Yes.”

“Instead, I’m standing here wanting you to touch me.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and the moment they’re in the air, everything changes. The careful distance we’ve been maintaining shatters, and suddenly, he’s right in front of me, his hands framing my face.

“Say that again.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “Which part?”

“The part about wanting me to touch you.”

“I want you to touch me.” The words come out as a ragged whisper. “Even though I shouldn’t. Even though this is crazy.”

He leans closer, his forehead resting against mine, and tension radiates from him like heat. “If we do this, everything changes.”

I stare into his eyes. “Everything already changed the moment you took me.”

“Sabrina.” He says my name like a prayer, and something inside me crumbles at the sound of it. It’s the first time he’s called me anything besides Irina.

“What’s your name?” I reach up and touch his face, feeling the rough stubble along his jaw. “Your real name.”

“Nikandr.”

“Nikandr.” I test the syllables, liking the way they feel on my tongue. “That’s Russian.”

“Yes.”

“Is that what you are? Russian?”

“Among other things.” His accent bleeds through more noticeably with those words.

I want to ask what other things, to understand who he really is and what he does and why he was looking for a woman who disappeared ten years ago, but those questions can wait. Right now, all I care about is the way he’s looking at me like I’m something precious and dangerous and completely irresistible. “Kiss me, Nikandr.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. His mouth crashes into mine, hungry and desperate and nothing like the careful restraint he’s shown since bringing me here. I kiss him back with equal ferocity, pouring three days of fear and anger and unwanted attraction into the connection between us.

His hands slide into my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me, and I melt against him with a soft sound that might be surrender. He tastes like danger and possibility, like everything I should want to run from and everything I can’t resist.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and there’s something wild in his eyes that makes my pulse race. “This is a bad idea,” I manage.

He nods. “Terrible idea.”

“We should stop.”

“Probably.” He rests his forehead against mine instead.

Neither of us moves to put distance between us as he traces his thumb along my lower lip, and I part my mouth automatically, drawing the digit between my teeth.

The sharp intake of his breath is all the encouragement I need. I bite down gently, then soothe the pressure with my tongue and watch his control fracture in real time.

“Fuck…” The word comes out rough and desperate. “Sabrina.”

“I’m right here.”

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He sounds like I’m torturing him.

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