Page 17 of My Bratva Dom

I yelp, weak and breathless as my body’s cradled against his chest, my head tucked under his chin.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed.”

* * *

He doesn’t say anything else, just carries me like I’m fragile. Precious.

My legs dangle against his hip, my fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt.

I should tell him to put me down. I should snap something sharp, smart, remind him I don’t need a man carting me around like I’m helpless.

But I can’t. I’m too tired. Too overwhelmed. I feel too… safe in his strong arms, surrounded by his heat, basking in his scent. All musk and woodsy accents. All Aslan.

It doesn’t even make sense. These are the same arms that pinned me down. The hands that held me while he wrecked me.

And yet… I let my head rest on his broad chest, listening to the heavy thud of his heart. It’s hard and fast, like he’s barely keeping it together. But Aslan just keeps walking, his steps steady, until we reach my room.

* * *

He nudges the door open with one of his massive shoulders, then sets me down gently on the bed, and tugs the blanket up, covering me.

“Rest,” he orders.

And I feel my lips pull up in a weak smile. Even when he’s taking care of me, he can’t help his bossy nature. I blink up athim, still trying to process what happened earlier. What’s still happening now.

He’s not supposed to be like this. Gentle. Careful… almost soft.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

His gorgeous eyes lock on mine.

“Making sure you get some rest,” he rumbles. “You’re done pushing me for tonight, baby.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes roaming my face, fingers lingering on my skin, then straightens, stepping back slowly, his intense gaze still locked on mine, like he’s forcing himself to leave.

“Goodnight, Tina,” he adds in a low voice that sends a shiver all over my skin, makes my nipples pebble and my clit pulse again.

Then he’s gone. Before I can say anything. Before I can reach out and beg him to stay. Take me again. Make mefeelagain and forget about my fucked up life.

* * *

The door clicks shut behind Aslan, and I’m left in the dark, breathless, shaking, and aching for his touch.

I touch my throat where his hand collared me.

I can still feel the imprint of his fingers. It’s like I’m branded.

My legs press together under the blanket, heat rising between my thighs.

I hate that I want more. Hate that my body doesn’t care how dangerous this man is. How cold and brutal he can be.

This is bad. So fucking bad.

I roll on my side, tugging the blankets higher.

If only I could stop thinking about him.

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