Page 34 of My Bratva Dom

I wake up alone. The bed’s still warm where Aslan was laying with me, the sheets rumpled and smelling of all we did. Oh My God. Did I really let him…? I bury my face in my hands.

I stay there for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling, then finally sit up slowly, biting back a wince as soreness flares every fucking where.

Jesus…

I grab the sheet and wrap it around me, stumbling out of bed. The house is quiet, with just a faint clink of dishes coming from downstairs.

I pause at the top of the stairs, blinking down at the sight below me.

Aslan’s in his chef-grade kitchen shirtless, barefoot, and stupid-hot. His hair is messy, dark tattoos twisting over his tanned, muscular back and shoulders as he moves. He’s at the stove flipping pancakes like that’s a normal thing to do for a Bratva second-in-command who knows how to make your body submit and melt with so many orgasms you lose count.

“You just gonna stand there?” He rumbles without even looking up.

“Didn’t wanna interrupt,” I mumble, stepping down the stairs on wobbly legs.

He turns just enough to look over his shoulder, his indigo eyes traveling down my body, pausing where the sheet clings to my thighs.

“You’re limping,” he observes.

“I’m sore, Aslan.” I lift a brow. “What did you expect?”

He doesn’t answer. Just gives me one of his scorching looks, before wiping his hands and turning off the burner.

“Sit.”

“What?”

His jaw flexes. “Sit your ass down.”

So I sit.

Aslan sets a plate of perfectly formed, freshly made, golden pancakes in front of me, then puts a tall glass of water in my hand.

“Drink.” I take a sip, still looking at him. Trying to read his expression. His mood. Trying to figure out where we stand. He said I was his. That he was keeping me forever. But those were the words of a man who was buried deep inside me…

I move to set the glass down, and he shakes his head, tutting. He lifts his chin to the water and commands, “all of it.”

I blink at him. “Okay, chill, big guy.”

Aslan’s eyes narrow and my poor, abused pussy muscles ripple with want. He’s so fucking hot when he gets all bossy like that. Especially when he’s taking care of me. Before I get a chance to sass him out, he adds, “now, Tina.”

My eyes widen, but I keep quiet and drink. My heart pounding hard while he watches me intently. The fresh water feels amazing going down my parched throat. When I’m done,he takes the glass, cuts a bite of pancake, and holds the fork up to my mouth.

My mouth falls open in surprise.

“Aslan…”

“Open.”

I roll my eyes but do as I’m told. He feeds me bite by bite. All the while, he strokes my bare thigh, murmuring things I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.

“You let me break you open last night, baby,” he says in a low voice. “Now you’re gonna let me take what’s left.”

I shake my head with incomprehension. “What does that even mean?”

“That means we need to lay down some rules, sweetheart.”

I have no clue what he’s talking about or if I’m even capable of giving it to him. But I want that. God, do I want it. I’d do anything to hear him call me his good girl again. To feel him all around me. Inside me. Hear his ragged breaths. Give him pleasure. Soak in the hunger in his eyes. Make this hard, impassible man crack and give me everything. All of him. God, I want it so bad, it hurts.

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