Page 18 of Claimed and Bred By the Bratva

She can't sleep either.

The thought sends something primitive through me. She's restless without me. Her body knows where it belongs, even if her mind is still catching up. I swing my legs out of bed before I can think better of it. The connecting door is locked from her side—I checked—but there are other ways. A balcony runs along this wing of the house connecting our rooms. The night air hits my bare chest, but I barely feel it. I'm too focused on the French doors of her room, cracked open to let in the spring breeze. Careless girl. Anyone could climb in. I'm over the railing and onto her balcony in seconds, moving with the silence that's kept me alive in this business on too many occasions. Through the gauzy curtains, I see her silhouette, standing by the bed in one ofmy t-shirts that swallows her whole. I open the doors without a sound. She doesn't notice me until I'm halfway across the room.

"Oh my God!" She presses a hand to her chest, eyes wide with shock. "Dimitri? Did you—did you climb across the balcony?"

"You couldn't sleep."

"That's so dangerous," she screeches. "You could have fallen. Would you risk your life for me?"

The genuine concern in her voice does something to my chest. When was the last time someone worried about my safety? Cared if I lived or died beyond what I could do for them?

"Yes," I say simply. "Don't you get that?"

"Get what?"

"That I would risk anything for you. Fight armies. Burn cities. Crossing a balcony is nothing."

"This is too much," she whispers, wrapping her arms around herself. "All of this. It's too intense, too fast, too—"

I sit on the edge of her bed, patting the spot beside me. "Come here. Let me hold you."

She blinks at the sudden shift. "What?"

"You were having trouble sleeping. So was I." I keep my voice gentle, coaxing. "Let me hold you. Nothing more."

She approaches slowly, like a deer deciding whether to trust the hunter. When she finally sits beside me, maintaining careful distance, I have to clench my jaw against the urge to grab her.

"Can you really do that?" she asks, searching my face in the moonlight. "Hold me all night without trying anything?"

I catch her chin between my fingers, tilting her face up to mine. "No," I say. "I can't." Her plump lips part automatically, and I take it as the invitation it is, crushing my mouth to hers in a kiss that's all hunger and possession and desperate need. When I finally let her breathe, we're both panting.

Her laugh is shaky but real. "At least you're honest about it."

"I'm trying to be gentle with you," I tell her, thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip. "But you have to understand something, angel. When you tried to leave today, when you were outside for three hours contemplating walking away from me..." My voice drops to a growl. "It made me realize I haven't claimed you thoroughly enough."

"Dimitri—"

"Every part of you," I continue, pushing her back onto the bed with careful pressure. "Every inch, every sound, every thought. I want it all. Need it all."

The moonlight does incredible things to her warm mahogany-brown skin, turning it into burnished silver. Her braids fan across the white sheets like spilled ink, and those dark chocolate eyes are wide saucers.

"You're scaring me," she whispers.

"Good." I settle over her, caging her in with my body. "A little fear will keep you safe. Keep you mine."

"I don't understand what you want from me."

"Everything," I repeat, lowering my head to her throat. "Your body, obviously. But also your thoughts, your dreams, your future. I want you to wake up thinking of me and fall asleep in my arms. I want my child growing in your belly, my ring on your finger, and my name replacing yours."

Kisses and nips punctuate each word along her throat, making her shiver beneath me. The t-shirt she's wearing—my t-shirt—rides up her thighs, and her heat seeps through my sleep pants.

"That's not normal," she gasps as my teeth find that sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

"Nothing about us is normal." I pull back to look at her, letting her see the possession written across my features. "Normal men don't install cameras to watch their obsessions sleep. Normal men don't cut off fingers for unwanted touches. Normal men don't plan to breed women they've just met."

"When you put it like that—"

"But I'm not claiming to be normal," I interrupt. "I'm claimingyou. Claiming to be your protector, your lover, your future. The question is whether you're claiming me in return."

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