Page 22 of Bound By the Bratva

I break the silence first. "Are you going to gloat now, or do you want something?"

He watches me with the same unreadable expression he always wears. "Do you want your freedom, Anya?"

The question lands hard, and for a moment, I stare at him, measuring the trap he’s already baited. My throat is dry when I answer. "Yes."

He takes a step closer, his tone quiet but stripped of any softness. "Spend one more night in my bed. Tomorrow, you might walk out with the boy…" He's toying with me, manipulating me. He knows I will do anything for my son, whichis why I fucked him last week—for the money. For Nikolai's future. It's what I tell myself, anyway.

My hand flies before I can stop it. The sound of the slap cracks through the room. Rolan doesn’t move or react to the gesture. I don't even get a smirk of satisfaction. I know the only way to get Nikolai out of here is to do whatever he wants, but the thought enrages me. Trade my body for my son's life again?

He turns from me, starts to walk away. He's headed toward the door, hand almost on the knob when I clear my throat. I hate myself. I hate that I'm weak. I hate that my father put me in this position. But most of all, I hate that Rolan Vetrov has been between my legs and I liked it enough to do it again, and again.

"Fine," I snip, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Yeah?" he says, turning with dark eyes and a haunting gaze.

"I’m doing it for my son," I say.

He doesn’t look back. "You’re not as good at lying as you think."

Rolan's words sting, but I can't afford to let them get to me. I swallow my pride and turn around, stripping off my clothes. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand naked before him, the cool air of the room dancing over my heated skin. Slowly, I climb onto the bed, trying to push away my shame and disgust for myself. If it means freedom for Nikolai, it's a price I have to pay.

Rolan undresses leisurely, his eyes never leaving mine. His every movement exudes dominance and control, as if he's reminding me of his power over me. My stomach churns as he joins me on the bed, his body a wall of muscle against mine. He smells of expensive cologne and power, a scent that makes bile rise in my throat. And his body is chiseled from granite.

If I weren’t so terrified that Nikolai may be forever trapped here, I would take a moment to admire his corded muscles, the warmth of his skin tone despite the time of year, and the wayhis tattoos wrap around his skin like hieroglyphics telling his life story.

Rolan's hands roam my body, his touch both foreign and familiar at the same time. I close my eyes, willing myself to think of Nikolai's face, his laughter, anything but the man currently invading my space. His lips brush against the column of my neck, and I shudder involuntarily. "Relax, Anya," he whispers in my ear, his voice barely a growl. "This will go easier if you stop fighting me."

I clench my jaw, determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much I want this to disgust me. Rolan's grip on my hip tightens as he positions himself above me. I stare at the ceiling, feeling every inch of him as he enters me. I tell myself it's just another transaction, another debt to be paid off. But each thrust reminds me of how much I enjoy this—enjoy him.

Soon, I’m clinging to his sides, spreading myself wider to take him in. His stubbled chin scrapes my neck, teeth raking along my pulse point. “Shit,” I hiss when he hits that sensitive spot inside me.

The room spins, my body aflame with pleasure and revulsion. I clench around him, trying to push him away while keeping him close, lost in the war raging within me. His breath fans across my neck, his hot touch branding me as his own.

"You like it," he growls, his accent thicker than before. "Don't lie to yourself anymore.”

His words slice through me, but I can't deny the truth in them. He knows my body too well, knows exactly how to make my resolve crumble. I arch my back, meeting his thrusts, silently begging for more even as I curse myself for giving in so easily. This man is the enemy, the monster who took everything from me. Yet here I am in his bed again, letting him take from me.

His tempo increases, and the bed creaks under our combined weight. Sweat beads on my brow, my body on fire as Rolan'sthrusts become more urgent. I'm so close—so close to that edge I don't want to cross but can't resist. His fingers dig into my hips, bruising me, but I don't care. All that matters is the release looming just out of reach.

His lips find mine, but I turn away defiantly. It’s something I refuse to let him take from me.

“Ah.” He clicks his tongue. “You little bitch, you…”

“Fuck me,” I whimper, not deterred by his name calling.

“Say you want me,” he growls against my ear.

"Never," I gasp, clenching my teeth. I can feel the heat building inside me, the tension coiling in my core. I dig my nails into the sheets, trying desperately to hold on to something, anything, other than him.

"I will make you say it," he grunts, his voice hoarse with lust and determination.

His other hand slips between my legs, his callused fingers seeking out the sensitive bundle of nerves that I know will send me over the edge. He circles it expertly, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. "R–Rolan," I whimper, my defiance crumbling under his ministrations. "Stop… I can't…”

“Fucking say it!” His demand is met with a warmth flooding my core. My orgasm is so close, so fucking tantalizingly close.

“No,” I protest, and his thrusts slow, his fingers draw away from my clit. “What… no, don’t stop!”

“You don’t seem to understand how this works,malyshka.” I’m shuddering, trembling on the edge as he teases my folds and agonizingly glides in and out of me. “You’re not my guest here… Not a queen either. You’re mysuka, Anya. Now say it.” Rolan’s fingers return to my core, sliding through my moisture as his cock returns to its relentless pace, and I am done fighting.

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