Page 55 of Forced Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva

When I break, it’s with a sob into his mouth, my body shuddering violently beneath him, pleasure tearing through me so hard it feels like pain. He follows with a low, brutal groan against my neck, driving into me one last time before stilling, his entire body taut, pulsing inside me.

The aftershocks leave me shaking, a wreck against the cold sheets.

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

The only sound is the ragged pull of our breathing, the harsh thud of my heartbeat against my ribs.

I lie still beneath him, my chest heaving, every nerve raw and exposed. Sweat cools on my skin in the slight chill of the room, making me shiver. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears—not from fear, not anymore, but from the unbearable rush of whatever came after.

Andrei shifts beside me, his weight easing off just enough for me to breathe. His arm falls heavy over my waist, anchoring me in place. Not tender. Not cold. Just there. Like he belongs there.

Like I belong to him now.

Neither of us speaks. Words would ruin it—would define it—and neither of us is ready for that. We cling to the silence, to the fragile space where this can still be anything, still mean nothing.

I stare up at the ceiling, numb and wide awake.

My mind races, faster than my body can catch up. A thousand thoughts crashing against the inside of my skull, none of them making sense, none of them changing the only thing that matters.

This is for my father. To keep him safe.

I whisper the lie in my mind, the same way I did before.

But now it tastes bitter, sour on my tongue, because no matter how many times I tell myself its survival, no matter how tightly I cling to the excuse, I can’t deny the truth anymore.

Some part of me wanted this.

Craved it.

Craved him.

My stomach twists in shame. I turn my face into the pillow to hide from myself, hating the warmth still coiling low in my belly, hating the aching satisfaction still thrumming through my limbs.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the feeling away.

It doesn’t leave.

The bed creaks softly beside me as Andrei shifts closer. His mouth brushes the curve of my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

His voice breaks the silence, quiet and unshakable, “You’ll come back.”

It isn’t a question. It’s a promise.

A sentence.

Chapter Sixteen - Andrei

The glow of the monitors paints the room in cold, sterile light. I lean back in the chair, cigar balanced loosely between my fingers, watching her.

On the center screen, Alina sprawls across my bed, one bare leg tangled in the sheets, the other stretched toward the edge, as if trying to escape even in sleep. Her body is tense, stiff despite the exhaustion dragging at her. One small fist curls tight in the fabric, clutching it to her chest like a shield.

Even in rest, she betrays herself.

Fear tightens her shoulders. Resistance hums in the rigid lines of her limbs. But there’s something else too, lingering beneath the surface—something raw, unspoken. Surrender. Not the kind that comes from defeat, but the deeper, uglier kind: the kind that grows from desire.

I take a slow drag from the cigar, letting the smoke coil lazily toward the ceiling. Satisfaction hums through me, low and potent, threading through my blood like a drug. It isn’t the sex that matters—not really. It’s the shift. The understanding carved into her body now, written in every trembling breath she takes, every shudder she tries to hide.

Wife.

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