Page 15 of Chased & Bred by the BRATVA
For her, I’d let it stay.
She doesn’t know it yet.
She doesn’t know the depth of this. The obsession that’s already rooted so deep inside me it can’t be pulled free without blood and carnage.
But she’ll learn.
She’ll learn when she feels her body change. When her breasts swell. When her hormones make her ache and she comes to me with trembling hands and desperate little whimpers, needing me like air.
I’ll give her everything.
And when she finally looks at me with that same hunger and trust, when she stops wondering who I am and starts wondering how she ever lived without me, that’s when I’ll put a ring on her finger and my name on her soul.
She sighs in her sleep, a sound that cracks something open in my chest.
Mine.
I close my eyes, but I don’t sleep.
I just sit there, leaning against the headboard, my cock still nestled in Rachel’s folds, planning our future. Plotting every way I’m going to make sure she never leaves.
And every man who even thinks about touching her again?
They’ll wish they never laid eyes on her.
Rachel
Nikolai shifts beneath me and a startle awake. Sore and aching, but feeling warm and safe on his lap.
“I need to go to work, little rabbit.”
Work.
I lift myself from him and take my time gathering up my clothes and dressing again. My phone is still in my clutch from last night, but still needs charging. I’ll need to contact work, let them know I won’t be in tomorrow. And text my friends and let them know I’m okay…
Because they will be worried about me. Right?
“Penny for them?” he asks and I offer a sharp shrug.
“Just wondering if my friends are worried about me. I couldn’t find them last night, then I was essentially kidnapped. Now I’m here.” I can feel the frown on my face, but he smooths it away with a kiss to my forehead. For some reason it makes my throat feel tight.
That’s the worst part.
I sit on the edge of the bed with my phone in my hands while he buttons his shirt, sleeves still rolled up from earlier. He’s already in work mode, controlled, composed, a different kind of dangerous. But still mine, in some quiet, unspoken way. The contrast shouldn’t make my stomach flutter, but it does.
“Clara is in all day, if you want some company,” he says as he slides a watch onto his wrist. “And she should be able to find a charger for your phone.”
I nod, rubbing a thumb along the edge of my knee. The scrape from last night is beginning to scab. It itches. Everything aches or itches.
My thoughts are louder now. No longer muffled by sex and adrenaline.
I think about my job. The endless emails. The way my boss doesn’t remember my name and steals my ideas and never gives credit where it’s due. The old microwave in the break room that hardly ever heats up food all the way. The coworker who cried in the bathroom for an hour last week and no one said anything.
I think about Lena and Ava. Friends I used to feel close to, before everything became a competition. Before every birthday was an excuse to drink too much and post filtered selfies to prove we werethrivingwhen really we’re barely clinging on to what we thought adulthood was supposed to be.
Maybe they thought I left with someone. Maybe they were too drunk to care.
Or maybe they just forgot.
