Page 27 of Bribed & Bred By the BRATVA
“When you’re pregnant,” I murmur against her ear, “I’ll fuck you just like this. Slow. Careful. Worshipful. I’ll hold your belly while I move inside you. I’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re carrying our future. And you’ll believe me.”
Her breath catches. Tears shine at the corners of her eyes, not from pain but from something deeper. She whispers, “I believe you.”
The words detonate inside me. I groan, thrusting deeper, kissing her like I’ll never let her breathe without my taste again.
She breaks again around me, clenching, crying my name. I follow with a growl, spilling deep inside her, grinding until she’s full of me, until I know she’ll carry the memory of this with her into every dream.
I hold her after, still inside her, our bodies slick and joined. My hand rests on her stomach, my mouth at her temple.
“You’ll give me everything,” I murmur. “And I’ll give you more. Even when your body changes. Especially then. I’ll fuck youwhen you’re swollen, when you’re sore, when you think you can’t be touched. And I’ll make you remember that you are mine.”
Her voice is soft, shaky, but sure. “Always.”
I close my eyes. For the first time in years, I believe in something bigger than myself.
I believe in her.
Isabella
The house is too big for silence. Every footstep echoes, bouncing off the tiles and walls and polished wood like it doesn’t know where to land. Back at our apartment, silence meant creaking pipes, the hum of the broken fridge, Mateo’s breathing in the next room. Here it feels deliberate.
I trail my fingers over the cool railing as I climb the staircase. It should feel like a cage, all this perfection. Instead, it feels like I’m walking through someone else’s dream, one I was never supposed to see.
Our room in the south wing is immaculate. Every book on the shelves is something I’ve wanted to read; every item of clothing folded in the drawers is my size. It’s terrifying, the way Aleksei already knows me better than most people I’ve called family. Terrifying, and… comforting.
I wander because I don’t know what else to do. Past tall windows that pour light across marble. Past the kitchen where I can still smell coffee and fresh bread from breakfast. The walls hum with hidden power, cameras tucked where I can’t see them, guards moving like shadows through the gardens.
Eventually, I find myself at the door of his new office. It’s different from the one in the pool house where I first sat on his knee, more polished, more functional. Papers spread across the desk. A laptop glowing faintly. And him.
Aleksei sits behind the desk, shirt sleeves rolled, tattooed forearms braced on polished wood. He doesn’t look up immediately, but the air shifts as if he felt me the second I stepped into the doorway.
“Come here.” His voice is low, certain.
I obey before I even think about it, my feet carrying me across the rug until I stand in front of the desk. He sets his pen down, finally looking at me. Those eyes strip me bare every time.
“Are you settling,” he asks.
I nod. “I think so. It’s…different.”
“Different is good,” he says. “Different means you’re not where you were.”
I bite my lip. He’s right. It’s the first time in years I’m not counting the hours until rent is due, or worrying whether Mateo’s medicine will last until the next pay check. But saying it out loud feels like giving too much away.
His gaze drops, not to the papers, not to the laptop, but lower. My stomach knots under the weight of it. Then he asks, calm and simple, “Has your period come yet?”
Heat floods my face. “What?”
“You heard me.” He leans back in the chair, spreading his legs, every inch of him patient but unyielding. “Your cycle. Has it started.”
I swallow hard. “That’s…you can’t just ask—”
“I can,” he cuts in, voice soft but absolute. “And I will. Every month. Because your body is mine, Isabella. Every change, every ache, every shift belongs to me now.”
My cheeks burn hotter. I wrap my arms across my stomach, trying to hide from the bluntness of it. “No. Not yet.”
Satisfaction flickers in his eyes, sharp as steel. “Good. That means when I filled you last night, and all the nights before, it wasn’t wasted. It means the next time I spill inside you; it could take root.”
My knees feel weak. Shame and heat war in my chest, twisting so tight I can barely breathe. “You talk about it like it’s normal conversation.”
