Page 4 of Bribed & Bred By the BRATVA
The judge adds his seal, murmurs something about legality and witnesses. My men sign where needed. Then it’s done.
The license is folded and placed back into the folder. The judge leaves without lingering. He knows when he’s in the presence of something bigger than himself.
The silence after is thick. Heavy. She sits stiff in the chair, staring at the papers as though they might burn her. The pen still lies beside her hand.
“Stand.”
Her body obeys before her mind catches up. I can see it in her eyes, the shock of it. Of how easily she follows.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring. A thin band. A simple diamond that catches light without bragging. I take her left hand. Cold. Fragile. I slide the ring onto her finger and feel the tremor.
“Say it,” I tell her.
Her lashes lift. “Say what?”
“That you are my wife.”
Color stains her cheeks. She hesitates. Then: “I am…I am your wife.”
The words seal tighter than the signature. My hand comes to her neck, steady, claiming. Her pulse hammers against my palm.
“Good,” I murmur. “Now the world knows what I already decided.”
Her breath catches when I lower my mouth to hers. The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s a vow, a possession. She gasps, and I drink her in like I’ve been starving for this one taste all my life.
“You belong here. To me. This house. My name. My bed. My child. All of it begins now.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t argue. She only stands there, trembling, caught between fear and anticipation.
I step back, not because I want distance but because control tastes better when it’s stretched.
“You’ll eat with me tonight. Sleep with me tonight. Tomorrow you’ll see your brother.”
Her voice is still thin. “Sleep?”
“You,” I say, “are now my wife. We will consummate this marriage and you will sleep in my bed as my wife.”
She grips the edge of the table. “You planned this.”
“Of course.” I brush a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “Nothing I do is left to chance.”
Her eyes close at the touch. A shiver runs through her.
I should leave. Give her space. Let the hunger steep a little longer.
But when her lips part on a shaky breath, patience snaps like a bone.
I step closer, crowding her against the table, my mouth claiming hers before she can think to protest. The kiss is rough, unrelenting, the kind that sears possession into the skin. She gasps, clinging to me, and that’s all the permission I need.
“Tonight,” I murmur against her lips, “you don’t just sleep in my house as my wife. You sleep in my bed. You learn exactly what it means to belong to me”
Her pretty lips part, but no words come out.
I gesture toward the hall. “I’ll show you our room.”
She follows, her footsteps soft against the polished floor. At the doorway, she pauses. The room is large, with windows overlooking the pool, the bed is dressed in dark linens.
She grips the frame. “You planned this.”
