Page 5 of Kidnapped & Bred By The BRATVA
Then he says, “Strip.”
I freeze. My mind blanks.Strip?
For a second, I think I misheard. But his eyes drag over me, slow, heavy, claiming every inch of silk and skin, and I know exactly what he means.
“The dress,” he says again, voice low, final. “It doesn’t belong to you. It belonged to the deal. To him. You’re mine now. And I want you naked.”
Heat explodes in my chest. Rage, sharp and hot. “You can’t be serious.”
His scar pulls tight as his mouth curves. “I’m dead serious.”
I shake my head hard enough that it bumps against the wall. “No. Absolutely not,” I say, because those are the words I’m meant to say to such an obscene request. Yet part of me…
He moves. One step. Then another. His hand slams into the wall beside my head, the crack echoing through the room. I blink, but I don’t flinch. I can’t. My body is caged between him and the polished wood panelling, trapped in heat and shadow. He doesn’t even touch me, but I feel him everywhere.
“You’ll fight,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “But you’ll lose. Every time. Now… strip.”
Goosebumps rip across my skin. My lungs won’t fill. I want to spit at him, slap him, scream. But my body betrays me. My nipples harden against the bodice. My thighs press together under the weight of his words. My hands twitch toward the laces of the bodice.
I want to hate myself for it.
I want to hate him more for knowing. For watching. His eyes gleam like he can already taste my shame.
“Do it,” he orders, stepping back just far enough to give me enough space to obey.
My fingers tremble as I reach for the pins in my hair, pulling the veil free. It slips to the floor in a pool of white, fragile and forgotten.
He watches every movement, eyes hooded and dark with hunger.
The bodice of the gown is stiff, boned with corset-like stays that press painfully against my ribs. My hands fumble at the fastenings. It takes longer than it should, my breathing shallow as I fight with the ribbons. I’ve never been more aware of someone watching me. Every second feels like an eternity, every scrape of fabric against my skin like a secret revealed.
Finally, the gown loosens. It slides down my body in a heavy whisper and crumples around my feet. I step out of it, leaving it a pile of ruin on the plush carpeted floor.
I stand there in only my underwear, white cotton panties, plain and modest. No lace, no silk. Because this was never supposed to be a real marriage. My father didn’t care about romance or love, just an alliance sealed with signatures and contracts and I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easier for any of them.
I wrap my arms across my chest, suddenly exposed, cheeks blazing with heat.
His gaze doesn’t soften. It sharpens. He drinks me in like he’s starving, eyes lingering on every inch of bare skin. The air between us thickens until I can hardly breathe.
I want to hide. I want to cover myself, to shrink into the wall. But at the same time, a shiver of something electric races down my spine. The way he looks at me…it sets me on fire.
“Don’t ever hide yourself from me, Olivia.”
I force myself to lift my chin, though my body betrays me with the flush spreading across my skin, with the heat pooling between my legs. I drop my arms.
His nostrils flare, and I swear he can smell it. Smellme.
My thighs press together instinctively, but that only makes it worse. The cotton darkens, damp with arousal I can’t control.
His eyes drop, and a low growl rumbles from his chest.
I should be mortified. I should cry. But all I feel is a jolt of desire so fierce it steals the air from my lungs.
“Better,” he murmurs, voice rough, primal, as his gaze lands on my naked breasts.
My pulse pounds. Every instinct tells me to fight, to resist, but something deeper whispers that I don’t want to. That for the first time in my life, I feel alive, even if being here might kill me.
He steps closer, his body heat wrapping around me, his hand brushing the wall near my head. His mouth is only inches from mine, and the urge to tilt my face up, to surrender, claws at me.
