Page 35 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
A soft sound escapes me, half sob, half laugh. “God, what is wrong with me?” I whisper to the night.
I want to run. Even if I could find the door, I know my feet would take me straight to his. I want to hit him. I want to kisshim. I want him to take me apart until there’s nothing left but want and ruin.
When the first rays of dawn slip through the curtains, I am still awake, raw and aching, heart pounding with need and regret. I watch the sunrise paint the walls in gold, and I wonder if I will ever find myself again… or if I have already been remade, piece by piece, by the man I swore I would destroy.
***
The afternoon sun settles warm on my shoulders as I slip outside, needing air, needing space from the four walls that have begun to feel like a gilded cell.
I wander through the garden behind the mansion, following the winding flagstone paths, trailing my fingers over tangled vines that climb the wrought-iron arches.
Roses bloom in secret corners—pale pink, bloodred, their petals impossibly soft and fragrant. The hush out here feels sacred, separate from the tension and watchfulness inside.
I breathe deeply. I pretend, for a moment, that I am free.
I almost believe I’m alone. Until I turn and see him.
Adrian stands under the shadow of the archway, hands in his pockets, face half lit by sun and half by shadow. He doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t speak.
The air between us tightens, hot with things unsaid. I look away, tracing the curl of a rose stem with my thumb, but I feel him watching me, tracking every breath, every heartbeat.
He comes toward me, slow and silent. His presence is a pressure, a gravity I can’t ignore. I stand my ground, refusing to back away, to give him the satisfaction of seeing me run.
Still, when he stops in front of me, the garden suddenly feels much smaller.
“Did you follow me?” I say, voice sharp, brittle with nerves.
He tilts his head, a faint smirk on his lips. “This is my home, Talia. I don’t have to follow anyone.”
“I needed space.” My fists clench at my sides. “After what you did last night—”
He cuts me off, his eyes cold and hard. “After what we did.”
I glare at him, fury and want tangled up inside me. “You could have let me finish,” I snap, too raw to hide the truth. “You left me—”
His mouth is on mine before I can finish, firm, deep, unyielding. The world falls away. His hands tangle in my hair, tugging me close, and I find myself clutching his shirt, desperate to anchor myself.
He bites at my lip, and I gasp. His mouth moves down my jaw, to the pulse at my throat, then lower, over the curve of my collarbone. I shudder, my body arching to meet him, all anger drowned in heat.
He lifts me, strong arms sliding under my thighs. The roses, the garden, the afternoon sun—all vanish as he carries me inside, like it costs him nothing, like I weigh nothing at all. The house is silent, the halls empty. He kicks open a door. I recognize his bedroom only as he lays me back against the wide, cool sheets.
He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls the dress over my head, tosses it aside, his eyes hungry and dark. His hands roam my skin, mapping every inch, every shiver, every sigh. His mouth returns to mine, claiming, punishing, then gentling with every pass. I tug at his shirt, needing him bare, needing to feel him everywhere.
He strips quickly, careless with buttons, his body tense, carved by restraint.
He parts my legs with his knee, his hand cupping me, teasing, finding me wet and wanting. I arch against him, begging without words, forgetting everything but the way his touch undoes me.
He moves over me, guiding himself in, slow at first, letting me feel every inch, every stretch. My breath stutters. He groans my name, low and wrecked, as if he’s losing control. He thrusts deep, hard, setting a rhythm that’s all dominance and need. I clutch at his shoulders, nails biting, drawing him closer.
His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back so his mouth can claim my neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing the sting. Each thrust rocks me higher, my back arching off the bed, my thighs trembling around his hips. He feels impossibly big inside me, thick and hot, filling me so completely I can’t think, can’t breathe, can only gasp his name again and again.
He buries his face at my throat, his breath harsh, body tensed above mine. “Look at me,” he growls, voice so low it’s almost a snarl. I obey, blinking up into eyes dark with hunger, with something fierce and possessive.
He watches every flutter of my lashes, every tremor that ripples through my body as he drives into me, steady, unrelenting.
“Mine,” he whispers, voice rough with lust and something darker. “You’re mine, Talia.”
The words go straight to my core, making me clench around him, helpless, desperate for more. His hand slides down, between our bodies, fingers finding my clit.
