Page 44 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
I almost smile. Almost. “We’ll see.”
I watch her as she sets the pistol down on the table with more care than she’d ever show me. Her breathing slows, her mask slips just a little, and I see the woman she is underneath—the one who came looking for something she’s not sure she wants to find.
“Training’s over for now,” I say. “Next time, you’ll show me how much you’ve learned.”
She nods, jaw tight, defiance still simmering just beneath the surface.
I watch her for another long, loaded second, the air charged between us, her jaw set in stubborn defiance. I pluck the gun from where she discarded it and set it out of reach, the click of it against steel echoing like a warning in the vault.
She straightens as if she expects the lesson is over, but I have other intentions.
I step into her space, pressing my body flush against hers. She doesn’t back down, but her breath stutters, her robe gaping enough that I can feel the heat of her skin. I lock my hand around her jaw, tilting her head up until she meets my eyes. My other hand skims her waist, sliding lower, fingers bunching in the silk at her hip.
“You think this is a joke?” I growl into her ear, my voice hard as stone, letting her feel every ounce of my restraint, every dark impulse roiling just beneath the surface.
She opens her mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to laugh it off, but I don’t give her the chance. My hand slips beneath the robe, trailing up her thigh, rough with purpose. She gasps, caught off guard, her head falling back against the locker. I claimher mouth with a kiss that’s nothing like gentle, swallowing her protest, tasting her frustration and want.
Her hands fist in my shirt, nails digging through the fabric. I pin her tighter to the cold steel, kissing her until she’s breathless, until her bravado cracks and I can feel the soft, needy heat beneath it. My tongue pushes past her lips, dominating the kiss, mapping her mouth like I have all the time in the world.
“You want to talk back?” I murmur, breaking the kiss to nip at her jaw, her ear. “You want to act like you don’t belong to me?”
She shudders, her thighs trembling as my fingers find the slick heat between them. I push the robe higher, exposing her completely, not caring that the metal locker is cold against her bare skin. I circle her clit, slow at first, watching her eyes glaze with helpless want.
She tries to twist away, to regain some control, but I pin her hip with my knee, holding her open, vulnerable, forced to take everything I give. I thrust two fingers inside her, my mouth devouring the soft sounds she tries to hide. My other hand stays at her jaw, holding her gaze, refusing to let her look away.
“You don’t get to run from this,” I tell her, thrusting slow and deep, curling my fingers until she’s squirming, her defiance melting into desperate whimpers. “You want to fight? Fight me now.”
She claws at my back, lips parted, head thrown back against the lockers. I bite at her neck, leaving my mark just above her pulse, my teeth grazing her skin until she’s shaking. I fuck her with my hand until she’s panting, hips jerking with every rough push.
“Adrian,” she gasps, her voice wrecked, tears in her eyes. “Please—”
I shut her up with another kiss, devouring her surrender, refusing to let her say anything but my name. When she’s on the edge, begging for release, I slow my hand, making her writhe, making her plead. I want her to remember this, to remember who owns every part of her.
“You’re mine,” I growl, my voice broken with need. “Say it.”
She does, breathless and wrecked. “I’m yours. Yours.”
I slam my mouth back to hers, swallowing the cry as I thrust my fingers harder, relentless until she breaks, coming apart against my hand, body clenching, legs shaking.
I watch every second, memorizing the way she falls apart for me, the way all her attitude and pride melt into raw, honest need. When she’s finally done—panting, lips swollen, robe sliding off one bare shoulder—I let her go.
I pull back, chest heaving, my cock aching with restraint. I want to take her right here, but I don’t. I need her to remember who sets the terms.
She sags against the lockers, wrecked and beautiful, eyes half closed. The gun lies on the table beside her, forgotten, cold and useless compared to the fire still burning in her skin.
I fix my clothes, run a hand through my hair, jaw tight as I force myself to turn away. I need answers from her, but if she won’t speak, I’ll get them my own way. I’ll tear down every lie she’s ever built, one layer at a time, until there’s nothing left between us but the truth.
I walk up the stairs, fists clenched, heart racing for reasons I don’t want to name. I can still taste her, can still feel the way her body shook under my hands. The way she fought me, needed me, gave in.
I pause at the landing, staring into the shadows of the hall. The storm outside is nothing compared to the storm inside me. She’s under my skin, in my blood. Every moment with her is a war: power, pride, lust, something dangerously close to something softer. I need to know what she’s hiding. I need to know who she is, really.
Even as I plot my next move, I know the truth: I’m not just fixing her attitude. I’m fighting to keep control of my own.
Chapter Nineteen - Talia
Late afternoon sunlight slants through the mansion’s high windows, dust dancing in the golden beams. I can’t keep still—my body aches from his hands, from what he did to me last night, from all the things I wanted to say but didn’t.
The anger and need burn through me in equal measure, quickening my breath, knotting my insides. I need answers, not just more confusion. I need to understand what Adrian is hiding, what he’s really capable of.
