Page 55 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
“Mine,” he breathes. “You’re mine.”
I pull him closer, mouth hungry on his, and when he comes, it’s with a guttural, broken sound, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside me. He doesn’t stop moving, rocking into me until I feel him everywhere, until we’re nothing but heat and shaking limbs and the wreckage of every wall we tried to build.
When it’s over, he collapses onto me, both of us gasping, boneless, sweat-slick and shaking. I run my hands over his back, feeling the tremor in his muscles, the pounding of his heart.
He rolls to his side, pulling me with him, tucking me under his arm like he can’t bear to let go. My cheek finds his chest, my fingers curling around his wrist. I should leave—I should slip out and hide, tell myself it was just a way to earn back his trust. A safety net of sorts.
My body betrays me. I can’t move. I don’t want to.
His other hand rubs slow circles into my back, grounding, comforting, reminding me that I’m safe here, if only for tonight. I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of sweat, sex, and something sweeter. I let myself rest, let myself want, let myself belong to him for just this moment.
He presses a kiss to my forehead, gentle and lingering. “Stay,” he whispers, the word a prayer and a plea.
I pretend it means nothing. I know, deep down, I want to stay. I want him. Even after everything. Even after all the pain and the lies.
Chapter Twenty-Four - Adrian
When I wake, the room is painted with soft morning light, diffused through heavy curtains. I don’t move. I lie there, letting the minutes stretch, holding her close and watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her breath. Her hair is a dark tangle on my chest, her cheek warm against my skin.
The bruises on her thighs and throat are my marks, but for once, I don’t feel the usual surge of possessive pride. The part of me that always wants control, that needs to win, that would rather punish than plead—it’s quiet now, pushed to the far edges of my mind.
All that’s left is clarity. The ache in my chest is sharper than I want to admit.
I can’t keep her by force, not anymore. I know it as clearly as I know my own name. I can cage her, protect her, fuck her until she can’t breathe, but it won’t matter. The only way she’ll ever truly be mine is if she chooses to stay. Even if that choice destroys me.
I let her sleep, fingers tracing slow circles on her back, committing every inch of her to memory. She stirs against me once or twice, mouth brushing my collarbone, but doesn’t wake. I almost wish she never would.
I almost wish we could stay in this limbo, suspended in the afterglow of everything we survived and everything we ruined.
By noon, the spell breaks. She’s up, showered, dressed in jeans and a plain sweater, her face unreadable. She avoids my eyes. The old distance is back, the wariness, the armor she wears so well.
I feel her slipping through my fingers even as she sits across from me at the breakfast table, picking at toast she won’t eat.
There’s nothing left to say in the kitchen, so I lead her to the study, closing the door behind us with a finality that makes my heart race. I place a burner phone on the desk. Next to it, a folder, thin, but heavy with meaning. I meet her eyes, making sure she understands every word.
“Your brother is being moved tonight,” I say quietly. “I’ve arranged it. If you leave now, you’ll reach him before they do.” I don’t bother to explain who they are. She knows. I’ve made sure she knows.
Her eyes flick to mine, sharp and searching. I see the fear, the hope, the thousand questions she’ll never trust me enough to ask. I add, “The car’s waiting. I’ll keep my men off you.”
She picks up the phone like it burns her, turning it over in her palm, her pulse hammering in her throat. “If I choose to stay?”
I don’t sugarcoat it. There’s no point. “Then you belong to me, but not as a hostage. As my wife. No more pretending.” My voice is steady, but my heart is breaking with every word. “If you stay, Talia, there’s no more halfway. I will love you like I destroy everything else—ruthlessly.”
She laughs once, a sharp, broken sound, more pain than amusement. “That’s not love.”
I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth, raw and unvarnished. “It’s the only kind I’ve ever known.”
The silence stretches between us. She looks away, jaw clenched, blinking hard. I want to cross the room, to pull her into my arms and beg her to stay, but I don’t move. She needsto choose. I can’t steal this from her, not after everything I’ve already taken.
Her hands tremble as she sets the phone down, her breath coming quick and shallow. She paces to the window, fingers pressed to the glass, watching the drive where a black car waits, engine idling.
For a long moment, I think she’ll go. I almost hope she does. It’s better to lose her now, on her terms, than to watch her rot in the prison of my love.
She doesn’t move. She stands there, staring into the gray afternoon, caught between freedom and fate. I watch the way her shoulders rise and fall, the way her hands clench into fists.
“I don’t know how to forgive you,” she says quietly, her back to me.
I nod, voice rough. “I don’t know how to deserve it.”
