Page 4 of Bratva Bride
She closes her eyes, just for a moment, then reaches across the desk, her fingers brushing mine. “You’re not alone in this. Even when it feels like it.”
I want to believe her. I want to be the man who can fix things, who can protect the people he loves. But right now, all I have are the ghosts in this room and a photograph I can’t look away from.
Nadya’s hand rests on mine, her touch almost hesitant at first, but soon her fingers curl around mine with a quiet insistence that I can’t ignore. For a long moment I avoid her eyes, ashamed of how lost I am, how close I am to breaking, but then I look up. The room is dim, shadows stretching across the bookshelves, buther gaze is clear—dark with pain, but full of a heat that I haven’t felt in days.
The space between us hums with tension, the kind that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with longing. Her thumb moves along the back of my hand, a small, deliberate motion that makes my chest ache. I realize how much I’ve missed her, not just in the shared grief, but in the way her presence always cuts through my self-doubt and rage.
I push back my chair and rise, unsure what to say, but she’s already coming around the desk, closing the distance, her breath just a little uneven. She lifts her hands to my face, tracing the lines drawn deeper by loss and exhaustion, and I let myself fall into her touch. For the first time in days, the emptiness in my chest seems to crack open, letting in something warmer, something alive.
Then her mouth finds mine, and all the anger and fear, all the things we can’t say out loud, come pouring out in a kiss. She clings to me, fingers tangled in my shirt, her body pressed hard against mine, and I hold her tight, desperate to keep her from slipping away like everything else. The kiss turns rough, then searching, then frantic, as if we can outrun the pain and silence by losing ourselves in each other.
I feel the edge of her teeth, the softness of her lips, the way her breath stutters against my jaw. My hands move to her waist, then her back, pulling her closer, wanting to memorize the feel of her, to ground myself in the one thing that still feels real. Her hair slips through my fingers and she moans softly into my mouth, the sound going straight through me.
When we finally pull apart, both of us are breathing hard, our foreheads touching, her hands still tangled in my hair. For amoment, I almost forget why the world hurts so much. There’s only Nadya, her pulse wild beneath my hands, her eyes locked on mine.
When I kiss her again, she tastes like grief and fire and longing, her mouth wild against mine, and as I drag her closer, every thread of restraint I’ve clung to since that night finally snaps. My hands roam over her hips, up her back, crushing her to me as she claws at my shirt, desperate and wordless.
Nadya’s fingers tug my shirt loose, frantic, impatient, and I pull it over my head, not caring where it lands. She peels her own sweater off, letting it fall to the floor, her skin glowing in the low light, the swell of her breasts rising and falling with every shallow breath. I can’t look away. She’s trembling, but her eyes never leave mine, daring me to take everything I need.
My hands cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over soft skin, and she gasps as my mouth moves down, kissing her throat, her collarbone, my teeth scraping along her pulse. I suck a mark into her skin, just above her heart—a dark, perfect bruise that will last for days—because I need proof that I was here, that she’s still mine. She arches into me, fingers winding in my hair, urging me lower.
I trail my mouth down, kissing the swell of her breast, circling her nipple with my tongue until she shudders, a moan catching in her throat. I take her nipple between my lips and suck, hard, and she lets her head fall back, a broken sound spilling out of her. Her hands rake over my shoulders, nails digging in, and the sharp pain grounds me, reminds me that we’re still alive, still flesh and need and memory.
“Konstantin,” she breathes, her voice wrecked, desperate. I slide my hands down to her jeans, unbuttoning them with aroughness I can’t hide. She helps me, working the zipper down, pushing the fabric past her hips until she’s bare in front of me. I strip away what’s left of my own clothes, not breaking the kiss, not giving either of us a chance to hesitate.
We crash back together, skin to skin, her body hot and soft beneath my hands. I kiss her again, deeper, tasting everything she’s held back, everything we both need. My mouth finds her neck, biting another mark just below her jaw, and she groans, clutching at me like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
There’s nothing gentle left in us, nothing slow. Only need and heat, the taste of her skin, the sound of her gasps echoing through the empty study as I pull her down to the rug.
We hit the rug, tangled together, mouths crashing, hands everywhere, desperation spilling out with every rough kiss and frantic tug. Nadya pulls me down on top of her, her thighs parting for me, and I press myself between them, the heat of her skin against mine sending a jolt straight through me.
She’s already wet, her breath ragged as I slide my hand down, finding her and stroking her, just to feel her hips buck up into my palm. Her nails trace my back, urging me on, wordless, greedy for every bit of closeness she can get.
I line myself up, and thrust into her in one deep, hard stroke. The sound she makes is half sob, half moan, and her arms lock tight around my shoulders as I start to move.
The world narrows to the heat and pressure between us as I continue to push inside her, her slickness drawing a low, broken sound from both of us, and for a moment neither of us speaks, the tension between us a live wire snapping through my bodyas her legs tighten around my waist, urging me deeper. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, dragging my mouth over her skin, tasting salt and perfume and something uniquely hers as her hips rise to meet me, the friction already spiraling into something urgent, something furious and raw.
We move together with a kind of violence born of loss, not tenderness but hunger—her body arching beneath mine, her breath stuttering as I drive into her again and again, each thrust sending a shudder through both of us, chasing relief we haven’t found in days. I reach between us, pressing my thumb to her clit, circling in slow, determined strokes, and the way she gasps my name—desperate and wild—makes my head spin, makes me want to give her every ounce of comfort I have left.
She pulls me in for another kiss, her mouth open, messy, her tongue greedy and searching, her moans muffled against my lips as I work her clit with just enough pressure to push her to the edge.
She drags her nails down my back, leaving angry red trails, gasping out my name and begging me not to stop, not when she’s so close, not when she needs me to fuck her harder, deeper. “God, Konstantin—don’t stop, I want you so fucking deep,” she whispers, her voice almost breaking as she clenches around me, the words pushing me right to the edge.
“Look at you,” I growl, nipping at her jaw, biting her neck hard enough to mark her. “Taking my cock like you were made for it, so wet, so fucking greedy for me—do you want to come for me, Nadya? You want me to make you scream?”
She’s panting, hair wild around her face, her mouth falling open as I push her legs higher, grinding into her with a pace that leaves us both shaking.
Her muscles tighten around me, her body trembling with the effort to hold on, her voice breaking as she tells me not to stop, not to let go, not to leave her in this emptiness we’ve both been drowning in.
I don’t hold back, letting the sensation build, watching her unravel beneath me, her hair fanned across the rug, her eyes locked on mine with a wildness that’s equal parts grief and devotion and a need so fierce it leaves me shaking.
When she comes, she clings to me, her body tensing and shuddering, her mouth open in a silent cry as I keep working her clit, desperate to prolong the pleasure, desperate to feel something good after so much pain.
The feeling tips me over the edge too, my orgasm tearing through me as I thrust into her one last time, spilling into her, letting myself collapse into the warmth of her arms. For a moment, there’s only breath and the rush of blood in my ears.
Her breathing is still ragged, her hair tangled across the rug, but she traces slow, idle circles on my back, grounding me in a warmth I haven’t felt in days. For a moment, there’s peace—the kind that feels both earned and impossibly fragile, like it could shatter with a single word.
I’m still inside her, our bodies tangled, sweat cooling as the worst of our hunger ebbs, replaced by a dull ache that feels like hope and despair braided together. Nadya kisses my shoulder, her lips barely a whisper against my skin, and then she draws back just enough to look up at me.
