Page 154 of Bratva Bidder
“I’m not good with speeches. You know that. I ruin most things with silence. But not this.” His voice softens. “I want a thousand more mornings like today. I want beach trips and freckles and you stealing my half of the blanket. I want this peace we fought for to mean something.”
The children are holding their breath. Even Irina is crying now.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something else. A delicate platinum ring with a diamond. It’s simple but stunning.
“Oh my God,” I say in awe.
“This is my vow. Will you marry me again? Not in secret, not in fear. But in the open. With everything we are.”
My heart shatters open. “Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, of course I will.”
The kids erupt into cheers. Mila throws her arms around my waist, and Nikolai yells, “I told you it was happening!”
Konstantin stands and pulls me into his arms, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes like salt and starlight. Around us, the waves hush the shore, and the lights glow steady in the dark.
I press my forehead to his and whisper, “You’re still a lunatic for calling this ring simple.”
He grins. “And yet you said yes to me.”
The sound of the ocean never stops. It ebbs and hums like a second heartbeat, pulsing beyond the open balcony doors. I lie in bed, still wrapped in the gauzy cover-up I threw on after the children finally collapsed into sleep. My fingers toy with the engagement ring on my hand—warm from my skin.
I don’t hear him enter. I feel him. The subtle shift of air. The quiet press of his presence.
Then his voice, low and hoarse from the sea air: “Can’t sleep?”
I turn, my breath hitching at the way he’s looking at me—like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this world.
“I was waiting for you.”
Konstantin walks toward me, slowly. Purposefully. Moonlight cuts along the lines of his bare chest, the faint scar near his collarbone, the ink that coils down one side. He’s only wearing dark boxers and a thin white shirt, and the sight of him undoes something inside me.
When he reaches the bed, he kneels beside it, brushing his fingers over my ankle, then my knee. His hand is warm, calloused, reverent. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“I think I do,” I whisper, sitting up to meet him.
He leans in, kissing me slow, deep. The kind of kiss that steals breath and replaces it with something hotter, more urgent. My hands find his shoulders, his jaw, pulling him closer until his weight covers mine. There’s nothing between us but fabric and a heartbeat.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs against my skin. “You’ve always been mine.”
His eyes hold mine in the dim glow, dark and smoldering, pulling me into him like a silent invitation. I lean forward, unable to resist, until my mouth finds his again—hot, insistent, and claiming. His lips part against mine, deepening the kiss until my head spins, until the world beyond us fades to nothing but the sound of our breathing and the feel of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
His hands slide over my waist, firm and warm through the thin fabric of my dress, tracing the curves he’s mapped so many times before. He tugs me closer, guiding me into his lap, the heat of him pressed intimately against my thighs. My fingers slip beneath his shirt, desperate to feel his skin.
“Let me see you,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice thick with desire.
He reaches down, gently lifting the dress over my head, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. Cool air brushes my skin, quickly replaced by his warm hands as they glide up my sides. His gaze drops to my bare skin, and a slow, appreciative smile curves his lips, sending heat pulsing through me.
“So beautiful,” he breathes, lowering his mouth to the soft swell of my breast. His tongue flicks gently against me, making mearch into him with a breathless gasp. His hands find my hips, gripping tight, anchoring me as his lips trail kisses across my chest, teasing, tasting. The warmth of his mouth closes over me, drawing me deeper into pleasure, igniting every nerve beneath my skin.
My hands clutch at his shoulders, fingers curling into his hair, holding him closer, needing more. I shift against him, urgency rising in the way my heartbeat quickens, in the way his breathing grows ragged against me.
“Your turn,” I whisper, fingertips tugging at the hem of his shirt.
He pulls back, eyes blazing, letting me lift the shirt away from his body. His chest rises and falls with his breath, muscles taut and defined in the soft moonlight. My gaze travels downward, drawn to every line, every scar. He watches me carefully, almost vulnerable beneath the hunger in his stare.
I lean forward, pressing soft, deliberate kisses to his chest, tracing the hard planes of his body with lips and fingertips, feeling him shudder beneath me.
I straddle his hips, my body pressed flush to his, feeling the hard, undeniable evidence of his arousal between us. His hands roam over my thighs, sliding up to my waist, holding me close, guiding me as if he can’t bear even an inch of distance.
