Page 40 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
He presses his body against mine, one hand braced beside my head on the wall, the other curling loosely around my waist—not tight, not yet, but enough to cage me in. His breathing is harsh, ragged. The air shifts between us, thick with heat and danger.
“I could hear your little footsteps from upstairs,” he says softly, his lips brushing the edge of my jaw. “So desperate. So fucking reckless.”
“Get off me,” I breathe, trying to push him away, but it’s useless. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Is this how you planned to repay me?” he murmurs, his voice like velvet soaked in venom. “Sneaking through my house in the dead of night? Hunting for doors that don’t exist?”
“You’re insane,” I whisper, and I hate how my voice trembles.
Adrian leans in, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear. “You said that once already, Mrs. Rusnak. But I think we both know…you haven’t seen anything yet.”
I try to wriggle free, but his grip only tightens—not enough to hurt me, just enough to remind me that I’m not going anywhere unless he allows it.
Adrian’s eyes blaze as he stares down at me. There’s something different in them now—darker, sharper. A warning curled in heat. He’s angry. Furious. And somehow, the more furious he is, the quieter he gets.
He turns me around with terrifying ease, my back pressing against his chest, his arm locked across my waist. I feel his breath at my neck, feel the tension radiating from him like a live wire.
“This is your one warning,” he growls against my skin, his lips grazing the edge of my jaw.
I flinch, heart hammering.
Then—he spins me again, facing him. Our lips almost meet. Almost.
His mouth is barely a whisper away from mine, the heat of it branding me. Our breaths mix. His knuckles brush my cheek. His eyes search mine, wild and unreadable. I’m frozen, caught in the snare of something that terrifies me—and burns me alive.
Then I snap.
I slap him, hard, my palm stinging from the impact. He barely reacts. Only his jaw tightens, a quiet fury rising off him like smoke.
“I hate you,” I hiss, shoving against his chest, trying to get free.
But he pins me back effortlessly, his hand on my hip, his voice a low, deadly murmur. “Do that again, and I’ll show you what pain really is.”
“Let me go.”
His gaze drags down my face. “If I ever catch you sneaking around this house again, trying to escape,” he says slowly, “you’ll pay, Jennie. In ways that will make you beg me for mercy.”
I shiver, fear coiling in my stomach.
He lets go abruptly, like I burn him, turning on his heel and disappearing into the shadows as silently as he came.
And I finally breathe.
Chapter 8 – Adrian
The morning sun pours through the high windows of the estate, but it doesn’t warm me. Nothing does lately. I’ve been in my study all night, nursing a bottle of scotch and wrestling with the one thought that won’t leave my mind—her.
My knuckles still ache, a dull throb that matches the steady simmer of rage in my chest. She tried to escape last night. I should be furious—I am furious—but more than that, I’m disappointed. I’m offering her safety. Power. My fucking name. And she still doesn’t get it.
I leave the study and head down the long hall toward the stairs, each step heavy with the weight of restraint. When I reach our bedroom door, I knock—sharp and short.
A beat later, it opens.
She’s in a robe, hair mussed from sleep, eyes still soft with grogginess. But when she sees it’s me, they go wide. Alarmed.
“Come down for breakfast,” I say flatly.
Her mouth opens, probably to argue. But then I narrow my eyes, pinning her with a look that’s burned into every man who’s ever crossed me. Her lips snap shut.
