Page 41 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
Good girl.
I turn without waiting for a reply and descend the stairs, jaw clenched. She’ll follow. She had better. I’m not in the mood for silly games.
I don’t know what the hell else she wants from me. I’ve kept my distance. I’ve given her time. Hell, I’ve been sleeping in the damn guest room every night since we got married just so she doesn’t feel crowded. I haven’t touched her once —well, since that first night— even though I want to every damn minute. I’m trying. More than I’ve ever tried with anyone.
And it’s still not enough for her.
What does she think this is? A phase? A bluff?
She needs to understand—I don’t let go. I don’t walk away.
She’s mine.
And I’m done playing nice.
A moment later, Jennie steps into the dining room like she’s walking into a lion’s den, her spine straight, chin high, but I can see the hesitation in her eyes. She thinks she’s brave—thinks her silence and scowl are armor.
I watch her as she walks toward the long mahogany table and moves to sit across from me.
No.
Not this morning.
Not ever again.
I rise slowly, pushing back my chair. Then I walk to her.
Before she can sit, I take her wrist—not hard, just firm enough to remind her who she belongs to. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away. I guide her down the length of the table, then let go only to pull out the chair next to mine. She hesitates for half a second, eyes flicking to mine.
With one hand on the back of her shoulder, I press her gently but deliberately into the seat. She goes down stiffly, like every part of her is screaming to bolt.
I take my seat beside her and pour her a glass of water.
As the maid enters quietly and begins serving breakfast, I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out her phone. I set it on the table between us.
Jennie’s eyes widen, her fingers twitch like she’s about to grab it—but I take it back just as quickly.
“Not so fast,kroshka,” I murmur, slipping it back into my pocket. “You can have this when you’ve learned how to behave. And don’t forget—it’s still being monitored. Every call. Every message.”
She lets out a sharp breath and rolls her eyes, pushing her plate away.
I lean in, lowering my voice just enough to make her spine straighten. “Roll those eyes at me again.”
Her eyes challenge me like she’s about to do just that, and I smile, nodding slowly. “Do it again, please,zaya, and watch me put you over this table and fuck you while the maid and every other person watch. Try me.”
Her breath hitches.
I lean back in my chair, satisfied with her silence, and begin cutting into my eggs.
“Eat,” I say without looking at her. “You’ll need your strength.”
She crosses her arms stubbornly. “I want my phone.”
I pause, setting my fork down with slow, deliberate calm. Her eyes don’t leave mine.
After a long moment, I reach into my pocket and place the phone on the table, screen down. Her gaze darts to it, and she reaches for it immediately.
A single shake of my head stops her cold.
