Page 102 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
She reaches up and brushes her fingers against my cheek.
“You’re here,” she whispers.
I catch her hand, press it to my lips, and nod. “I’ll always be here.”
Even if I have to kill the whole fucking world to keep her safe.
Once I finish rinsing the last of the soap from her skin, I pull the stopper and let the water drain slowly around her. She’s quieter now, less rigid. Her eyes have softened, and her breathing is steadier, but I can still see the shadows in her gaze.
I reach for a fresh towel and wrap it around her gently. She doesn’t resist as I lift her out of the tub, holding her close to my chest, pressing a kiss into her damp hair.
“You’re safe now,printsessa,” I whisper against her temple. “Nothing will touch you again. I swear it.”
She rests her head against my shoulder. I dry her slowly, not rushing, not letting go. It’s not just about cleaning her—it’s about holding her together.
I dress her in one of my softest T-shirts, letting it fall over her thighs. It dwarfs her, but it smells like me, and I know that comforts her more than she’ll admit.
When I carry her to bed, she curls into me like it’s instinct. I pull the covers over us and tuck her in beside me. One arm around her waist. Her head on my chest. My other hand brushes through her hair, over and over again, until I feel the last of the tension in her spine melt away.
She looks up at me through damp lashes. “I still feel like I’m in a nightmare.”
“You’re not,” I murmur. I kiss the tip of her nose. “You’re here. With me. And no one will ever take you away again.”
She presses a soft kiss to my jaw. “Don’t let go, okay?”
“Never,” I vow. I pull her closer and press my lips to her forehead.
We lie there in the quiet dark. Her breathing evens out, and I keep talking to her. Whispering to her.
“Moya milaya…moya zhizn…moya sud’ba….” My sweet one…my life…my fate….
I speak in Russian because it’s the only language that feels soft enough to hold how much I love her. I whisper things I’ve never said out loud to anyone else.
“Ya budu zdes’ vsegda.” I will always be here.
She giggles softly, her voice warm and sleepy against my chest. “What are you saying? What does it mean?”
I smile into her hair. “Words I’ll never be able to explain in English,” I murmur. “Not the way I mean them. Russian feels closer to the truth.”
She lifts her face, still smiling, eyes shining with something that looks like peace. “Tell me again?”
I run my knuckles gently along her jaw. “Moya zhizn’…moya sud’ba….”
She lets out a breath, soft and full of something tender. Then she curls deeper into me, like she wants to disappear inside my skin. My arms wrap tighter around her without thinking.
I press a kiss to her temple. “You need food before you sleep,” I whisper.
She groans. “No. Sleep. I just want to sleep.”
“You need water, at least.” I nod toward the nightstand. “It’s right there.”
She pouts. “You’re bossy.”
“You’re stubborn.”
Still grumbling, she reaches for the glass and takes a few sips before setting it down again. “Happy?” Then, realizing she’s thirty, she gulps down the rest. “Actually, you’re right. I needed that.”
I laugh and tug her back into my arms. “Now come here.”
