Page 42 of Secret Baby of the Bratva
Heat floods me again, shame and arousal tangled too tight to pull apart. My body clenches around him involuntarily, and the flicker of satisfaction that crosses his face makes me want to both curse him and beg for more.
He finally pulls back, slow, dragging every inch from me until I gasp at the emptiness. The sheets are soaked beneath me, my thighs slick, my body ruined in ways I never thought I could crave.
He sits back, watching me with the calm of a predator who’s already fed. “Clean yourself up,” he orders softly. “Remember this—you’re mine. Every time I want you, every way I want you.”
I pull the blanket up over my bare chest, trying to shield myself from his gaze, but I can’t deny it. Not to him, not to myself.
I crave him still.
Chapter Eighteen - Dimitri
Tuesday morning, I push open the study door harder than I mean to, the heavy wood slamming against the wall. Annie jolts like she’s been struck.
She’s bent over my desk, fingers frozen above an open folder, eyes wide and guilty. She looks like prey caught in a trap, breath shallow, body half turned as if she’d been ready to run.
Silence stretches. The only sound is the slow thud of my boots as I cross the room. Each step is deliberate, steady, the way you walk toward something you already own. Her gaze flickers with every inch I close, but she doesn’t move, caught between fear and pride.
I take in everything. The flush staining her cheeks. The slight tremor in her hands. The way her hair falls forward, a curtain that can’t hide the guilt written across her face. She hadn’t heard me come in. That tells me enough.
She’s been searching where she has no right to.
I stop on the other side of the desk, my eyes falling to the folder. Names. Locations. Photographs. Enough to put holes in empires if left in the wrong hands. My jaw tightens.
Annie straightens clumsily, scrambling to gather composure. Her voice wavers, a flimsy cover. “I was only curious. I thought maybe it was something to do with the gallery, or I got turned around, and—”
“Curiosity,” I cut in softly. “That’s the excuse you bring me?”
My tone is calm. Too calm. Calmness that hides the kind of restraint more dangerous than rage. I watch the shiver that runs through her when she hears it.
Her mouth opens again, words tripping over themselves. “I didn’t see anything important. I don’t even know what it is.”
Lie.
Her body betrays her. Shoulders too tight, eyes darting from the folder to me, breath sharp and shallow. I’ve seen guilt in men seconds before they beg for mercy. I’ve seen fear in enemies who swore they’d never break. She wears both now. And worse—knowledge.
She’s seen enough to know this isn’t harmless.
My hand closes the folder with a single, decisive motion, the sound loud in the stillness. I lean across the desk, close enough that she can feel the weight of me pressing down even without a touch.
“What did you see?”
Her lips part, hesitation choking her voice. I don’t need her answer. I can see it in her eyes.
She’s seen too much, and now the choice of what to do with her is mine alone.
I step closer, each stride deliberate, until my shadow stretches long across the desk. Annie’s back straightens, but I see the tremor in her fingers where they clutch the edge of the wood. The air between us thickens, charged, almost suffocating.
“You crossed a line,” I say, my tone sharper than any blade. Each word lands heavy, designed to cut. “One you can’t come back from. Do you understand that? I gave you more trust than most outsiders would ever see. More freedom than anyone in your position deserves. This is what you do with it?”
Her lips part, her voice faltering at first before she forces it steady. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t even understand what I was looking at. I wasn’t trying to hurtyou.” She swallows hard, summoning whatever defiance she can muster. “I never meant any harm.”
Her eyes lock with mine, wide but determined, as though sheer stubbornness could protect her.
I study her. Every twitch of her features, the way her throat works, the fire she’s fighting to keep alive. For a heartbeat, I almost want to believe her. I want to think she’s reckless, not dangerous. Curious, not deceitful.
Then I see it—the flicker in her gaze, small but unmistakable. Knowledge.
She knows.
