Page 22 of Brutal Bratva Boss

I chuckle. “Oh, I will. But first, I think it’s only fair that you experience some of what I’ve had to endure, having you so close but still out of reach.”

Her eyes widen as I slide her thong down her legs, tucking it into my pocket. I bring my hand between her legs and rub my thumb over her swollen nub, eliciting a moan that gets louder when I bring my thumb to my lips and suck on it. “Hmmm, tastes like mine.”

True to my word, I grip the back of Kat’s knees and bury my face between her legs, teasing her over and over again with my tongue and my fingers until she is begging me to make her come, and there is moisture dripping down the inside of her thighs. As much as I want to tease her more, to make her feel the same frustration I have since she got here, I’m so hard that it’s bordering on painful.

I pull her up, sealing my lips over hers and swiping my tongue inside so she can taste herself. “Do you see how good you taste?”

Kat moans as she grabs the front of my pants, pulling me forward to loosen my belt and pop the button. She fumbles with my zipper, finally pulling it down and pushing my pants over my hips. Wrapping her fingers around my length, she gives it a few experimental pumps, squeezing on the way up. When she presses her thumb against the spot just under the tip and swipes a finger over the slit, my eyes roll back.

Done with waiting, I brush her hand off. Lining myself up with her entrance, I thrust forward, giving us both what we want as I sink into her heavenly heat. I pull back and thrust again, deeper this time. Kat claws at my back as I pick up a rhythm, driving into her over and over again, her gasps and moans getting choppier as she gets closer to letting go. When she comes with a scream, my thrusts turn erratic as I chase down my own orgasm, until I collapse, sated, on top of her. She strokes my hair as she holds me to her chest, and after a minute, her soft voice breaks the silence.

“I trust you.”

Chapter 11 - Kat

Something has changed. Between the shared dinners, strangely comfortable conversations, and multiple orgasms over the last few days, my relationship with Theo has shifted. And yes, I am calling it a relationship, because that is what it appears to have morphed into. The connection I felt over the last week feels like a full one-eighty. I do not mind it.

Where Theo has avoided me and made no effort to talk to me for whatever reason, now he has started sharing things with me. Nothing of great importance or anything in too much detail, but it is something nonetheless. When I ask him how his day was over dinner, he might tell me he had a rough day, or that he needs to decide between one or another business deal. He only gives me vague information of course, but I appreciate knowing he feels like he can trust me with more than he has up to this point. Then he advances on me, bends me over the table, and makes me feel all kinds of wonderful. I do my best to return the favor, even though he says I always make him feel good. I have come to realize he seems to have a thing for doing it on the table—we have only made it to the bed twice. It’s the same table we have dinner on. Every morning, the cleaning staff scrub it down, so that should make me feel better, but still, we should probably look into that.

Last night, Theo opened up more about his childhood, as did I. Turns out, even though we were raised on opposite sides of a power struggle, our younger years were not all that different. Both of us had expectations placed on us at a very young age, and it was made clear to both of us that our lives were not our own. Although, I seem to have gotten the short end of the stick where the perks are concerned.

The more I listen to what Theo says, and how he phrases things, the more I realize that he might not be the liar I once believed he was. I can’t find any evidence of him breaking his word. Yes, he is still responsible for some heinous things, just like my father, and just like my father the Bratva still runs deep in his veins, but there is also something else that seems to run alongside it. Theo cares. As much as he tries to hide it—and with good reason—I see it in the decisions he makes. It is in the way he talks about his men and his siblings. Although I did not have the best first experience with his brothers Kiril and Paval, I have heard that the youngest brother Maxim and their sister Darya are more relaxed about our situationship.

Around noon, one of the new members of the security detail brings me an envelope. My name is the only thing written on the outside, no return address, and I do not recognize the handwriting. With mixed emotions, I pull out the folded note, my hands shaking as I open it. Scrawled on the page is a message from my father. A message telling me that he knows. He knows that I ran off with some boy. Some boy. My father’s words. My stomach twists the more I read, and by the time I get to the end, I am clutching my middle as I run to the bathroom. Curled over the toilet bowl, I empty the contents of my stomach, continuing to dry heave once there is nothing left. After, I splash some cold water on my face and wipe away the moisture that leaked out from the corners of my eyes. My stomach is still churning as I hold the note up again. What my father wrote here … The graphic details of all the ways he wants to punish me and the boy I ran off with. He made one thing very clear: he plans on killing both of us.

Given what he wrote here, I am not sure if my father is aware of the pregnancy or not. Which is what makes his threats that much more terrifying. If he does not know, and he is already making these kinds of threats, what will he do once he learns just how far my betrayal runs? And if he does know, it means he is willing to end the life of not only his daughter, but that of his unborn grandchild just to prove a point. My father had made threats before, but I knew I had too much worth for him to take my life. Now I am not so sure anymore.

Then there is the matter of my father’s threat to kill Theo. This is not by any means a new threat. I am sure my father has put many plans in motion to end the lives of his rivals, but now … Now Theo is no longer just some rival. He is the father of my child, and as much as I have tried to deny it, I have come to hold very deep feelings for him.

Still shaking, I fold the note up, slide it into the envelope, and stash it in the back of one of my drawers. Theo cannot know about this. Who knows the kind of repercussions it would have? My only hope is that the security detail who brought it to me has the mind to keep it to themselves.

Over the next few days, I busy myself with readying the room Theo and have decided will be the nursery. After our intimate night together, Theo showed me another room on the main floor that I had never noticed before. It was a room he had used now and then for business meetings, but he told me I was welcome to use it for the baby if I wanted. The room is a decent size, with more than enough space for a cot, a changing station, and a comfortably sized rocking chair. It also boasts large bay windows that get a decent amount of afternoon sun. So, of course, I jumped at the opportunity.

In my hands are three different cards with various shades of green. Sage, mint, and a soft pastel are the ones that I’m currently gravitating toward since they also have a calming effect—something our little one could always do with given the world surrounding them. I also figured, that since we do not know the gender of the baby just yet, it would be a safe option to go with gender-neutral colors. We should find out in a few more weeks, but waiting until then would mean I have to put off decorating the room, and at the moment I could do with the distraction.

So here I am, holding up the colored cards against the wall lit up by the afternoon light. I also have to decide which ones would go best with canary yellow—another gender-neutral color I plan on incorporating. Submerged in a world of color choices, I do not hear Theo coming up behind me. I jump when two arms wrap around my waist from behind and his chin comes to rest on my shoulder. “Hi,” he mumbles, his nose buried in my hair.

“Hey, hi,” I stammer. “You scared me.”

Theo turns me around in his arms and my eyes roam hungrily over his form. Like most days, his attire fits his frame perfectly, the pants of his suit hanging comfortably on his hips. If I were to turn him around, I am sure I would find his taught rear wrapped snugly in the way that always accelerates my heart rate. His forearms are bare at my sides where he holds me, his sleeves rolled up as they always are, displaying the dark ink that I love so much. My gaze moves up from his full firm lips to his deep colored eyes and the thick brows that are pulled together as he regards me warily.

“What’s got you so jumpy?” he asks.

The fact that my father knows we are together.

He might not know exactly who the boy I ran off with is—and that in itself unlocks a fear in me that I do not appreciate—but he knows I did not escape on my own. I worry about what he will do once he finds out who Theo actually is. I still do not understand how the letter found its way to me, and who knew where I was, but I know it will arouse suspicion if I start asking questions, so I am in no position to find out.

Realizing I still have not answered Theo’s question and worried that he might somehow see the truth in my eyes, I plaster on what I hope is a convincing smile and shake my head slightly, holding up the colored cards. “Just lost in the magical world of color palettes.”

Theo’s furrowed brow relaxes, and he smiles. “Having any luck?”

I hold up the mint and pastel green cards. “So far, I have got it down to these two.”

“Those are the same, no?” he asks with a raised brow.

I slap his shoulder with the cards. “Bite your tongue; they are not even close to the same.”

Theo chuckles, the sound vibrating in my chest as he pulls me closer and rests his chin on the top of my head. “I know that. But it is fun to watch you get worked up about a color choice.”

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