Page 36 of Captured By the Bratva

I open the bathroom door slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. He’s standing right there, closer than I expected. His eyes trail over me, a predatory glint in them that makes my heart race even faster.

“You should wear it,” he says softly, his voice low and commanding.

I swallow hard, unsure if I’m more annoyed or intrigued by his audacity. “If I don’t?”

He raises an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Then I guess I’ll have to help you.”

The intensity in his eyes makes it clear he’s not joking, and the air between us feels charged, electric. I glare at him, trying to summon all the defiance I can muster. Inside, I’m screaming; torn between the desire to stand my ground and the inexplicable pull I feel toward him.

I close the door again, leaning against it as I try to calm my racing heart. Kirill Sharov is a force to be reckoned with.

Taking another deep breath, I glance at the negligee again. Part of me wants to defy him, to show him he doesn’t control me. Another part of me, the part that’s captivated by his power and presence, wonders what it would be like to see that look in his eyes again, the one that makes me feel like the most desirable woman in the world.

I take a deep breath, still leaning against the door. The negligee hangs there, taunting me, but Kirill’s words echo louder in my mind. I slip it on, feeling the soft fabric against my bare skin, the lace hugging my curves.

I open the door just a crack and peek out at him. He’s still there, his gaze unwavering.

“Come forward,” he commands, his voice a low rumble.

To my surprise, I find myself obeying. My feet move almost on their own, carrying me out of the bathroom and into his presence. He grins, clearly pleased with my compliance, and stands up to his full height, towering over me. The room feels smaller with him this close, his presence overwhelming.

“Even if it’s a contract marriage,” he says, his eyes locking on to mine, “we can still have some fun. Consummate our marriage, perhaps?”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. I open my mouth to protest, to tell him this is all just an arrangement, but no words come out. Instead, I’m acutely aware of how close he is, how his gaze seems to see right through me.

“Kirill,” I start, but his name on my lips sounds more like a plea than a protest.

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from my face. His touch is gentle, but it sends a thrill through me. “Violet,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost tender. “You can’t deny it. You’ve been craving this as much as I have.”

I want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but the truth is, I have been craving him. Despite everything, despite the danger and the power dynamics, I’ve been drawn to him from the moment we met. My body betrays me, leaning into his touch, my breath hitching as his fingers trail down my cheek.

“See?” he whispers, his lips so close to mine that I can feel the warmth of his breath. “You can’t resist.”

His words break something inside me, shattering the last of my resistance. Before I know it, I’m standing on my toes, closing the distance between us. Our lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss, and it feels like everything I’ve been holding back comes rushing to the surface.

Kirill’s hands are on me, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. I lose myself in him, in the way he tastes, the way he feels. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and I can’t get enough. My hands find their way to his shoulders, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

He pushes me gently against the wall, his body pressing against mine. The kiss becomes more urgent, more demanding, and I meet his intensity with my own. It’s as if all the tension, all the unspoken desires between us, have ignited into a blazing inferno.

Kirill’s lips leave mine, trailing down my neck, and I gasp, my head falling back against the wall. He murmurs something in Russian, words I don’t understand but feel deep in my core. His hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming, and I arch into him, wanting more.

“Kirill,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Please….”

He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his own dark with desire. “Say it, Violet. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” I admit, my voice shaking with the intensity of my need. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

His eyes flash with triumph, and he captures my lips in another searing kiss. This time, there’s no holding back, no hesitation. It’s raw, primal, filling me with a desire that leaves me breathless.

As he lifts me, carrying me to the bed so I’m standing at the foot of it, and I realize that this is what I’ve been fighting against all along—not just the contract, but my own feelings. Now, as I give in to him, to us, I know there’s no going back. We may have started this as a charade, but the lines between reality and pretense have blurred beyond recognition.

Kirill pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and intense. “Let me see you,” he says, his voice a soft command that sends a thrill down my spine.

I hesitate for a moment, but the heat in his gaze makes it impossible to refuse. Slowly, I untie the belt of the robe and let it fall open, revealing the negligee underneath. Kirill’s eyes roam over my body, his expression one of pure, unfiltered desire.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. “Absolutely perfect.”

I blush under his scrutiny, but I can’t deny the way his words make me feel—empowered, desired, and completely at his mercy. He steps closer, his fingers trailing along the delicate fabric of the negligee. The touch is light, teasing, but it sends another shiver through me.

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