Page 10 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

I wrap my hand around her chin and lift her face towards mine.

Then my mouth is pressed over hers, and I can taste her sweetness.

My body burns wildly with hers pressed against me. Her hands run over my rib cage and heat sparks beneath her touch. I press my hips against her and kiss deeper.

What am I doing?

This is not what I am supposed to be doing.

I step back, grinning down at her.

She giggles and scrunches her nose as though she feels shy about kissing me.

My eyes narrow towards her. She looks away from me, and if it weren’t for this red lighting, I would swear her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

Why would one kiss make this girl who is so boldly arrogant, posh and spoiled giggle?

I bet she has hundreds of men falling at her feet.

Even though that is not the impression she is giving off right now.

I step back and take her hand again, studying her features and delicate, classical beauty.

I turn to lead her further down the passage, towards the back of the club and where the VIP rooms are.

Her innocent smile and nervous laugh make me think of my sister.

My sister is the reason I am here. My sister, my mother and my father.

Their bodies. Torn and tortured. Covered in blood. The pain in their expressions. Even in death, they did not find relief until I burned it all away.

That is what I need to remember.

I step through the back doors and the red lighting fades to soft pink.

“Come on, I’ll have them bring us a bottle of champagne. Do you have a favorite?”

“Actually, I’m not a huge fan of champagne,” she says nervously. “I mean, I don’t mind. If you prefer champagne, I’ll also have some. Sorry, champagne would be great.”

I chuckle. “If you don’t like champagne, we don’t have to get that—what would you prefer?”

“Anything you like.” She takes a nervous breath.

I wrap my hand around her face and lean down to kiss her again. Brief, soft, warm and enticing. Her lips brush over mine.

“Tell me what you like,” I whisper against her mouth as wildfires run through my blood again.

“I like gin?” she answers, as though it’s a question more than her opinion.

“Alright, gin it is.” I lead her towards our private booth in the VIP section, guiding her to sit down. “I’ll be right back. I’ll just get those drinks for us.”

I know I could easily order something from the waiter, but I need to be more stealthy about what I am about to do.

When our gins are ready, I tilt the blue liquid from the vial in my hand into her drink. I swirl it a few times to make sure she won’t be able to taste anything.

“Here you go.”

I slide into the seat next to her. I sip my gin as I lean back, draping my arm over the back of the long sofa.

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