Page 31 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“All done,” she says now, jolting me out of my thoughts. She lets out a breath and uses the back of her arm to swipe over her forehead, brushing away a few pieces of stray hair. “It looks like it’s healing well. By tomorrow, we may be able to take the bandages off altogether. Maybe I should become a nurse, huh?”

The thought of her in scrubs makes my chest tight. The thought of other men ogling her in scrubs makes me immediately jealous, though they’re imaginary men in a fake scenario.

“Pain meds,” she says, turning and holding out a little white pill and a glass of water. I take them dutifully before relaxing against the pillows. It usually takes them about an hour to kick in, but the relief is so good.

“Now, we can go ahead and do a sponge bath,” she says, gathering up the trash from the bandages. “Just let me get the water—”

“No,” I say, remembering how torturous the last one was. “I can take a shower.”

“But the doctor said—”

“Doctors always underestimate me,” I say, trying to grin at her as I force myself out of bed. The pain is blinding, but I must get out of this room.

“Boris, the bandages,” she says, hurrying along behind me, but I slip into the bathroom and shut the door before she can come in with me. The last thing I need is to have her in here, confined in the tight space, her body even closer to mine.

As I lean against the door, breathing heavily, I realize there are spots in my vision, and I sit down heavily on the edge of the tub, gripping tightly to consciousness. I can’t pass out now—first, because it would be embarrassing, and second, because that will put me right back where I started.

I know Fiona is taking care of me like this because she wants to repay me for saving her life. I need to show her that I can take care of myself and get her to back off. She hasn’t even tried anything to escape since I was stabbed, which, now that I’m out of commission would be much easier to do.

“Boris,” Fiona says through the door, “I don’t hear the shower running. Are you okay?”

I stand up laboriously.

“I’m fine,” I say, still feeling woozy. “Just—go take a walk or something.”

“You’re actually telling me to take a hike?” she laughs through the door. “Come on, Boris, you could barely stand yesterday when the doctor came. Just let me give you a sponge bath. I promise I’ll check the temperature better this time.”

Though my body is rocking back and forth, I start to undress, but it’s a struggle to even get my shirt off. A moment later, when I’m leaning against the wall, Fiona opens the door.

“Hey—” I start, trying to focus on her as the room spins. “I locked that—”

“Bobby pin,” she says before tucking it back into her hair. “You want to get better? Come back to bed.”

Come back to bed.

I groan at her choice of wording, and she reaches out, putting a hand on my bicep. I’m very near to reaching the end of my rope with her.

Fiona leads me back to bed, and I go with her, feeling the wooziness subside as I lay back against the pillows. I put knife wounds on my list of things I hate.

“Here, just let me—”

Fiona’s breasts come into view when she leans over me to adjust my pillows, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m reaching over, ignoring the pain in my side, and pulling her up onto the bed, settling her in my lap.

Chapter 14 - Fiona

When Boris’s hands squeeze my hips, lifting me up and over the side of the bed, there are two things running through my mind: first, that he is going to open his wound, and second, finally.

As soon as I’m settled on his lap, I can feel him hard through his shorts, and I rock instinctively, making him hiss through his teeth. He can’t reach me, so I lean down to him, loving the control as I kiss up and over his chest before finally meeting his lips with mine.

The stubble around his mouth rubs against my face. He sighs into my mouth. I grind against him, and he puts a hand in my hair, pulling me closer. I want every single part of him. To be as close as I can get to him, then even closer than that.

He smells like soap and alcohol wipes. The room is fragrant with the flowers Anya keeps bringing. Distantly, I register that the door is locked, that I locked it before doing Boris’s bandages because Anya walked in last time and nearly passed out.

Boris’s hands are on the hem of my camisole, groping, grasping, and then he puts his palm flat against my stomach. It’s like every nerve ending in my body lights on fire at his touch, his fingers kneading into my skin, working their way up. He stops just under my breasts, and I realize he can’t reach any higher.

I let out a breathy laugh against his lips, then pulled back for a moment so I could reach down and strip the camisole over my head.

I’ve been going bra-less while taking care of him, just to be more comfortable. I realize now that it’s a decision that may have led me to this very moment, driving Boris so crazy with desire that he had no choice but to pull me into his lap.

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