Page 30 of Unwilling Bratva Bride

The twins hadn’t even been born yet when the drunk driver crashed the front of his Benz right into my rear passenger door. My parents walked away unscathed, but the door had crushed in, and when I turned away out of instinct, the panel jutted out, hitting my spine.

There had been days when the docs weren’t sure of the damage or if I’d ever walk again, but the injury was successfully repaired with the fusion of a few disks, and I didn’t lose mobility.

I should be thrilled about my damn luck, and still, to this day, all I could think about was how the thing “disfigured” me—dumbpatriarchal standards of beauty.

However, my time for overthinking the issue was over as the tub emptied out, and a chill raked over me as the cool air hit my wet skin. Goosebumps skittered to life all over my body, and Ivan grinned down satisfactorily.

Ivan craned his head to the side as he still held me pressed to the edge of the tub. His free hand circled my hair into a rope around his fist, and he held it up from my waist, clearing the way for him to inspect the goods.

“Damn, Adley. That ass of yours is so much better without the leggings.” He dragged his gaze over me, and the embarrassment warred with the arousal blooming stronger and stronger. “What will the rest of you look like, hmm?”

For a moment, I wondered if he was going to yank me back or pull me out of the bath by my hair. I couldn’t put either of those things past him clearly, but what he did instead was somehow…worse.

Ivan released me, stepping back from the tub and folding his arms over his chest. He just stared down at me, waiting.

“Out, sweetheart.”

My heartbeat screamed in my ears. He just wanted me to get up—naked—and just what? Stand there and let him roam his eyes all over me. That felt so damn invasive, a level of vulnerability under his hungry gaze that I wasn’t sure I could take.

“Don’t make me pull you out by the hair.”

I flinched, my suspicions confirmed, and my eyes squeezed shut as I dropped my forehead to the ledge. Long hair was my friend right now, and I let it sweep over my shoulders before I stood up, my entire body trembling.

The curtain of my locks didn’t hide everything, of course, and I could feel the blush claim me from head to toe as I held my hand just in front of my pussy.

“Ugh,” he groaned appreciatively, “seeing you dripping…I could getveryused to that. But I did say out darling, so be a good girl and come over here.”

My blood hummed in my veins, and with little else to do, I carefully lifted one foot and then the other, climbing out of the bath and taking two tiny steps toward Ivan.

“Better. But I need you within arm’s reach.”

I swallowed hard. What the hell was this? The entire situation was so, so…fucked. I was mortified to be covered in nothing but shadows and long locks, some foreign part of me fascinated—aroused—by the way it felt to be commanded around like Ivan’s little doll.

Damn-near tasting the pounding of my heart in my throat, I somehow managed to cross the wide bathroom floor toward Ivan. The marble floor was cold beneath my feet, and my skin still dripped with water. Even the ends of my hair had gotten soaked, and they slapped against me as I walked.

“Ivan, I can’t just—”

“You’ll do exactly what I say, sweetheart.” He leveled me with a malicious grin. “And you’ll love every fucking minute of it.”

My teeth clicked together as I snapped my mouth shut.

Ivan’severythingwas short-circuiting my brain. He was terrifying and enthralling and so damn gorgeous. This life he led, without rules or restrictions, was undeniably attractive. I couldn’t lie to myself and say I didn’t want some of that for myself.

Another chill shook me, ruffling the waves of my hair enough that I wondered if Ivan had gotten a peek. Despite that, though, my blood boiled. Between the terrible insecurity and humiliation—and the rogue arousal that made wetness pool between my thighs—I was on fire.

Without even realizing it, I’d crossed the room to him, and I stopped short right in front of Ivan,within an arm’s reach.

His eyes traveled down my body, and in another move too quick to process, he snatched my arm, yanking me forward. It sent my hair flying behind me, and I looked up at him in shock.

“There you are.” He ate me up with his eyes. “Little peach, look at those sweet, perky tits. Your nipples are fucking aching to be touched, aren’t they?”

I didn’t know what to say, all the words I knew evaporating into thin air. Ivan’s stare continued down as I was held there by the sheer weight of his presence. I’d never been looked at like this, studied so thoroughly I was convinced he’d memorized my curves.

I wasn’t a particularly endowed woman. Hell, I was a solid B-cup with thick nipples that showed through nearly every bra I wore. But I also knew I had a decent ass; a boy once described it as an apple with juicy cheeks.

Not that guy from ages ago—a random shopper at the bodega—nor any of the other few I’d tussled with looked at me likethis.

“But it’s those lips, Adley. Those pouty fucking lips of yours that really stole my attention at the bar.” Ivan maneuvered my hand to his belt buckle, his other one sliding up my arm to tangle in the hair at the back of my neck. “And this incredible hair. It’s the perfect tool for getting those lips to the right place.”

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