Page 81 of Plus-Sized Bratva Prisoner

“Yefim, just talk to me. You’re acting weird.” She puts the book down on the table.

“I took you out today—"

“Yes?”

“I took you out to try and show you what I can give you. I wanted to give you a reason not to leave. I don’t want—what I do want—" I stammer and trip over my own words. “Fuck.” I whisper in frustration.

Her eyes are growing wider as they stare at me. She’s sitting up straighter. I have her full attention.

“What do you want, Yefim?” she asks, her voice low, almost a whisper—is thathopeI see in her eyes?

“I want you,” I blurt out. “I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want our marriage to end. I wanted to spoil you enough that you might stay. I thought if I just gave you everything you ever wanted—you wouldn’t leave.”

I pull the other armchair towards her, taking a seat opposite her with my elbows resting on my knees as I lean towards her, waiting, tense, stressed to see how she will react to my confession.

She bites her lip, shaking her head.

“I didn’t want any of the stuff you bought for me today. It’s all just—things. I don’t want things. I want you. It’s all I want.”

My jaw is clenched so tightly it’s hurting me.

Wait.

What did she just say?

“You want—?” My chest is tight, and my heart is beating so heavily its pounding loudly in my ears.

“I want you, Yefim. Not the things you buy me, not the money you have. I just want you.”

“You want me?” I say in shock. “Then why have you been acting so weird the last few days, ever since we got home?”

She smiles, tight and sad. “Because I was getting ready to have my heart broken when you told me our deal was fulfilled andyouwere ready to get a divorce.”

I laugh.

I laugh because I am so relieved.

I laugh because my heart is springing wildly around in my chest.

I laugh because I can’t believe how badly we misunderstood each other when all we needed to do was talk.

I laugh because she wants the same thing I want.

She starts laughing too, and I lean forward and pull her off her chair and into my lap.

“You don’t want a divorce?” I ask, just to make sure I’m not misunderstanding anything.

“I don’t want a divorce. I want to be together for real and see where it goes.” She smiles as I wrap my hand around her jaw and pull her towards me, pressing my lips against hers.

We kiss, but we are both smiling, so it makes it difficult. She starts laughing again. “What do you want?” she asks.

“I want to be together for real—and see where it goes,” I repeat her words back to her.

“Really?” she says, her eyes wide with surprise as the reality of our situation sinks in. Then she’s laughing again. She turns her body so that she’s facing me, her legs on either side of mine and she kisses me again.

The smile fades from her face, as it does mine, the intensity of that kiss tells me that she means what she says—she is as relieved as I am to hear that neither of us wants to end this.

Her lips press against mine, her mouth moving as I taste her. I run my hands down her back and feel the warmth of her body.

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