Page 22 of Knocked-Up Bratva Prisoner

Then I stand up and switch off the bath water. It’s deep and looks inviting. Steam swirls over the surface, and the entire room smells like it belongs to her.

“Ouch,” she complains, poking the cut on her foot.

I turn around to see what the problem is, and she glares at me.

“What?” I ask, tilting my head towards her.

She thrusts her tied hands in front of my face. “This,” she says, sassy and angry.

I chuckle.

Pulling the knife from my belt I press the blade against the ropes and cut through them easily.

When I look at her face I see her eyes are squeezed shut. “I won’t cut you, Clara.”

She opens them and glares at me again. I can see how hard she is trying to look fierce, but really, she just looks so fucking sexy all disheveled, covered in mud, her hair a mess.

“What, and you think I should trust you?” she snaps.

“The bath is ready.” I say, changing the subject.

She’s rubbing her freed wrists.

I wait patiently.

When she tries to stand up she winces again.

“I’ll hold you steady, then you can undress and climb in.”

“Not a chance,” she says in horror.

“I won’t look,” I sigh.

“Whatever. Get out and just let me figure it out.”

“I’m not going to let you struggle, Clara. Lean on me.”

She bites at her lower lip. Fuck, I love it when she does that. It sends the most delightful thoughts racing through my mind.

She grips my arm and hobbles over to the edge of the bath. She gives me one very stern look then leans down to pull her panties down, her dress still hiding everything from my view, but my body responds with force.

I clear my throat and turn my face away. I told her I wouldn’t look, and I like to at least try and be a man of my word, but when it comes to her, it’s difficult.

When she’s untangled her feet from her panties, she lets me go and sits on the edge of the bath.

“Okay. I'll do the rest on my own.”

I nod. I don’t want to leave. I grit my teeth, trying to decide what to do.

“I’m not closing the door. Don’t try anything. When you’re done, I’ll bring a towel and the first aid kit.”

She pulls her mouth tight but doesn’t reply.

I step out of the bathroom, but I don’t walk away.

I can see her reflection in the large mirror framed on the wall opposite the bathroom door.

I watch her pull her jacket off and toss it away from the bath. Then she pulls the dress over her head and unclasps her bra, tossing both items in the same direction as the jacket.

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