Page 66 of Bratva King's Secret Twins

He lets go of my hand and stands, his back towards me as he continues to speak, “But then I met you and I had someone to live for. After you, I became selfish.”

“Nik, look at me,” I whisper and he turns slowly, his eyes look like hot glass on the edge of shattering.

“So no, you can’t leave, because if you die, I die.” His voice is firm as he speaks and my heart flutters so hard, I can’t breathe. Instead, I stand, run into his arms and give him the best kiss of my life.

33

GWEN

With a soft sigh, Nik leans into me, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that immediately overwhelms me. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer to me like I can mold my body with his. Our mouths move together, in effortless sync, and before I can get lost in him, he pulls back. “Gwen, wait.”

“No.” I lean back in to pull him back into our kiss but he grabs my waist tighter and searches my face with frantic eyes.

“Gwen, listen to me.” His voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges as if each word costs him. “I can’t let you go. You have to let me protect you because the thought of losing you…”

The tremor in his voice cracks something inside me, and I grip his shirt, holding him even closer. “You won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere, Nik.”

I snake my arms around his neck, bringing my lips closer to his, our breath mingling together. I speak softly against his lips as I run a thumb over the tense line of his jaw. “You’re notalone in this. I know you’ve been carrying this weight for a long time, but you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

I lace my hands in the back of his hair, and he exhales deeply, relaxing under my touch. I pull his lips to mine, and he kisses me like I am the oxygen he breathes. Our tongues explore each other's mouths, and he tastes like the last drop of heaven.

Our hands roam freely, mapping out each other's bodies like we are trying to memorize each other by touch. He cups my face, his calloused fingers pressing into my cheeks, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss.

The taste of him is addictive, sweet and tangy, like ripe fruit. I can hear the faint sound of our breathing, mingled with the rustle of clothing as we fumble to remove the barriers between us.

My hands fumble to unfasten the rest of the buttons on his shirt, revealing bruised tan skin that glows in the morning sun. As I slide the top off his shoulders, I pepper kisses along his chest, paying special attention to every purpling bruise and fresh wound that marks his body.

He lets out a low groan as my lips trace the marks. His fingers tangle in my hair as I continue to explore the map of bruises and scars that adorn his body. My fingertips run over his pulse, beating harder under my touch, and he tugs on my hair, bringing our lips together once more.

His hands race to the hem of my shirt, yanking it over my body, exposing my breast. He immediately pinches one of my nipples, rolling it between his rough fingers. I moan into his mouth, “Shit, Nik.”

I pull away from our kiss, and my eyes drift down, savoring the sight of him as my fingers graze the waistband of his slacks.With practiced ease, I unzip them, feeling the tension in the room thicken. He kicks off his shoes and socks, pulling his slacks and boxers down in one smooth motion.

I take a step to the side, circling him slowly, my gaze trailing over every inch of his gloriously naked body. My eyes linger on the ridges of his muscles slowly purpling, the strength he carries even when he’s at his most vulnerable. His broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest, the sharp dip of his waist—I drink it all in, admiring the man that calls himself mine.

I pause behind him, my breath catching as I trace the curve of his back with my eyes, down to the hard planes of his hips.

As I come back around to face him, I bite my lip to keep the sob from escaping as my eyes trace over the bruises and scars that mar his body. A surge of nausea rises within me at the sight of the marks left by those who have hurt him. Every fiber of my being wants to cry, to heal every wound and make him whole again.

I gently guide him to sit down on the bed again, refusing to let him close himself off. Kneeling between his legs, my hand rests on his cheek, and he kisses my wrist with patience. As I look into his glass eyes, I whisper, “Let me take care of you tonight.”

He shakes his head with a soft smile on his face. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to, just wait here.” I gently brush my lips against his skin before making my way to the adjoining bathroom. My hands tremble with fear and fury as I turn on the faucet and plug the tub, a volatile mix bubbling just beneath the surface. I want to scream, to lash out, to burn this world to the ground if it means I can get my hands on Boris.

I would stop at nothing to ease the agony that consumes him, to grant him even the tiniest taste of retribution, to give my children a chance at meeting their father.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the water filling the tub, steam rising in delicate tendrils, but images of a broken and bloody Nik swirl through my mind, and my fury rises again. The dread is the only thing that gnaws the anger away from me—if Boris ever learns about our children, he will kill them.

My fists clench, nails digging into my palms as I imagine every way I could make that monster suffer. But I push the dark thoughts aside. I grab some lavender oil out of the cabinet and sit on the edge of the tub as I pour some of it into the water.

I dip my fingers in the water, testing the temperature until it’s just right—warm enough to soothe, but not too hot to overwhelm. I want this moment to be one of comfort, one where we can both let down our guard, even if just for a little while.

When I return to the bedroom, Nik is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. His broad shoulders are slumped, his hands resting loosely between his knees.

“Nik,” I call out softly. He lifts his head, and the exhaustion is etched into every line of his face. “Come on, the bath’s ready.”

He doesn’t speak, just nods and stands. When he reaches me, I take his hand, intertwining our fingers, and lead him into the bathroom. I guide him to the edge of the tub and he steps in, the water lapping gently at his waist as he sinks into its warmth. I follow him down, perching on the edge of the tub, grabbing a washcloth and dipping it gently into the water.

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