Page 23 of Captured By the Bratva

Eventually, he eases out, and I shiver as a warm mixture of him and me slips down my thighs, a reminder of everything he’s left with me, a part of him I can’t ignore.

He rolls to the side, but not far, pulling me close against his chest, his arm wrapping around me protectively. I bury my face in his shoulder, feeling the remnants of tension ebbing away, leaving me exhausted, my body still trembling.

Then he turns away, reaching for the light, and the room falls into darkness, softened only by the silver glow of the moon streaming through the window.

The shadows accentuate every line of his body, every muscle, the scars and tattoos evidence of the life he’s lived, a life I’m only beginning to understand.

My heart races, and though I want to look away, I can’t. I’m entranced by him, by the quiet command he holds, by the way he seems to own even the darkness around us.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, the weight of his arm settling around me, pulling me closer. I try to face away, to resist the pull of his touch, but he doesn’t allow it, his voice soft yet firm as he murmurs, “You can try to fight it, but we both know what you really want.”

The words ignite something deep within me, a truth I’ve been denying. And as he pulls me against him, I feel my own resolve begin to waver, my defenses slipping away, leaving me with nothing but the raw, undeniable connection that pulses between us.

The silence stretches, a taut line straining under the weight of something unspoken, and then his voice rumbles in the darkness, a low murmur, soft yet commanding, inches from my ear. “Do you really think you can resist me, Cathy?” His voice is velvet, dark and smooth, curling around me like a binding spell.

I swallow, willing myself to ignore the way his words make my heart hammer against my ribs. “I won’t give you the satisfaction,” I say, my voice a whisper that betrays my own uncertainty.

There’s a low, amused chuckle from him, a sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “You say that now,” he murmurs, his voice softer, almost intimate, as if he’s sharing a secret. “But I’ll wait, Cathy. I’m patient. And you will beg. You’ll want it, crave it, because deep down, you already know. You’re mine.”

I want to argue but I can’t say a word.

“Say my name,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet command, his gaze intense, his hand gentle as it explores, as it claims.

“Ivan,” I whisper, the word slipping from my lips, a surrender, a quiet acceptance that I can’t ignore.

He smiles, a dark, satisfied smile, and I know, in that moment, that I am his, that I’ve stepped fully into his world, that I’ve crossed a line I can never uncross.

“I hate you,” I whisper, and even I can hear the weakness in it.

His smile deepens, that dark satisfaction shining in his eyes as he meets my gaze. “I know,” he murmurs, his tone a quiet acceptance, a challenge, as though daring me to hold on to that hatred, to resist him when he knows I can’t.

The words hang in the air, a mix of playful and possessive, as he draws me in, each touch pushing me further past my own boundaries, my own defenses.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly, feeling the remnants of my resolve slipping further away, replaced by the stark reality that I am here, with him, bound to him in ways I never intended.

I can’t pretend he forced me; I made the choice, willingly, and a small, rebellious part of me is glad that I did, as much as I hate to admit it. And that thought frightens me most of all.

The darkness feels alive, a weight pressing in on me as I lie still, eyes open, searching the shadows. The air is thick, and every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of movement somewhere beyond these walls, makes my heart race.

It’s as though the house itself watches, an ancient, silent sentinel, holding secrets in its walls, its corridors. The faint rustle of leaves outside mingles with the groans of old wood.

The oppressive quiet wraps around me, heightening the tension that still lingers in my muscles, keeping me on edge, alert. I try to tell myself it’s just an old house, that these soundsare harmless, ordinary. But in the stillness of the night, it feels anything but ordinary.

The house has its own presence, its own quiet power, like it’s testing me, reminding me that I’m far from my own world, surrounded by things and people I don’t fully understand.

I shift slightly, trying to ease the tightness in my chest, but every movement feels amplified, every breath a reminder of how alone I am in the depths of this place.

Then, without a word, Ivan’s arm slides around me, pulling me close. His warmth seeps into me, steady and sure. In that simple, wordless gesture, a wave of relief floods through me, melting the tension that’s held me captive.

Almost at once, my breathing slows, my heart finding a rhythm that matches his. The sounds of the house fade, the darkness receding, replaced by the quiet security of his hold.

The house, the questions, the fears—all dissolve as sleep claims me, pulling me into a deep, dreamless slumber, safe in the quiet strength of his embrace.

13

CATHY

Iwake before dawn, my eyes adjusting to the soft gray light that sneaks through the curtains. Ivan is beside me, his breathing deep and steady, his face softened in sleep.

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