Page 68 of Captured By the Bratva

Nik smirks, lifting the bottle. “Hey, I have to test out my new party trick. Got to make sure I still have some value around here, you know? Cheers for the upgrade, boss.”

Ivan chuckles, grabbing a bottle for himself and clinking it against Nik’s. “I only did it so you can open mine.”

Anya watches us, hands on her hips. She’s practically glowing, a smile of pride and motherly satisfaction lighting up her face. “Now don’t keep her out too long, Ivan,” she says, shaking her head with a playful wink. “She has a book to finish, remember?”

Anya waves us off with a grin. “Go on, enjoy your day. Nick and I will keep little Alexei entertained.”

Ivan and I share a look, and I give his hand a squeeze. We slip outside, feeling the warmth of the morning sun as we step ontothe path that winds around the garden, basking in the rare quiet that fills our lives.

The sunlight streams over the tennis court as Ivan and I step onto it, rackets in hand. There’s a thrill in the air, one that has nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the lightness between us, a freedom I feel with him now that was impossible to imagine before.

Ivan leans against the net, arms folded, his eyes already sparkling with mischief. “Are you sure you’re ready to lose again?” he teases, his tone light but his expression daring. I can’t help but laugh, feigning offense.

“Oh, you think you’re the only one who’s improved?” I counter, tossing the ball up in my hand, testing the weight.

He chuckles, that low, rich sound that always seems to unnerve me in the best way. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”

We start with an easy rally, the ball bouncing back and forth between us as we fall into a rhythm, each hit punctuated by a playful taunt or lighthearted jab.

I run across the court, returning a serve that lands just past the line. He grins, chasing it down with his usual speed, but this time, instead of the usual fierce determination, he seems relaxed, playful, like he’s genuinely enjoying himself.

“You know,” he says, sending the ball back with a quick spin, “I almost thought you’d take this game seriously.”

I return the shot with a challenging smirk. “Oh, I’m taking it seriously. I just happen to be winning.”

“You call that winning?” He laughs, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve barely kept up.”

The rally continues, both of us moving faster, laughter spilling into our breaths as we play. I can see the glint of surprise in his eyes as I manage to send one particularly tricky shot just past him.

It’s a genuine back-and-forth, not the one-sided game we played before, and I know he can feel it too—the equality we’ve built, both on and off the court.

But then I remember my own secret weapon, something I’d planned ever since we stepped onto the court.

I pause, catching the ball in my hand as Ivan watches me from across the net, curiosity flickering in his gaze. Slowly, I tug at the hem of my tennis skirt, lifting it just enough for him to catch a glimpse of what’s underneath—or rather, what isn’t.

His eyes widen, just a flicker, and then darken with a smoldering intensity that makes my heart race. He straightens, his racket forgotten in his hand, as he takes a step forward, his voice rough. “Is that your game strategy, Cathy? Distract me with that bare ass of yours.”

I shrug, giving him my most innocent look. “Did I forget panties again? How careless of me.”

In an instant, he’s across the court, reaching for me, and I barely have time to laugh before he’s pulled me close, his hand slipping around my waist.

His mouth finds mine, possessive and warm, and I melt against him, the thrill of the game forgotten in the warmth of his kiss. His fingers graze the bare skin beneath my skirt, and I shiver at the intensity of his touch.

“You do realize,” he murmurs against my lips, “that this means you’re forfeiting the game.”

“Does it look like I care?” I whisper back, sliding my hands up his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath my fingertips. “Or is that your excuse for losing?”

50

IVAN

Iwipe the sweat from my brow, my eyes fixed on the ball as it arcs toward Cathy.

"Your serve," she calls out.

I bounce the ball a few times, trying to shake off the feeling that she's up to something. As I throw the ball into the air and swing my racket, I catch a glimpse of her through the corner of my eye. She's bending over slightly, reaching for her water bottle.

Her skirt rides up, revealing a tantalizing view of her bare ass.

---