Page 43 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel a wave of helplessness crash over me. I want to fight, to scream that this isn’t fair, that I can’t just be forced into this, but deep down, I know I have no power here. Timur has control over everything.

“You can’t just force me into this,” I whisper, feeling the walls close in around me. “You can’t.”

He leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he speaks, his voice low and dangerous. “I absolutely can.”

His breath against my ear sends a shiver down my spine, every word laced with a dangerous edge that both frightens and excites me. His fingers trail down my arm, the touch so light yet so commanding that it makes my pulse race. I try to steel myself, but being near him, feeling his presence so close, weakens my resolve.

“You went to the Italians,” Timur says, his voice low but filled with disbelief. “Of all people, you trusted them?”

I open my mouth to explain, but nothing comes out. He’s so close now that it’s hard to think straight, let alone defend myself. The truth is, I was desperate. How do I explain that to someone like him? Someone who commands respect and fear, someone who always has control?

He leans in farther, his lips grazing the skin of my neck. “That’s probably the worst part, that you went to them,” he whispers, his fingers now curling around my waist, pulling me closer until there’s almost no space left between us. “Once we’re married, all of it will be forgiven.”

His words should terrify me, but instead, they ignite something deep inside. A yearning I’ve tried to bury since the first time he touched me. I don’t want to feel this way about him, yet I can’t seem to help it. His presence is overwhelming, his touch addictive.

“Timur,” I breathe, trying to sound firm but failing miserably. “This isn’t fair.”

“Fair?” He smirks, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear before trailing his hand down my cheek. “I don’t care about fair, Jennifer. What matters is that you’re mine. Once we’re married, no one will dare touch you. Not the Italians, not anyone.”

His lips brush against mine, just enough to tease, and I can feel my body reacting before my mind catches up. There’s an ache deep inside me, a longing that his touch only intensifies. I know I should push him away, but my body betrays me, leaning into him instead.

His fingers tighten on my waist, pulling me closer still until I’m flush against him. “Did you let another man touch you?” he growls, his breath hot against my lips. “Tell me.”

“No,” I gasp, shaking my head, desperate to make him understand. “I already told you. No one.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction as his mouth captures mine in a rough, demanding kiss. His lips press harder, more possessive, and I melt against him. There’sno use fighting it. I don’t want to fight it. The fire in his touch consumes me, and all I can do is surrender to it.

My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens, as if some part of me craves him just as much as he craves me. His hands move down my back, possessive, as if he’s staking his claim, and I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips.

“I’m glad you didn’t let another man tarnish you,” Timur says against my mouth, his voice dark and filled with desire. “OnlyIget to see you like this.”

My heart races at his words, the heat in his touch, and for a moment, I forget everything else. The danger, the betrayal, the looming marriage—it all fades away under the weight of his lips, the urgency of his touch.

He lifts me effortlessly, his hands gripping my thighs as he carries me toward the bed. My pulse quickens, my breath hitching as he lowers me onto the mattress. His body hovers over mine, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that makes my skin tingle. I feel the heat between us, the intensity of his gaze pinning me in place.

Then, just as his hands move to the hem of my shirt, just as my breath catches in my throat in anticipation, he pauses. His eyes flicker with something dangerous, something playful.

“Not yet,” he says, his lips curving into a wicked grin as he pulls back, leaving me breathless and frustrated.

“What?” I stammer, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I try to process what’s happening. “What do you mean?”

He leans in close again, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, “You’ll have to wait, sweetheart. Until our wedding night.”

The smug look on his face sends a fresh wave of heat through me, and I feel my face flush with both desire andfrustration. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it infuriates me. Yet, there’s a part of me that’s almost relieved he stopped. Maybe I need the time to process everything, to figure out how I feel.

His fingers trace a slow, deliberate path down my arm before he finally steps away, leaving me lying there, aching for him. He watches me for a moment, his gaze lingering on the rise and fall of my chest, the way my body trembles from his absence.

“I told you,” he says, his voice low and filled with dark amusement. “You belong to me now, Jennifer. Body and soul. I’ll take my time with you. Make sure you never forget it.”

He straightens, adjusting his shirt as if nothing happened, while I lay there, my body still humming with need. “Get some rest,” he says, his tone now businesslike. “You have a big week ahead of you.”

I watch him walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind him, leaving me in the heavy silence. My heart still races, my body aching for the touch he denied me, but my mind is a storm of confusion. I pull myself up into a sitting position, running my fingers through my hair as I try to steady my breathing.

How can he just leave me like this? Like nothing happened.

I pull my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them, staring at the door. He’s impossible to understand. One minute, he’s ruthless, threatening, and possessive; the next, he’s telling me to rest, as if he actually cares about my well-being.

The weight of his words sinks in.

---