Page 12 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

I nod, my throat tightening. “I threw myself into work, my art. I had to prove I was more than my inheritance, more than the sum of what they saw me as.”

“That’s a heavy burden,” he says, his hand now tracing slow circles on my arm. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through me.

“It is,” I admit, surprising myself with how candid I’ve become. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ve missed out on… living. If I’ve been so focused on my goals, I forgot to actually experience life.”

Abram’s thumb moves in small, deliberate circles on my arm, the gesture both calming and electrifying. “And now? What do you want for yourself, Zara?”

I meet his gaze, my heart pounding. “I want to succeed. To make a name in the art world. But I’m afraid…”

“Of what?” he asks softly.

“Of distractions,” I whisper, realizing how easily Abram could be the very distraction I fear. “Of losing sight of everything I’ve worked for.”

The tension between us thickens. I’ve spent weeks convincing myself this attraction was just temporary, something I could ignore. But as Abram’s hand continues its tender caress, I feel my resolve slipping.

“Zara,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “You don’t have to choose between success and… living.”

I swallow, my eyes drifting to his lips. “Don’t I?”

Even as I ask, I find myself questioning my very own line of reasoning. He’s right. Having goals doesn’t have to mean I can’t explore the very fiber of what it is to feel alive. And Abram makes me feel so,so alive.

What the hell am I trying to convince him of? He’s not pushing me further; he’s simply helping me explore my own mind. Every argument I put forth seems weaker with every moment, and I begin to wonder who it is I’m truly trying to rationalize with.

Him… or myself?

“No,” he says, leaning closer. “Sometimes the most unexpected experiences inspire our greatest work.”

The scent of his cologne envelops me, woodsy and intoxicating. My heart races as I realize how close we've become; how easy it would be to close that final gap between us.

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by the warring emotions inside me. If I want to leave, he will let me, no questions asked. So, why am I not leaving?

Because I don’t want to.The answer is loud in my head, and my eyes flutter open with a fiery sense of clarity and whenthey do, Abram's face is mere inches from mine, his eyes dark with desire.

"Tell me to stop," he breathes, his lips a whisper away from mine.

But I can't.

“I think…I’m done playing safe,” I whisper, with such yearning in my eyes. My lips part for him before he can even blink.

“Zara,” he groans, almost painfully, and his hands reach for my cheeks, inching my head closer to him. Every touch, every movement sends electricity through me. The desire that had been simmering beneath the surface suddenly ignites into a blazing inferno. His hands reach for the back of my neck, and he pulls me even closer.

His tongue plays with mine, his taste all butter and wine. His hands slide down my sides, resting on the curves of my waist, and he pinches into me, tethering himself to me. My entire body is on fire, and all the reasons I had for holding back dissolve like mist in the morning sun.

The next thing I know, my legs are wrapped around his waist, the bulge of his pants jamming between my legs.

“Fuck,” he moans, grinding gently into me, his hands reaching for the curves of my ass. I slide my arms around his neck, pulling myself up, and he grabs me by the ass, lifting me off the chair.

I barely register our stumbling journey to the bedroom, my senses overwhelmed by how ferociously he carries me. We reach a door. He kicks it open, kicks it close. My fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine.

"Are you sure?" Abram murmurs, his voice husky with desire as he lets me slide his shirt off his broad shoulders.

I nod, breathless. "I've never been more sure of anything."

His hands find the buttons of my blazer, ripping them off when it goes too slow. "You're exquisite," he breathes, his eyes roaming over my breasts, my bra, as the blazer slinks off one shoulder.

He rushes to the bed, playfully throws me on it, and immediately sheds off his pants and boxers. He jumps in, arms on either side of my body, his hungry eyes trailing toward my trousers.

The next thing I know, they’re off.

---