Page 22 of Accidentally Knocked Up By the Bratva

"I don't know what you see in me," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I see strength. Beauty that transcends the physical. A woman who makes me better,” I say softly. “With you, I feel my mind opening up, Zara.”

She looks up at me, her eyes glued to mine, a spark of curiosity in her expression, as though she’s trying to read what lies beneath my words. Then, after a long pause, she tilts her head just slightly. “That’s sweet, Abram,” she says softly, but I can hear the skepticism laced in her tone. She’s heard words like these before—empty compliments meant to flatter. But I won’t go around changing her mind with words alone, that much I already know.

I nod and lean forward, pouring her some more wine. “You never answered my question, you know?”

Her brows furrow. “Your question?”

“What it is you’re looking for in a man.”

Her eyes shift away, and she twirls a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, as if considering her answer. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter, thoughtful. “Since my parents died, I’ve had to be in charge of myself. I always wondered what it would be like to be in a loving family. To have someone care for you, and for you to care for them.”

She pauses, biting her lower lip, holding back. “I guess I want a man, not a man-child. Someone who supports me but offers that quiet strength that allows me to shut off for a while. Someone who…” Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head as though dismissing the thought.

I instinctively lean forward, feeling an urgency to understand the part of herself she’s trying to conceal. “Someone who what, Zara?”

Her chest rises and falls as she takes a deep breath. “Someone I can trust. Someone who takes control,” she whispers, her voice trembling just slightly.

Her confession hits me like a lightning bolt. Trust. Control. There’s a vulnerability in her admission, but the strength it takes to voice her needs is undeniable. I can feel my pulse quicken at her words, the air between us sparking with a sudden intensity.

Without thinking, I reach out, gently lifting her chin so that her eyes meet mine again. “Tell me more,” I say quietly, my voice steady, though inside I’m anything but calm. “About this control you want a man to take.”

Right now, she and I both know what I’m asking of her.

She draws in a sharp breath, her chest rising and falling with the weight of unspoken desires.

"I want…" she begins, her voice barely audible over the soft murmur of conversations around us. "I want someone who rips off my clothes when I come home, who throws me on the bed, pins my hands above my head, and pounds me so hard that my brain shuts off. Someone who ravishes me, makes me feel desired in ways that have nothing to do with power. I want… I need…”

Her words hang between us, and in that moment, I see her for who she truly is—a woman craving passion, surrender, and excitement. She wants someone to take the lead, god damn it, and it shocks me that no one has for her—until now.

I lean in closer, my lips just a breath away from hers. "You want to be able to surrender," I finish her sentence, my voice low and husky. "To trust someone enough to let go completely. To find pleasure in relinquishing control."

Her eyes widen at my understanding, a mix of surprise and longing swirling in their depths. Without warning, I lean in, my lips grazing against hers. Zara gasps against my mouth, her body tensing for a moment before melting into me, her lips parting for me.

My heart hammers so hard it could break my ribs. My entire spine has shivers going down it as I lean even further in, biting into her lower lip. She moans, her hands reaching for my face. A glass falls off the table and shatters, but neither of us cares.

All that matters is Zara. My hand cups her cheek, thumb gently caressing her skin as I deepen the kiss.

When we finally break apart, Zara's eyes are wide, her chest heaving. "Abram," she whispers, a mix of desire and confusion in her voice.

"Tell me you don't want this," I challenge softly, my forehead resting against hers.

She swallows hard, her internal struggle evident. "I… I can't."

I claim her lips again, pouring all my pent-up longing into the kiss. This time, Zara responds with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in my hair.

When we separate, breathless and flushed, I can see the moment Zara's resolve crumbles. "Okay," she says, her voice barely audible. "Let's… let's give this a try."

A thrill of victory courses through me, but it's tempered by a nagging sense of unease. As I look into Zara's eyes, I see a flicker of something—fear? Doubt?—that makes me wonder what it is she’s afraid of.

It makes me want to make her more comfortable.

"We'll take it slow," I assure her, even as my mind races with the potential complications of our newfound relationship. The dangers that lurk in my world, the secrets I keep about being in the Bratva—how long can I shield her from them?

I have no answers. All I know is that this feels right, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her happy.

Chapter 8 - Zara

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