Page 35 of Forced Bratva Hostage

After a while, she was done.

The bathroom door creaked open, and she stepped out, glistening with dewy moisture, radiant and refreshed. Her beauty shone like polished marble, her hair dripping wet and cascading down her back, framing her baby face.

Her eyelashes sparkled with water droplets as she met my gaze. The towel wrapped snugly around her and hugged her hips, her soft, damp skin peeking out from beneath the edge.

As she drew nearer, the air was filled with the scent of soap and shampoo, her gentle steps graceful against the floor.

My breath hitched in my throat, leaving me speechless for a moment. My eyes darted across her gorgeous figure. My gaze drifted to her thighs—smooth, creamy, and toned—where the towel's edge tantalizingly slipped.

I tried to tear my gaze away, but her alluring legs had me mesmerized, unable to look away as those thighs teased my imagination. I was glued, held captive for a moment by the promise of the gem between her legs.

“My eyes are up here, you know,” she said, her voice a soft purr, dancing between teasing and flirtatious.

“Ohh, trust me, it's not the eyes I'm looking at,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I returned my gaze to her face.

She giggled, her eyes sparkling with mirth, her lips curling into a playful grin.

My God! She was so beautiful.

Silence fell between us for a while, each one staring at the other with a soft expression.

I was tempted to take her right there, but I still reeked of sweat. It had been a pretty long day for the both of us. She'd freshened up and smelled nice; it was only fair that I did the same. Besides, I'd waited all this time. A couple of more minutes wouldn't hurt anyone.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I said, walking past her. “I'll be out before you know it.” A sly smirk hinted at the illicit thoughts running through my mind as I glided over to the bathroom.

I stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading down my body, slowly easing me of this sexual flame she'd ignited in me. In no time, I was in control of my emotions—my thoughts—but my cock, for some reason, was still hard as a rock.

Once done, I wiped my moist body, slipped back into my robe, and stepped out to find her sitting on the bed.

Her head was slightly bowed, her left foot tapping on the rug beneath her as she absentmindedly chewed on her nails. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't hear me walk up to her.

I towered over her, arms across my chest, wondering what exactly was going through her mind. I stood sentinel by her side for an awfully long ten seconds, and she still didn’t notice me.

Conspicuously, I cleared my throat, my sudden action startling her a bit. Her body jerked, and her head raised to look at me, anxiety flickering in her eyes.

She was nervous. I could tell.

I drew a deep breath. “Relax. There's no need to be afraid.” My lips twitched at the corners.

“I…I'm not afraid,” she stuttered without breaking eye contact.

My brows arched at her effort to mask her tension and act confident.

“I don't doubt that.” I uncrossed my arms, a sly grin spreading across my face. “I mean, you weren't afraid of your father when you stood up to him.”

“I've never been afraid of him. It's just….” She paused, as though collecting her thoughts, but they remained unspoken.

As the silence between us stretched, I couldn't help but sense the unease oozing from her, like there was more she wanted to let out but didn't know how.

“Just what?” I asked, my tone laced with a subtle hint of concern.

She looked at me, her eyes clouding like a storm was brewing in their depths. “It's…it's complicated.” Her voice cracked, emotions straining to break free.

“Well…” I began, sitting by her side, “I say we uncomplicate it, then.”

A faint smile broke out on her lips, and she let out a sigh. “My dad, he, uh…he hasn't exactly been father of the year,” she began, her words dripping with reluctance.

I watched a fleeting sadness cross her face as her shoulders slumped.

---