Page 42 of Brutal Bratva King

I am the one who was so off in the beginning.

Maybe it’s time for me to suck up my own pride and make an effort to let him know that I do actually want to be with him.

Dammit.

This sexual tension is fogging my thoughts. Maybe it’s better if I just leave it alone and don’t do anything at all.

Chapter 13 - Rodion

I storm up to my bedroom with my mood darkening every step I take. I have to get away from her. I need distance between us. Even just her scent is pushing me past my limits at this point.

She makes it so fucking hard to stop myself from taking her.

But I can’t deal with the aftermath of that disaster. She already made it clear she doesn’t want to sleep with me, and I don’t want to be with someone who isn’t interested. I told her she would have to come begging me for it if she wantsthatfrom me. Until she does, until she makes it so fucking clear—I can’t give in to her teasing.

Until I know she really means it—all I am going to assume is that she is acting on impulse and will most likely regret it the moment it’s over.

But fuck—it’s difficult and I’m struggling more the longer I am around her.

I take the stairs two at a time and walk straight into my private bathroom.

Staring at my face in the mirror, I sigh. She did a really good job cleaning me up. The blood is wiped away, I have ointment on the open wounds and the largest cut has been taped up—mostly. If I had stayed a little longer she would have had time to put the last piece or two of tape on. I’m sure I have some in my bathroom here somewhere. I’ll do it before bed.

But I saw what I looked like in the car mirror. It doesn’t look even half as bad now. She took care of me well.

I flick the shower on. I can still smell the sweaty tang of the fight cage on my body. I need to scrub it off. It feels wrong now.

Then I’ll go to bed and sleep off this agitation.

I can face whatever I need to face tomorrow. I’m sure she isn’t going to let this go and has a lot more to say about it. She was fucking feisty when I got home tonight. She’s pissed as all hell that I locked her up in the house.

I promised her freedom but within my own control. She has to understand that I am her husband and what I say goes.

Hot water beats down against my body. I stand beneath the steady, pressurized downpour for a long time, letting the heat of it soak into my skin and deep into my muscles. It feels good. It’s pushing away the tension from the fight in the cage—andfrom the fight against doing what I really wanted to do to Anya just now.

After a long while, my body belongs to me again, almost. I’m not in pain anymore—but I still sense that undercurrent of desire pulsing through me and pulling my thoughts towards Anya.

Muttering in annoyance, I turn the shower off, dry myself and slip into a pair of sweatpants.

Climbing into bed, I try again to push her out of my mind.

I can’t do this every single night.

I can’t go to bed obsessing over her and what I can’t have.

It’s driving me crazy.

Tossing and turning, the blankets start knotting around my legs. I kick them free and adjust them for the tenth time, getting comfortable again.

But then I start all over. Rolling left, rolling right. Trying to lie on my back, then my stomach. I can’t fucking sleep.

My mind is in absolute turmoil over her.

This is almost too much for me to bear.

It’s getting later and later and I’m still struggling, tossing and turning.

A soft knock at the door comes as a much-needed distraction. It must be one of the guards coming to report something—but when I prop myself up to see who it is—I am shocked to find Anya walking towards my bed.

---