Page 62 of Captured By the Bratva

This feeling of clicking with a woman was soul deep. I’d never felt so aware and certain with another person, and I would be damned if I'd let anything prevent me from getting closer to her.

We were different. But maybe she could be the yin to my yang and complete me like no other.

“How did you learn to do that?” I asked, my focus rapt on her.

Her slender fingers were strong and confident over the clay. Those toned arms showed her musculature, all the smaller, finer motions she’d honed with finesse in her line of work. With her red hair falling out of that bun, cascading down to almost shelter her sweet face from my view, she looked like a fairy. A siren. An earthy, sexy woman of art and compassion.

An innocent lover who welcomed me to make her harder. To dirty her up.

I’d fucking love to, Becca. You have no idea how much I want to.

“I watched videos. Hung out at the art room at school.” She made it sound like it was nothing, like just anyone could merely witness someone else performing this craft and instantly pick up on it themselves.

“Steven was never there. I was a latch-key kid, left to my own devices, expected to raise myself and take care of anything I needed. He never knew or cared where I was. Never knew that I’d taken an interest in art.

“Did your grandmother teach you too?” I asked, wishing I could take the chance to get closer to her. She called to me, enticing me to touch her. It wasn’t easy to watch her capable hands slippery on that dark clay and not wish that she could touch me the same. Hard, with a firm grip. Rubbing and stroking. Unafraid to use pressure and create what she wanted. It would be like a kneading massage. Or an irresistible tug on my cock. All I could think of as I watched her fingers was the visionof her gripping me, of her cupping her own tits and squeezing herself to the point of pain.

Art was a delicate study. A dainty pastime. Seeing her at it, though, I wanted to watch her go further and use more force. To take her own sexuality with both hands, unafraid to explore like she did with this clay.

“She did. But that was so long ago. When my mother was alive, she spent so much of her time with me. Going to bookstores. The park. The library. Anywhere free and away from Steven because he’d never treated her well, always arguing and fighting.”

“She tried to shelter you from him?” I guessed.

“Yes. And she’d bring me to visit my grandma here and there. But my grandma disliked Steven and always thought he’d conned my mother into dating and marrying her. She claimed that he’d knocked her up for control.”

I wondered if she’d ever thought that about Dominic and Emily. But that didn’t ring true. The man hadn’t even known she had his daughter. He’d dismissed her.

“After my mother was gone, I was too ruled with grief to spend time on art. My grandmother had her stroke, and that prevented her from showing me much. It’s a blessing she left me this place, though, for the little I ever use it.”

I could see her here, and in a better location. Somewhere with windows. More security. Not in the basement of an old building on the Cartel’s turf.

That was an addicting dream to latch on to. Giving her the world. Making her happy.

“If you could have the freedom to focus on your art, is that what you’d like to do?”

She glanced up at me, doubt and skepticism in her green eyes. “It’s notallI’d want to do.”

“What else?”

She sighed, lowering her gaze again. The curtained effect of her hair lent her an air of mystery, of luring me to see her sweet eyes again, so open and vulnerable. She was too soft, too delicate, and a burning need to protect her and show her the world lit hotter within me.

“I hated being an only child. I’d love to have a family for once. For Emily to not only depend on me, but several others who’d love her just the same.”

I laughed once. “Trust me. As one of five boys, sometimes, having siblings isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

She smiled. Her cheeks lifted slightly as she kept her focus on the clay blob that already resembled the shape of a bowl.

“You want to have more children?” I asked.

She huffed a laugh. “Well, isn’t this getting to be a deep and introspective interview?”

It was. And I was enjoying every second of it. I’d spent too many years maintaining walls around my heart. To kill, torture, and hunt like I was expected to, I had to harden my heart and protect my soul. With her, this woman almost thirteen years younger than me, I felt safe to be honest for the first time ever.

“I never thought I’d have kids.”

She raised her brows. “Do you?”

I shook my head.

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