Page 17 of Bratva Baby

“That’s exactly why I assigned Anton to watch you,” I grind out. “I’m trying to keep you alive in this brutal world. It’s not a joke.”

She snorts. “You’re so noble. Tell me another fairytale.”

I clamp my jaw shut. There’s no point explaining how many threats lurk around every corner. She’d just twist my words into another insult. Instead, I remind myself that I need to assert control. She’s my wife, and the men here expect me to handle her. If she openly challenges my authority, it sets a precedent I can’t allow.

I take a step forward, closing the gap. “Seraphina, you can fight me all you want. But I won’t tolerate you talking about wearing black because you’re mourning my death in front of my own staff. That’s a direct insult.”

“I’ll talk about whatever I please. I told you long before our wedding: I’m not playing the role of your pretty, little trophy wife. And don’t even think you’re going to force me into consummating anything.”

Heat flares under my skin. My hand snaps out, cupping her chin in a firm hold. “You say that now, but your mouth told a different story at the altar.”

She tries to jerk away, but I tighten my grip just enough to keep her in place, not enough to hurt. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I lower my head until my breath mingles with hers. “Proving a point.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but before she can unleash another insult, I press my lips to hers in a fierce kiss. The tension fueling our argument erupts into something else—something electric and heated. She pushes at my chest, but I sense the hesitation in her movements, like she’s at war with herself.

I angle my head and splay my fingers across her jaw to keep her close. My blood pounds in a rush that wipes out rational thought. Her lips part in shock, and I seize the opening, tasting her. The way she responds sends my pulse skittering. She’s stiff at first, defiant, but then I feel her resistance falter. Her body leans in, just enough for me to notice. Her hands grip my shirt, as though she can’t decide if she wants to shove me away or cling to me.

I can’t stop myself from letting a low growl escape, fueled by the sensation of her melting under my touch. It’s like she’s made of fire, and everything we do—whether arguing or kissing—burns hotter than I’m prepared for.

Her breath catches, and a tremor runs through her frame. I slide my arm around her waist, pulling her closer until our bodies are flush. The friction of that contact shoots sparks through my veins, ramping up the need pulsing in my core. She inhales sharply through her nose as her fists tighten in my shirt. Her earlier threats about never letting me touch her fade into thebackground as her lips press back against mine with surprising hunger.

I push her against the wall, caging her in. Our kiss becomes a battle for control—each of us trying to dominate the other. She’s no shrinking violet, not even for a second. I break away for a millisecond, gulping down air, then crash my mouth onto hers again. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and I relish the bite of pain that shoots through me. It only fuels the desire thrumming inside.

Time warps. I lose track of everything except the heat of her body and the taste of her lips. Her back arches, pressing closer to me, and my hand skims down her hip to the bottom of her dress. A muffled whimper vibrates against my mouth, and I’m not sure if it comes from me or her.

My fingers dip between her thighs, tracing her over her underwear, and a wave of need rips through me when I find the fabric already damp. She gasps, and the sound makes my cock jump. I stroke her harder, savoring the way her body quivers under my touch.

My tongue invades her mouth, claiming every inch. She doesn’t fight back. Instead, she returns my kisses with a passion that’s almost feral. I’ve never felt so out of control.

My hand slips under her panties, and her hips jerk. A cry slips past her lips, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I drag the tips of my fingers over her slick flesh, feeling the wetness that’s soaked through the material. It’s all for me.

My heart slams against my ribs. She’s finally giving in, submitting, and I want nothing more than to carry her to the nearest room and make her mine.

She rocks her hips against my hand, silently begging for more. My cock aches at the idea of her wanting me so badly, andit’s all I can do not to rip the panties right off her. I’d bury myself inside her so deep, she’d feel me for days.

Fuck, this woman is dangerous. Every cell in my body wants her—every thought is consumed with images of stripping her bare and ravishing her.

She squirms under me as I swipe my finger over her sensitive nub. Her breathing turns ragged. It’s music to my ears. My lips trail along her jawline, down her throat, tasting her skin. It’s addictive.

When I slide a finger inside her, her whole body shudders. I add another, and she bites back a moan. I curl them, searching for the spot that will send her flying over the edge. When I find it, her whole body goes rigid. I can tell she’s close, so fucking close.

Just a little more, and I’ll make her come harder than she ever has before.

I pump my fingers faster, driving her higher. She’s trembling, her eyes are screwed shut, and her chest is heaving.

Then she lets out a strangled cry and convulses around my fingers. I don’t let up. I keep stroking her, coaxing every last ounce of pleasure out of her. When she finally goes limp, I withdraw my hand and press a soft kiss to her lips.

Her eyelids flutter open, and her gaze is dazed. For the first time since I met her, she doesn’t have a sarcastic comment. But I do.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, because you’ll be doing that a lot more from now on. You’re my wife, and I’m not a patient man. Understand?”

She blinks, then her eyes narrow, and her voice turns venomous. “I hate you.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Your body doesn’t lie.”

Without waiting for her reply, I turn and walk away, leaving her speechless.

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