Page 29 of Stolen By The Bratva King

I press my body forward, pushing Emery back into the chair, and the feel of her softness beneath me is incredible.

I grab her waist in both hands, unable to find the will to break away, until I feel her pushing at my chest.

“Don’t,” she gasps, breaking away. “Don’t say I’m safe and then touch me that way. I can’t handle how you’re making me feel.”

I sit back and clench my jaw, struggling to keep control. I wanna peel that dress off and eat her pussy until her screams ring off the walls, but it’s not the right moment.

“Okay,” I say as I stand. “I’m gonna go kick the shit out of my punchbag. It’s been a Hell of a day, and I gotta work it loose.”

I point behind me. “That’s the bedroom. There’s a full closet for you, and Viktor will come by later with the stuff from your apartment.”

I try not to stare as she sits up, but her hard nipples betray her, an all too clear sign of her arousal.

“Wait,” she says. “There’s one room? And onebed?”

I shrug. “We’re married. This is how it’s gonna be, so the sooner you make your peace with it, the better.”

I leave her with her shock and confused desire. One more second in her presence, and I’ll have to claim her body, honor and decency be damned.

I can be patient. Emery will give in to her desire for me. It’s only a matter of time.

20

Emery

The door is locked, obviously. But where would I go anyway?

I don’t know what happened to Dante, but he’d find me there if I went to my apartment. As for my father, he apparently traded me, his only daughter, to avoid financial ruin and destitution.

I laugh bitterly. If I’d known it’d come to this, I could have relaxed and simply waited for my knight in shining armor to come along and save me.

Except Leon is no knight.

He stalked me from the second he laid eyes on me, beat up my fiancé, then followed me home and brought me food.

Now I find out he let himself into my apartment and lay beside me as I gasped his name, my clit swollen and sensitive beneath my fingers as I thought about him fucking me?

I’msoembarrassed.

Add the obsessive prowling over the rest of the week, and I wish Iwascrazy. That padded cell sounds like a good call right now.

This multi-million-dollar fishbowl is a cell of another kind. The view across the city is staggering—my apartment was decent, but nothing compared to this.

Everything is overly designed and expensive; Leon bought the things but didn’t necessarily choose them.

I groan inwardly, imagining his reaction when he saw my Totoro statuettes and Studio Ghibli stuffies. Leon’s home is so cold, so severe.

What could he and I possibly have in common besides hatred for Dante and a love of noodles?

The sound of fists hitting canvas gets my attention, and I make my way to the source. I find a door ajar and peer through the gap.

Leon is boxing. He has his back to me and is shirtless, his body flexing as he throws jab after jab at the punchbag, ducking and weaving as it swings.

Sweat glistens on his back, tracing lines down the tattoos that span his shoulders—a hawk poised above Cyrillic letters, muscles rippling beneath as though the bird might lift off.

I can’t help but stare. The raw power in him was scary, but the look in his eyes was hard to deny. It happened again, didn’t it? A kiss that melted my resistance and made me long for more.

Leon said he wouldn’t hurt me. Fool that I am, I’m desperate to believe him.

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