Page 32 of Stolen By The Bratva King

I grin. “I stalked you all week, baby, every minute, day and night. Using the ensuite shower while you sleep is where you draw the line?”

Her frown makes me laugh.

“Besides,” I continue, “I like my bathroom. The fuck makes you think you can tell me what to do?You’rethe creep, spying on an innocent naked man.”

She doesn’t reply, but her eyes flick over my body. I know damn well that I look good; I’m pumped up from the workout and hot water, my well-earned muscles glistening.

“Admit it,” I say. “You’re enjoying the view.”

Her gaze dips for a split second, a flicker of awareness she can’t hide. I smirk, letting my amusement show, and she flushes instantly.

“I need answers,” she says, her voice wavering. “Where’s Dante?”

I let my eyes roam over her, from the curve of her neck to the hem of her shirt, down to where her fingers are curled into fists at her sides.

She’s fighting herself, and that just makes me want to toy with her more, to push her past every line she’s drawn in the sand.

“I’ll tell you,” I say, keeping my voice low, “but it’ll cost you.”

“What do you mean?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Simple, Emery. For every question you ask, you take something off. Call it fair payment for the truth.”

Her eyes flash with irritation, her mouth pressing into a thin line. I was betting on this; after I admitted lying in the dark beside her as she moaned my name, she was on the back foot.

Humiliated though she may be, she’s unwilling to back down. Instead, she’s weighing her options, deciding whether she’s willing to play along.

She lifts her chin. “Fine. But don’t think you’re getting to me.”

I battle to keep my face neutral. My wife has no idea how much I admire her spirit.

“Of course not,” I say. “Question one. Hit me.”

Emery swallows, looking me dead in the eye. “Where is Dante?”

“Probably lying low, hiding from the cops. I planted evidence of large-scale fraud to make him look guilty as Hell.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, but I can see the tension in her shoulders ease by a fraction. Maybe she just needed confirmation that the bastard was out of her life.

But I don’t give her time to linger on it.

“Now,” I say, “The shirt first.”

She hesitates, her eyes flashing with a mixture of embarrassment and determination.

Slowly, she grips the hem of her shirt and lifts it over her head, exposing a simple lace bra that hugs her heavy breasts. She holds my gaze the entire time, daring me to look away and break the intensity of this moment.

I try to resist, but my eyes roam like they have a mind of their own, and the sight of her bare skin—her smooth shoulders, the slope of her collarbone—makes my cock twitch.

I don’t let it show. Instead, I just nod, satisfied, and gesture for her to keep going.

“What did you do to my father?” she asks, her voice tight, like she’s trying to keep it steady.

“I took all the profits from his and Dante’s shared investments. His remaining money is safe as long as he keeps his nose out of my business.”

Emery doesn’t look entirely reassured, but I can see the wheels turning in her mind. Without a word, she reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, letting it fall from her shoulders.

Her tits are perky for their size, tipped with large reddish-brown nipples that swell before my eyes, suckable and fat.

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