Page 78 of Stolen By The Bratva King

He exhales a shaky breath. “Christ, Emery.”

I see the precise moment he lets go. His hands loosen, then slowly shift behind his head, biceps flexing, pupils blown wide.

I grind a little, and a low moan of appreciation escapes his lips.

Submission looks so damn good on him.

Maybe it’s the fizz, or the relief that comes from evading the danger. It could be seeing Leon vulnerable, healing, breaking down the barriers around his heart, and risking letting love in.

Perhaps we just love one another, and that’s all we need.

I slide my hands beneath my husband’s shirt, his powerful muscles at my mercy, and a deep sense of peace suffuses my body like a drug.

Hegave this to me. Confidence, self-esteem, and a belief that I am worth something—everything, in fact.

To Leon, I’m the world and beyond, my imperfections only enhancements in his eyes. I never knew it was possible to be so treasured by a man.

I bring my face to his and grasp his chin as he’s done to me many times. He closes his eyes as our lips meet, his tongue delving into my mouth.

“Take what you want,val’kiriya,” he murmurs. “I never thought I’d get here, but I’m in Heaven.”

41

Leon

Emery’s thighs envelop me, her curves soft and warm. I want to touch her, but she ordered me not to, and it feels like sacrilege to defy her.

I should be resisting this switch of roles; after all, I’m pakhan of the goddamn bratva. It won’t do to let weakness creep in; what will people think if they find out how indulgent I am of my wife?

As soon as she shifts her weight again, I know the fight is over before it’s begun.

I have a talent for lying to myself, but Emery always makes a fool of me. She can do what she wants; the universe gave her to me, and such superlative good fortune must be repaid in the devotion she deserves.

Her heat sinks into me, a living brand, and for a man who’s survived bullet wounds and bloodshed, it’s ridiculous how fragile I feel beneath her. But it’s not fear—it’s awe.

She breaks the kiss and sits up, her face flushed. Her hair is a wild tangle, and she pulls it into a high ponytail, securing it with the hair tie she keeps on her wrist.

“Oh, I’m in trouble,” I say. I move a hand toward her while her own are occupied, but she slaps it aside just in time.

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head, pouting prettily, and I suppress a growl of frustration.

“I was right the first time—you are a fucking brat.” Her mouth falls open in mock outrage, and I laugh. “I mean it, baby. Spoiled, petulant, disobedient?—”

“Disobedient?” She grabs my shirt front and yanks it open, sending the buttons flying. “You’re the one who can’t keep your hands to yourself, Leon. Don’t think you’ll get your own way by flipping the script. Behave, or regret it.”

I grin and return the rogue hand to its spot behind my head. Emery rakes her fingernails lightly over my chest, and I hiss through my teeth.

Each scratch leaves invisible marks, but they burn like she’s carving her name into me.

This new Emery is the one I hoped to draw out.

Her innocence, sweetness, and empathy left her defenseless against the likes of Dante Firenze, and he brutalized her delicate heart and let her believe she wasn’t good enough. But I saw past all that bullshit the moment we met.

I saw her strength right from the jump, but as I’ve gotten to know her, I sensed a hedonistic streak that needed to be nurtured.

She has a body that would have inspired statues and sonnets in times gone by, and her beautiful face is marked not by pain or fear but by the grace and unfakeable goodness that lights her from within.

All she had to do was see herself through my eyes, and she would finally be able to shed her past like a snakeskin and be the woman she was made to be.

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