Page 17 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

I reach into my back pocket and find what I’m looking for.

Slapping a pair of handcuffs on her wrist—I attach the other side to the very solid bed frame and lean away from her, taking a deep breath.

She shifts and wiggles, crying out in horror. She pulls her skirt down, trying to cover her body now that I have stepped back, off the bed.

Ruslana kneels there—glaring at me with hate.

“Let me go!” she screams, tugging at the cuffs, wincing as they cut into her wrists.

“I can’t do that. And seeing as you are so determined not to co-operate—I will be watching over you myself. I won’t be letting you out of my sight. I don’t want you fluttering away during the night.”

My cock is pulsing, throbbing and threatening to swell against my pants and give away the desire burning inside me. I can’t let her see that because then she will know the effect she has on me and she will try to use it again.

I refuse to let her control me inany way whatsoever.

No woman hasevermade me lose control like I almost did now, and she will not either.

I am not the kind of guy who thinks with his dick. It’s not going to start happening now. I don’t need to do that to feel like a man.

I sigh in intense frustration and turn my back on her. Pacing around the room until my body feels like it belongs to me again. Like I am the one in charge of how it responds.

Then I unbutton my shirt and tug it from my body, shrugging it off my shoulders, tossing it onto the back of a chair nearby.

I kick off my shoes and remove my belt. Focusing on my breathing, not paying any attention to her.

I have to regain my composure before I climb into that bed.

“What—what are you doing?” she asks with fear in her voice.

I’m not doing what she thinks I’m doing. Even though I want to. Just for a moment—Iwantto lose control like that. I want to be that dark that sinister. Because I want to feel her against me. I want totakeher. Own her. Experience her.

Stop.

I demand, fighting my own thoughts.

“I told you. I’m going to be watching over you myself.”

I tug the blankets aside and climb into the bed, pulling them back over myself.

“You’re sleeping in here?” she stammers in shock.

“Correct.”

“In this bed?” she whines, fighting tears and anger.

“Correct. Now stop talking. You may as well get some rest. There is no point in being tired. I’d hate to see your grumpy side,” I say sarcastically.

She lets out a huff of annoyance.

I roll onto my side with my back facing her.

But I can still feel her eyes, hot on my back. She is glaring at me, full of hate, full of anger.

Well, butterfly, you can glare all you want. It isn’t going to do a damn thing to help you.

For ages, I lie there with my eyes closed but I can sense her right next to me. She’s shifted a few times, I know she is trying to wiggle her wrist free of the cuffs, but I also know that I paid a lot of money for inescapable handcuffs for a reason. I can sleep peacefully knowing she is secure.

Except—Ican’t sleep.I keep thinking about her. Her delicate lace panties.

---