Page 31 of Forced Prisoner By the Bratva

Rather, he chose to respect my decision and grant me all the time in the world to prepare myself.

It was obvious that he craved me as much as I craved him. And denying us both the pleasure that we so desperately wanted was nothing but torture. I was only delaying the inevitable. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

I was in the shower tonight, and as the water danced across my skin, I shut my eyes in rapture, biting my lower. Thoughts of Erik and I being intimate had started a fire within me, and it was threatening to consume me.

My hands moved slowly, trailing soap across my skin and curves as the shower's misty veil swirled around me. The feeling of my palms, slippery against my skin, sent a spark of electricity surging through me. Heat waves spread across my body, leaving me at the mercy of this intense passion that had me hooked.

The warm water washed over my body as I fantasized about Erik's touch, his hands on me, his skin against mine, and his tongue in my mouth. The feeling was electric, and I didn't realize that I was already starting to play with myself.

My fingers grasped the gentle swell of breasts, tuning nipples, the soap's slippery feel sending shivers down my spine. I fondled them, my hands slowly caressing my skin, my curves.

In my head, I imagined his strong arms taking control of my body and doing to me whatever he wanted. With my fingers sliding up and down my entrance while my free hand pinched my hard nipple, a soft purr escaped my lips.

My muscles relaxed, and I wouldn't stop biting my lower lip.

What was he doing to me? Why did I crave him so badly? And why couldn't I stop touching myself?

I'd never wanted a man the way that I wanted Erik Tarasov, and that scared the shit out of me. How could something so poisonous feel so good?

I let out a sharp exhale and managed to get a grip on myself. My palms cupped my face, the warm water cascading down my body as I struggled to snap out of this tangled web of sexual fantasy.

When I finally did, I quickly freshened up, turned the shower off once done, and then stepped out to dry my body. I distracted my mind with ways to better understand the business market and strategies to help me start off on a good foot.

I slipped into my nightgown, wore my signature perfume, and headed out of the bathroom. As I shut the door behind me, I froze in my tracks, my eyes settling on the man lying on the bed.

I glanced at the wall clock; it was barely 10:30 P.M. My husband was home early today. That was a first.

A faint grin flashed on my lips.

He was asleep, though, clearly exhausted from the day's work, but even in his slumber, the man was so fucking hot. He must have come in while I was masturbating in the bathroom, hence the reason I hadn’t noticed his arrival.

Well, that was debatable, considering the fact that the man was like a bloody ninja; one would only hear or detect his moves if he wanted them to.

But that was beside the point.

The major problem right now was that I couldn't tear my gaze off him. The longer my eyes hovered over his body, the hotter I felt.

He lay on his back, stripped from the waist upward—shirtless—with his eyes closed.

I drew closer and halted by the king-sized bed, my gaze glued to his broad torso. Usually, I only slept on the bed when he wasn't home, and I often had no idea where he lay whenever he returned because he was always gone by morning.

My eyes darted toward the couch I’d slept on the night of our wedding. Should I sleep there tonight, or should I just join my husband in bed?

I’d gotten aches all over my body the last few times I lay on that couch. It wouldn't be a good idea to hurt myself like that again.

Besides, what would happen if I joined Erik in bed? He was asleep already.

Carefully, so I wouldn't wake him up, I slipped into my side of the bed and lay under the sheets, facing the ceiling. This close proximity made my heart pound in my chest, and my head was in chaos, swirling with multiple thoughts.

The room was silent, cool, and peaceful, but unfortunately, my mind was not. I released a soft sigh and rolled to the side, my eyes fixed on his face.

A flutter stirred in my chest as I drank in his features. His sharp jawline and strong nose were testaments to his unyielding nature. However, in spite of this, the delicate fans of his lashes softened his rugged edges, a stark contrast to someone as ruthless as he was.

His face was a masterful blend of rugged masculinity and subtle beauty—a complexity that effortlessly drew me in, like steel to a magnet.

My eyes drifted downward, tracing the contours of his bare chest, his chiseled abs rippling beneath his skin like a promise of power. My heart raced as I lifted my hand, daring to feel his skin under my palm. I drew so close to him, unable to stop myself or withdraw.

It was as though his body was calling out to me, as though I was hypnotized by his masculinity. Before I knew it, I was only inches from him, my face hovering over his with a soft, weak expression. My blood was boiling with desire, the heat of passion spreading through my body.

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