Page 43 of Used Bratva Bride

His hand slides lower, fingertips ghosting over my waist. He doesn’t push, doesn’t take more than the kiss, but he doesn’t have to. The way he’s looking at me, the way his lips linger over mine, the way his body hovers just close enough to remind me of his strength—it’s all enough to leave me trembling.

“Mikhail…,” I breathe, barely recognizing my own voice.

“Hmm?” He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. He’s enjoying this—enjoying me like this—and it infuriates me almost as much as it turns me on.

I swallow hard, trying to find the anger I know I should be feeling. But it’s buried beneath the undeniable attraction pulling me toward him. I don’t want to admit it—not to him, not even to myself—but part of me aches for his touch in a way that terrifies me.

He studies me for a moment, then smirks. “As much as I’d love to see how far that blush of yours goes,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing along my hip, “I think I’ll wait.”

I blink up at him, my breath coming too fast. “Wait?” My voice is hoarse, unsteady.

His smirk widens, something wicked gleaming in his eyes. “For our wedding night.”

My stomach flips, and this time, the anger does come. “You—” I bite my tongue before I can let loose whatever insult is sitting at the tip of it. My entire body is still burning from his touch, my mind a mess of emotions I can’t untangle, and he has the audacity to tease me?

I glare at him, but he only chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. He brushes his knuckles against my bruised lip, his gaze flickering between my eyes and my mouth. “Don’t pout, Julie. It’s cute, but I like it better when you’re begging.”

I should slap him.

I should shove him away.

Instead, I feel myself flush even hotter, my breath catching as his fingers linger against my skin.

His eyes darken, something dangerous and electric passing between us before he finally steps back. “You’ll be mine soon enough,” he says simply, like it’s an undeniable fact.

I wrap my arms around myself, as if that will do anything to put distance between us. “You’re disgusting.”

Mikhail only laughs. “You’re a liar,” he counters. His gaze flickers to the wedding dress draped across the bed, then back to me. “I’ll send someone to help you with preparations tomorrow. Try not to run this time.”

I open my mouth to snap at him, but he turns on his heel before I get the chance, leaving me standing there, breathless and infuriated. The door clicks shut behind him, and only then do I realize how weak my legs feel.

I sink onto the bed, pressing my fingers to my lips, feeling the lingering sting where he bit me.

What the hell am I doing?

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to steady my thoughts, but my body still hums from his touch, from the weight of his presence, from the way he looked at me. No one has ever made me feel like this—like I’m on the verge of something dangerous, something impossible to escape.

I should be fighting harder. I should be resisting.

The truth is, I don’t know how.

I don’t know when I fall asleep, but at some point, exhaustion wins. My body sinks into the mattress, my fingers still ghosting over my lips, as if trying to wipe away the memory of Mikhail’s touch. Sleep is restless, filled with hazy dreams I don’t want to acknowledge—flashes of dark eyes, rough hands, whispered taunts that send a shiver through me.

When I wake, it’s to the sound of soft footsteps and the rustling of fabric.

I blink against the morning light filtering through the barred window, groggy, disoriented. The kitten is curled up beside me, its tiny body warm against my side. For a brief second, I forget where I am.

Then, the voice of an unfamiliar woman brings me back to reality.

“It’s time to get ready.”

My heart lurches.

I sit up too quickly, a sharp ache spreading through my arm from where the stitches pull. A maid stands near the foot of the bed, different from the last one—older, more composed. Her posture is stiff, professional, and her expression is unreadable.

She gestures toward the vanity, where a fresh set of toiletries and makeup supplies have been laid out. Beside them, another dress—silk, elegant, obviously meant for pre-wedding preparations.

The air in the room feels heavier.

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