Page 28 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

"My turn," I say, my voice husky.

His eyes widen slightly as I sink to my knees in front of him. I maintain eye contact as I slowly unbuckle his belt, and then unzip his trousers. Denis's breath hitches when I hook my fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling everything down in one smooth motion.

I lick my lips, drinking in the sight of him. "Is this okay?" I ask, echoing his earlier question.

Denis nods, his voice rough. "More than okay, Natalia. Please…"

I wrap my hand around him, marveling at how hard he is already. As I stroke him, he grows even harder, a low groan escaping his lips. The sound sends a thrill through me, and I lean forward, taking him into my mouth.

Denis's hips jerk slightly as I swirl my tongue around him. "My god," he breathes, his hand coming to rest on the back of my head.

I look up at him through my lashes, loving the way his eyes darken with pleasure. Slowly, I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as I move. His fingers tangle in my hair, gathering it into a makeshift ponytail.

"Natalia," he moans, gently guiding me. "Just like that."

I hum in response, the vibration making him shudder. He's pushing deeper now, nearing the back of my throat, and I relax, wanting to take all of him.

Suddenly, a shrill ring cuts through the air. I pause, glancing up at Denis questioningly. He shakes his head, stroking my cheek with his free hand.

"Ignore it," he says, voice rough with desire.

But the phone rings again, insistent. Denis frowns, reluctantly pulling away. "What now…?" he mutters, reaching for his phone.

I rise to my feet, disappointment coursing through me as Denis answers the call. His expression darkens as he listens, and I catch snippets of the conversation.

"…trouble at the docks… need you to handle it… be quick to dispose…"

Denis's jaw clenches. "I'll be there," he says tersely before hanging up.

He turns to me, regret clear in his eyes as he gently caresses my face. "I'm sorry, Natalia. There's a problem I need to take care of,” he says.

My heart sinks, but I force a small smile. "It's okay. I understand." I fumble with my dress, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.

I watch him put on and straighten his clothes and a nagging worry settles in my stomach. What kind of "problem" requires his immediate attention? And why do I have a feeling it's something I might not want to know about?

After he leaves, a cold realization washes over me. "The problem to be dispatched" isn't just business—it's likely code for something far more sinister. Something involving violence, maybe even… killing.

The thought jolts me out of my lingering arousal like a bucket of ice water. What am I doing? How could I let myself get swept up in the moment, forgetting who Denis really is?

I wrap my arms around myself, shivering. "You can't give in to someone like him," I whisper, trying to convince myself. But the memory of his touch, his kisses, lingers traitorously on my skin.

For a brief moment there tonight, I forgot all about what I wanted, and gave in to my traitorous body.Not again.I cannot allow myself to get close to a violent man, who will only end up disappointing me with yet another kill on his hands.

***

The next morning, I find that Denis never came home last night. For some strange reason, I’m relieved to have the house to myself. I don’t want to see him quite as yet, and I certainly don’t wish to explain why last night can’t happen again.

By that afternoon, I'm curled up with a book and sipping a coffee on the couch when I’m startled by a knock at the door. To my surprise, I open it to find it's Sofia, my sister.

"Sofia!" I exclaim, pulling her into a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” she steps in and walks past me, chucking her purse on a chair before flopping down on a couch. “I’ve been thinking about you and wanted to see how you’re doing. How is married life treating you?”

Memories from last night rush in, along with all the pain of knowing who my husband truly is. I want to talk about anything but Denis and my relationship. “Married life is going okay so far,” I say and quickly change the topic. "Where were you and Vladimir last night by the way? I didn't see you at the charity event."

Sofia rolls her eyes dramatically. "Ugh, don't remind me. We were stuck in Milan. Some last-minute 'business' Vladimir had to attend to." She air-quotes the word 'business,' and in that moment, I know she knows the darker implications behind such innocuous terms.

"How was the event?" she asks, flopping onto the couch. "Did I miss anything exciting?"

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