Page 50 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

She looks away, cheeks flaming. “I’ve never done this before.”

For a second, I don’t move.

It takes a beat for the words to hit me. When they do, they land like a fist to the ribs. Not pain—somethinghotter. Rougher. I push myself back slowly, shifting so I’m no longer pinning her down, though I stay close, breath still heavy, heart pounding.

“You’ve never…,” I echo, and it’s not a question. I already know.

She nods, embarrassed, eyes trained on the ceiling like she wants to disappear.

That knowledge does something to me. Something primal. It coils deep in my gut, molten and possessive. The idea of being her first—of claiming that piece of her no one else has touched—feeds a darker part of me I try not to name.

“You think that’ll scare me off?” I murmur, brushing her hair from her face.

“I think it should.”

I grin—low, slow, dangerous. “Elise, sweetheart… now Ireallywant you.”

She makes a noise, half protest, half something else.

I press a soft kiss to her temple and pull away, settling back into the chair beside the bed. “I’ll wait. Not because you asked,” I add, eyes gleaming, “but because the first time I have you… I want you begging for it.”

She stares at me, breath caught in her throat.

“Sleep now,” I say, kicking my boots off lazily before moving to an armchair in the corner of the room. “We’ll pick up where we left off… when you’re ready to stop pretending you don’t want it too.”

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just lies there, heart pounding loud enough I can almost hear it from across the room. Her face is still flushed, her breathing uneven, but the panic’s faded. What’s left behind is something quieter. Warmer.

I see it in the way her gaze lingers on me. In the way she doesn’t curl away, doesn’t shrink into herself like she did earlier. Her fingers still clutch the edge of the blanket, but it’s not out of fear now. It’s restraint.

I lean back in the chair, legs stretched out, hands resting behind my head as I watch her with a slow, satisfied smirk. The tension in the room has changed—less storm, more spark. We’re not just on opposite sides of a war anymore.

We’re circling something neither of us wants to name.

“You’re smug,” she mutters, her voice raspy.

I lift a brow. “You’re still staring.”

She turns away, cheeks reddening again. “You’re insufferable.” She exhales sharply, but there’s a flicker in her expression now—half irritation, half reluctant amusement. She’s trying not to smile. I can tell.

I let the silence settle between us again, but it’s different now. Not cold. Not distant. Just charged.

She’ll sleep soon.

I’ll be right here.

Chapter Fourteen - Elise

The morning sun filters in through tall, sheer curtains, casting pale gold light across the polished hardwood floor. The ceiling is high, the molding ornate, and the silence almost religious. I blink slowly, still half lost in sleep, disoriented by the sterile luxury of the room wrapped around me.

This isn’t the farmhouse.

Gone are the rough wooden walls, the distant hum of an old generator, the faint scent of mold clinging to the corners. This space is newer. Colder. The bed beneath me is impossibly soft, the linens smooth and crisp, too clean to feel comforting. There’s a fireplace, unlit. A dresser I haven’t dared to open. A small armchair that looks more like decoration than furniture. It’s the kind of room designed to impress—not soothe. A trap wrapped in velvet.

Kolya’sofficialresidence, whatever that means. He brought me here days ago.

I sit up slowly, dragging the covers off my body like they might cling to my skin. I’m still sore in places I don’t want to think about—not from harm, not anymore—but from tension, from exhaustion, from a body that’s been in survival mode for too long.

Since we arrived, I’ve seen very little of him.

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