Page 23 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

It’s a short ride at least. We reach a strip of nightlife, neon lights and pumping music, women in tiny dresses spilling over the sidewalk. At least I’m dressed for the occasion.

We’re headed for a nondescript building with a line down the block and not a single window to reveal what’s inside. I start to walk toward the back of the line, but he grabs my hand with a laugh.

“We don’t have to wait,” he says, nodding at the bouncer standing in the doorway.

The man unclips the velvet rope, and we’re in. Inside, everything is black: black couches, black walls, and a black floor, offset by a few glowing silver details. Mr. Milov snugly wraps his arm around my waist and guides us through the crowd to a high-top table near the bar.

“Wine?” He leans in close to be heard over the music and his breath on my cheek warms more than just the skin there. “Or a cocktail?”

“Wine, please. Maybe something bubbly since we’re celebrating?”

Whatever he orders is delicious. Tiny bubbles burst on my tongue, and it goes down so easily. In this lighting, he looks completely sinful, like some dark lord in his domain. I get a hint of what Persephone must have felt the first time she encountered Hades in the Underworld.

There’s no reason for him to hold me back now that we have our own space here, but I want to feel him again. After my second glass of champagne, I’m feeling daring and ready to challenge this distance he’s putting between us. It stings that he hasn’t made a move. I’m wearing this low-cut dress, and I keep catching his eyes lingering on my figure, but he’s yet to try for so much as a kiss.

In this club, memories of our first meeting are unavoidable. Especially about how it ended.

“Dance with me,” I demand.

His eyebrows climb. “I don’t dance.”

I laugh at that, but what I really want to do is reach across the table and smack him. I hate this version of him. It’s so cold. “You danced the very first night we met. You’re lying to me.”

He doesn’t deign to respond, and my blood starts to boil. Ignoring me, he refills both of our glasses and takes another long drink of his champagne, eyes darting around the room like he’d rather do anything but look at me.

What’s the lie? This Mr. Milov that I have right now, or the one who was desperate for me? I have to know, and I think I know just how to test it.

“Fine. I’ll find someone else to dance with.” I don’t wait for him to respond, just start walking toward a man who’s dancing all alone like it’s my mission to dance with him.

I barely get three steps away when I feel a strong grip on my arm.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, trying to yank my arm free like this isn’t exactly what I’d hoped for.

“Saving that man’s life,” he says, leaving me blinking in confusion as he pulls me out onto the dance floor. His grip is tight, almost bruising, and he pulls me in so close there’s no space between us, no chance for anyone else to cut in. His hands move to my hips, guiding my movements against him, and finally, the world spins in color again. He’s back. My Mr. Milov.

“Saving him?” I repeat, daring to look back over at the man whose life is apparently in danger. “From what?”

“From what I’d do to him if he danced with you,” Mr. Milov says, eyes flashing with the threat. I swallow because I actually believe him. There’s something cold in his voice that makes me shiver.

“I’m only dancing with you,” I murmur, wanting to soothe away that frightening look on his face. His attention clicks back to me, and his expression softens.

I down the last of my champagne and the world starts to blur, everything narrowing down to the places where he and I are joined. My breasts against his chest. His hands on the bare skin of my back. His mouth on my lips.

“This is barely a dress,” he says, teasing my earlobe between his teeth. His fingers prove his point when he palms my breast, and I feel his touch like there’s no fabric there at all. I arch against him, desperate for more.

I tilt my head back to give him access to more of me, to my neck and my bare chest. “It covers everything that needs to be covered,” I insist.

He knows my body like he’s studied the map. With one seamless movement, he slips his hand beneath the strappy top and cups my breast, his thumb flicking over my nipple until it hardens into a peak. We’re right here in public, but he doesn’t care, and in this moment, I can’t seem to either. The fabric is pushed back by his movements, and if anyone looked over, they could see how exposed I am.

Pressed against him like this, I can feel his cock growing hard against my thigh. It’s so freaking big it’s impossible to ignore, and I love knowing I have this effect on him. That as wet as I am for this man, he wants me just as badly.

It’s a heady feeling. “Mr. Milov,” I moan out as he moves to my other breast and gives that nipple the same treatment. “Anton. I want you.”

The sound of his name on my lips makes him still, and his eyes flare, so I say it again.

“Please, Anton. Take me back to the hotel.” I’m begging in public but screw it, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him right now. Boss or not. I’ll deal with the consequences if it means getting to feel him inside of me again.

He half-sighs, half-moans, and leans his forehead against mine, stealing one kiss, then another. They’re quick, rough kisses that leave me wanting more, and the whole time his hips are moving against mine.

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