Page 4 of The Bratva's Plus-Size Bride

“Okay,” I gasp out. “Take me home.”

He grabs my hand, and the crowds part for him, giving us a straight shot to the exit. It seems like everyone else must know who he is, but I’m in the dark, and I like it that way. I need it to stay that way. Otherwise, he’ll become a major distraction.

“My car is out front,” he says, taking our coats from the coat check. They had them ready, as if they had seen him coming and dropped everything to get them first. A VIP for sure.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but that blacked-out, top-end SUV wasn’t it. The windows are tinted so dark that I can't see anything inside. The cold air hits me like a slap in the face and gives me a moment's pause—am I really doing this? Going home with a stranger?

One look at the black curl of a tattoo peeking out from the neckline of his shirt gets my heart beating fast again. Yes, yes, I am. He puts his hand on my lower back to guide me toward the car and opens the door for me, revealing luxury black leatherseats and red contrast stitching. Swanky. They’re butter smooth as I slide in, and he climbs in after me.

The driver seems to know where we're going, confirming this is his personal car and not some taxi, and I steal a glance at this mystery man from the corner of my eye. He's watching me.

“What?" I blurt out, cheeks heating like he wasn’t just all over me.

“You're beautiful,” he says, leaning over to tuck my hair behind my ear.

I lean across the space between us and kiss him, reigniting the fire that we’d started in the club. He pulls me onto his lap, and the drive passes in a blur. By the time we're stopped, I know my hair is a mess and my blouse is crooked from his hands exploring beneath it, but he looks as pristine as ever.

If I thought the car was nice, his apartment building puts it to shame. It’s all I can do to keep my mouth closed as I take in the sheer amount of money involved in its design. I’m way out of my league here in so many ways, but he wraps his hand in mine and pulls me along to the private elevator, pressing the button that will take us up to the penthouse.

The instant the doors close, he’s got me pressed against the wall, and all thoughts of being unworthy have fled my mind because he wants me. Needs me. He’s kissing his way down my chest to the deep V of my cleavage when the elevator doors ding and open, and his growl of frustration at being interrupted is so hot. Like he can't keep his hands off me, even to walk in the door, he grabs me by the back of my thighs and lifts me with ease. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me in, straight through the marble hallway to the bedroom.

He lays me down on the bed and steps back just to stare at me. The heat in his eyes makes me squirm.

“I’m yours now,” I say, gazing at him, impatient. “Come take me.”

The man prowls toward me, and I’ve never felt so much like prey, ready to be devoured.

***

I wake with the sunrise. My body is delightfully sore and I’m wrapped in the stranger’s chiseled arms, completely entwined with his body. Thankfully, he’s sound asleep, and I’m able to extricate myself without waking him to collect my clothes from where they’ve been scattered around the room.

I find my phone, still in my purse, and order an Uber before getting dressed. If I hurry, I’ll have just enough time to get home and shower before work, but I’ll be cutting it close. Despite that, I can’t find a smidge of regret inside of me. Last night was pure bliss. I didn’t even know sex could feel like that, so mind-meltingly good, and it takes all my willpower not to write my phone number down somewhere in the hope he'll call me so we can do it all over again. I’m pretty sure that I could sleep with half the men in the city and not have another night like that.

All I can think as I tiptoe down the hall is that this new job had better be worth the sacrifice. The Uber ride back to my apartment in a much less swanky area gives me plenty of time to think, as does the shower. I scrub the scent of his cologne from my skin. My body is tender, marked with his teeth and touch in tiny bruises along my thighs, and I savor the reminders of him.

I bought a brand-new outfit for this day so it takes no time at all to get dressed after blowing out my hair into voluminous waves. The combo of a pencil skirt, stilettos, and a button-down has me feeling powerful and sexy, though maybethe latter has more to do with the man I had all over me last night.

The ride to work is long and gives me plenty of time to twist my stomach into a ball of nerves. I take a moment outside the casino just to breathe and collect myself. It’s a maze inside, but I remember my way from the interview I had with the owner, past the gambling, and up the stairs to a suite of offices. My new boss has the corner office, of course.

I knock and wait, smoothing my skirt down over my thighs. I haven’t met my new boss yet, and the nerves in my stomach flutter at the sound of his voice.

“Come in,” he calls through the door.

He’s facing away from me, looking out the impressive window behind his desk, not bothering to spin around when I walk in, like he’s too important for greetings.

“Good morning, Sir,” I say. “I’m Ella Matthews, your new assistant.”

He swivels the chair around, and my stomach drops to the floor. It's him.

Chapter 3 - Anton

Holy. Shit. It’s her. The woman from last night. The woman I’d just had quivering and moaning in my bed until this morning, when she snuck out. Lucky I’m a deep sleeper; otherwise, I would’ve had her all over again when I woke up. I wouldn’t have let her sneak out, either. At the very least, I would’ve given her coffee and a ride home. Maybe I would’ve worked on convincing her to give me her name, too. The moment we kissed, I knew I wouldn’t be able to just let her go, to leave it as a one-night stand.

Now I don’t have to. I look her over, admiring the way she looks in her professional attire. Though the way that pencil skirt is hugging her hips puts anything but professional thoughts in my mind and has me dying to see the view from the back where it must be struggling to contain her sizable, round ass. I drag my gaze up to the button-down she's wearing, pale blue, and imagine tearing it open. Finally, I reach her eyes.

“Ella Matthews,” I repeat, savoring her name. She kept it from me all last night, but now, it’s mine.

“Your new assistant?” she prompts, like I need a reminder. “Your cousin hired me to help you handle running the casino while he’s away?”

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