Page 48 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

“I don’t know if I’ll ever have that. A happy ending…” Her voice trails off, and I can tell she’s getting sleepy.

“You might be surprised,” I pull her a bit closer as she continues to shiver. ”Besides, we Zolotovs love taking in strays. You’re one of us now.”

She snorts out a chuckle at my lame joke and then says nothing more. Soon, her soft snores fill the room, and I, too, close my eyes.

Chapter 19 - Quinn

Warmth envelops me, a living heat that pulses with a rhythm distinct from my own. I blink open my eyes; the morning light streams in like an uninvited guest, and I squint against its glare. My mind feels sluggish, trying to catch up with the reality of Mark's solid body pressed against mine, his breath steady in the quiet room.

I piece together the jigsaw of last night's events. The memories trickle in—laughter, the clink of glasses, the slide of silk against my skin as I somehow ended up stripping down to my underwear while Mark tried to get me into bed.

I groan.Good job, Desmond.

Now fully awake, I can't help but cringe at the mental replay. Mortification floods my veins as hot as the flush spreading across my cheeks. Yet, there's also an odd surge of relief. Despite his playboy reputation and the way he can command a room—or frankly, anything or anyone—with that bossy, charming arrogance, Mark hasn't taken advantage of the situation, or me.

I remember how he got down on his knees and took off my heels, one by one. How he didn’t justtakelast night. I reflect on the unexpected chivalry, the tenderness in his actions.

Thanks for not being a total cliché, Zolotov, I think to myself, unsure if I'm more grateful or just plain surprised by his restraint. He's seen me at a moment of absolute disarray and chose respect over opportunity. In this moment, a deep admiration forms in my heart. I recall that first party we went to, how even back then, he refused to fuck me when he realized I was drunk.

Mark Zolotov, full of surprises,I think, my lips curling into a half-smile as I feel my heartbeat pick up its pace ever so slightly.

Just as this silent praise settles within me, Mark stirs beside me. His short black hair is a tousled mess, adding a softer edge to his chiseled jawline. With his eyes still closed, he stretches, the sheets shifting and revealing the contours of his perfectly sculpted abdomen as he raises his arms, his shirt riding up in the process.

How I long to run my hands through them.

“Morning already?” His voice is groggy, yet it rumbles through me, setting off tiny sparks.

“Seems so,” I reply, watching as he blinks open those blue-gray eyes. They lock onto mine, and for a suspended moment, the world outside this room ceases to exist. It's just him and me, and the weight of a gaze that feels like a touch.

“Sleep well?” I ask, my voice low.

“Better than usual,” he admits, and there's a trace of surprise in his tone—an admission of how sharing my bed was the most comfortable thing in the world.

The air between us crackles. Without a second thought, I reach my hand beneath the covers until I find his. His fingers graze softly against my skin. I swallow hard, entranced by the gravitational pull of our mutual attraction that we both strive to deny.

“Your restraint is...noteworthy,” I manage to say, keeping my voice steady despite the tempest brewing inside me.

“Can’t say it was easy,” he admits, his voice hoarse.

“Thanks...” I trail off, as ‘thanks’ feels too small for the storm he's stirring in my chest, for how he's slowly dismantling all my defenses with nothing but a look.

The heat from his skin is a silent siren call, and I'm a willing captive to the allure. I shift closer, my breath catching at the proximity, at the dangerous dance we've been skirting around since that first and only night together.

“Quinn,” Mark says, voice barely above a whisper, but it carries a weight. It's a question and an invitation all rolled into one syllable, and it sends shivers down my spine.

“Mark,” I exhale, my voice barely more than a fragile thread. My hand rises, grazing his chin, and this simple contact sends a jolt through me. It's enough. Enough to shatter the dam of restraint that's held back the river of desire coursing through me.

I lean in, closing the distance, and our lips meet in a kiss that ignites like a spark in dry tinder. Passion flares, hot and undeniable, as I press myself against him, my hands tangling in his short black hair. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss until there's no room for thought, only feeling.

I’m still half-naked and his hand rests on my lower back, making me tremble. The world narrows down to the taste of him, the scent of his skin, the hard lines of his body against mine. There's no room for doubt or hesitation now; there's only this moment, raw and real.

He rolls us over, pinning me beneath him, his eyes blazing with an intensity that sears straight to my soul. “Tell me you want this,” he growls, his voice rough with need.

“Yes,” I gasp out, lost in the storm he's awakened within me. “I want this—I want you.”

That's all he needs. He kisses me again, a possessive claim that leaves no room for anything but surrender. Then he's trailing kisses down my neck, my chest, and lower, taking his time as if he plans to memorize every inch of me with his lips. When he reaches the edge of my underwear, he looks up, seeking permission in my heavy-lidded gaze before he slips it off.

When he looks at me like I’m in the orbit of his world, my head spins. “Part your legs, Quinn,” he growls, sliding his hands up my thighs. With a racing heart, I do as I’m told. I watch him dip his head down between my legs, and then I feel his tongue slide over my slit. It’s the sweetest, most maddening sensation, and immediately, I feel alive.

---