Page 19 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
“My mom died,” she whispered, not looking at me. “Giving birth to me.”
It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room.
“And my papa…he left when I was ten. Just disappeared like I meant nothing.”
That was all she said before her voice broke, and I didn’t realize I was holding her until my shoulder felt damp with her tears.
She didn’t cry loudly, but the shaking intensified, as if each sob was an aftershock of something deeper. I didn’t say anything. What do you say to that? I just held her, letting her know she wasn’t alone tonight.
After a long while, when the rain outside had calmed down and I had gotten her one of my extra PJs, she pulled back just enough to look at me.
“You know,” she said, her lips trembling into a fragile smile, “sometimes, I think I’m only half a person…but when I’m with you, it’s like the other half shows up, too. I’m lucky to have you, Elena.”
I had no words to say, so all I could do was hold her tighter.
***
Damien, you are electric.
Seriously?
As a smart, intelligent woman,thatwas the best shot I could come up with, likening a complete stranger to intense voltage and sparks of bolts?
I was so out of the game, I hadn’t even made an attempt to learn how to play.
God, how naive could a person be?
I groaned, rubbing my temple while glaring at the reflections of tall bright buildings and city lights rolling through the glass windows as the Lyft went further downtown.
But that was just it, wasn’t it?
After quirky interactions that lasted for less than an hour and recklessly letting myself go in his strong, muscular arms, nothing about him felt alien—not his firm bow lips, his hard body pressed on mine, or his fierce touch. The fire radiating from him burned me, incinerated every inch of my reservations until my soul was bare before him to do as he pleased.
I threw a quick glance at the rear-view mirror to make sure the driver had his eyes on the road and slowly snuck my thumb to my lips, the same thumb he’d wrapped with the warmth of his tongue. And till now, the pressure of his lips and teeth had lingered on my skin.
A rise of goosebumps awakened on my flesh, and I shuddered.
Growing up, I’d had my fair share of rom-coms from novels and movies; I’d read and watched sexual acts that went darker thanFifty Shades of Grey.However, what happened in the books and movies remained there.
That was until Damien and his shocking aura appeared from nowhere, literally pulling me off my feet and whisking me away like chaff in the wind. He was the strangest and yet most sensual thing I’d ever experienced firsthand.
“Ma’am, we’re here.”
The driver’s brittle voice forced me to refocus, and that was when I saw that the reflections of city lights were gone, and outside stood the sturdy structure of my apartment building. I cinched my blazer tighter, swiped on Venmo to send the tip, stumbled out of the car, and went up to the apartment, swayingslightly. Whether it was as a result of the influence of the alcohol or being drunk by the Damien effect, I couldn’t decipher.
Kicking off my shoes, I closed the door quietly behind me and slid the jingling bunch of keys into my purse. Nana and Jaz were already fast asleep, but they’d left some mac and cheese leftovers in the microwave. A smile touched my lips. They could be out in the cold and starving, with only one loaf of bread to survive, but they would always keep a slice for me and rip a strip from the blanket, if it meant I could be shielded from the cold, too.
I took out the leftovers from the microwave. It smelled good, but I craved a full cup of steamy, creamy coffee to clear my head.
I grabbed a cup, some ground coffee from the cabinet, and milk, and set the water on the stove, but didn’t move away from the counter. My fingernails dug into the marble edge as memories of the night flashed through my mind in palpitating beats, all of them including the hunky man with alluring ocean-blue eyes and the moments we’d shared.
First, it was the gravelly sound of his voice breathing in my ear when he slammed me against the door, and then the sharp sting of his nails marking my thighs.
Heat crept up my neck, and I rubbed it down, twisting my head to the side when I remembered how perfectly we molded into each other against that door.
Then more flashes came when he blurted out a question about my age, asked me to cover up, and proudly announced that he was not the man for me. Or maybe what he meant was that I was not the woman for him. Either way, he was rude, overly confident, and arrogant. And it irked me.
I sighed.
