Page 28 of Arranged Curves for the Bratva
“Then what exactly,” I ask, as I step just a little closer, “do you want?”
“I…I—” She loses her chain of thought and bites her lower lip. “I don’t know what I want.”
The world around me narrows to just her. Every inch of the room, the time of day, and the events that preceded wash away, and I notice the birthmark below her eyes and the softness of her dewy lips.
“I’ll tell you what I want,” I whisper. “I want no oneflirting with my wife.”
There was something in my voice, a possessiveness of sorts, and she gasped as I spoke. Time stood still as she and I stood there, ever so close, and her breath hitched in her throat asshe reached over and placed her hand over mine. “Agafon—” she moans.
I don’t know who moved first, but I’m aware of every curve on her body, and whatever she wants to say dies in her throat as my mouth touches hers.
For one breathless moment, she's rigid with surprise. Then, with a small sound that vibrates against my lips, she melts into the kiss, her hands sliding up my chest to grip my shoulders.
The taste of her floods every one of my senses, and I slide my hand down her spine. She moans as she arches into me, and I feel her breasts squeeze tight against my chest, her curves pressing against my planes. I clench my hand on her lower waist, digging in as my other fist finds its way through her hair, turning it into a tangled mess as she slams into me with her lips with a hunger unfed, over and over again. She, too, I realize, has been wanting me as much as I’ve wanted her.
Her softness yields, yet demands. My hand slides from her waist to the small of her back, then lower, pressing her more firmly against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
She gasps into my mouth, her fingers digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer. The kiss turns hungry, desperate, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip in a small act of defiance.
I back her up against the wall, one thigh pressing between hers, my hand still tangled in the golden waves of her hair. She tastes like cinnamon and is a drug I know I won’t be able to wash out of my system.
God, I have her in my arms, and I want more. I reach loser down her curves, grip her ass and let go of her hair. I slide that hand down her arms, and she trembles in the wake of my touch. I feel myself harden, think of how I want to shed these clothes and drive her crazy in my bed. I think of how it’d be to run myhands down her naked, supple skin, to see her beneath me as I spread those legs. The image drives me so crazy that I force myself to stop, to look away.
Her eyes blast open in shock from the deprivation of our kiss, my touch. I watch her, panting. If I don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop at all.
I step back, my body protesting the loss of contact. The space between is still charged, crackling with unresolved tension.
Her hand rises to her lips, fingers tracing where mine had been moments ago. “Agafon—”
I turn away before she can finish, needing distance. “I'll see you at dinner,” I say over my shoulder, not trusting myself to look at her directly.
Chapter 9 - Lilibeth
I wake up the next morning with a smile. The memory of Agafon’s kiss burns through me and feels fresh, considering how I dreamt of him all night.
I've kissed plenty of guys before, from college flings to men I met at clubs across Europe. But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for Agafon Letvin. The way his mouth claimed mine felt like he'd been starving for the taste of me. The press of his body was hard and unyielding. The rough groan that vibrated through him when I kissed him back still haunts my waking moments.
But now awake, I’m once again reminded of what led to that kiss. My body feels like a traitor to my mind. Damn Agafon Letvin and his arbitrary rules and his caveman possessiveness.
I sit up in bed and reach for some water, sipping to quench my thirst and praying it might cool my temper, brimming up again.
What kind of woman gets turned on by a man who fired someone for being “too friendly” with her? The poor guard was just making conversation, for heaven's sake. Agafon swooped in like some territorial beast, dismissing the guy on the spot.
And then he proceeded to kiss me senseless mid-argument. And what was I thinking, getting as turned on as I did by such primal behaviour?
And then he'd walked away, murmuring something about seeing me at dinner. Just turned and left me standing there with lips swollen and a pounding heart while he stalked off like he regretted every second of it.
The memory makes my cheeks burn with humiliation.
“Well, screw you too, Agafon Letvin,” I announce to my empty bedroom.
I've been a good wife for three weeks now. I’ve followed the rules, stayed inside, and accepted this bizarre arrangement like a docile lamb.
But slowly, I’m losing sight of who I am. The troublemaker, the one always up to some adventure or scheming away for entertainment.
Somehow, Agafon Letvin is making me lose sight of myself. The old me would never have kissed a man senseless after he fired a guy for speaking to her. The previous Lilibeth would have fought until that guard got his job back.
What the hell is Agafon doing to me?
