Page 180 of Bratva's Vow
I didn’t answer but watched him walk toward the bed, that careful heaviness in his stride.
“You shouldn’t have killed him,” I said, not accusing. Just soft, just true.
His face darkened. “I had to. He poisoned you. He killed Vova.”
“I know. I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it. I’m just saying… I wish you hadn’t done it yourself.”
Maxim looked stunned. Like he hadn’t considered that angle.
I stretched out my hand, and he came over to me, taking it.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
He blinked. “What?”
“I mean, you might feel justified. You probably are. But he was your friend. The closest one you had. That couldn’t have been easy. I’m sorry, Maxim. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
He stared at me, and something behind his eyes cracked—not shattering, just a small fissure in that cold, contained exterior he wore so well.
“You’re incredible,” he said hoarsely. “You know that, right?”
“No, I’m just trying to be here for you the way you’ve been here for me.”
He kissed my knuckles. “You already are. You’re my everything.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
WREN
My skin prickled with awareness before I even opened my eyes, a gentle tug of pleasure drawing me out of sleep. Maxim had his hand wrapped around my cock, slow and sure, stroking me like he had all the time in the world.
I let out a lazy chuckle, stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. “It’s been a week since we got home,” I mumbled.
“And?” He pressed his lips to my throat, a smile curving against my skin.
“You promised me twenty-four hours of consummating our marriage.” I arched into his touch. “Not a full seven days of nonstop sex. We’ve been doing it like rabbits.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Never. I’m always going to be a shameless slut for you.”
That set him off. Maxim crawled on top of me, bracketing me with his big body, and planted his lips on mine. He didn’t ease me into the kiss. Fuck, no. He went in for the kill,showing no mercy as his tongue conquered and claimed. His grip on me tightened, a gentle pressure, possessive but never overbearing.
And when he parted our lips, I clung to him. “More.”
“Thought so,” he murmured against my mouth. He pinched my nipple, and I gasped. His hand wandered lower, teasing the ring in my navel, then enclosing around my cock.
He kissed me again, and I lay beneath him, helplessly powerful and aware of what I did to this man. This Bratva Pakhan. My lover. My husband. My life.
I threaded my fingers into his hair as he moved lower, breath catching at the feel of his mouth on me. Gentle. Worshipful. Like he was still making good on that whispered promise in the hospital.
“Turn over.”
I obeyed without hesitation, rolling onto my belly and hitching my hip to give him access. Sheets rustled as Maxim moved, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. Warm hands traced the curve of my spine, down to the swell of my ass, kneading the flesh there.
I let out a groan, burrowing my face into the pillow and gripping the sheets. The anticipation alone made me jittery, every nerve afire and waiting for his touch.
But he didn’t rush. He gave me a slow, openmouthed kiss on my lower back. The scrape of his stubble sent shivers down my legs. He continued to explore, mapping every contour of my body.
