Page 3 of Marked & Bred By the Bratva
Then I wipe my thick load with the pair of panties she kept neatly folded on top of her dresser. Put them back the way she left them.
She’ll never know. But her pussy will.
“You don’t even know you’re mine yet.”
Three
Ava
I wake up wet. Like, really wet.
And not in a scary “oh no the roof’s leaking” kind of way. In a “holy hell what was I dreaming about” kind of way. My tank top is twisted halfway up my ribs, and my panties feel soaked.
I blink at the ceiling, dazed and flushed, my heart racing.
I don’t remember the dream, but my body definitely does.
“Okay, girl,” I mumble, dragging myself out of bed. “Apparently you had a good time last night.”
I chalk it up to stress and new apartment nerves. I’ve read somewhere that when you move into a new place, your brain goes into weird sleep mode. Like it keeps half alert in case of danger.
Well. Mine apparently got busy instead.
I pull on a hoodie and head into the kitchen.
I yawn, open the fridge, and spot another bottled water I sure didn’t buy. “And look at you. Hydration fairy.”
I pop it open and chug.
Tastes normal. A little salty?
Whatever. Probably just me. I’m still half-asleep and horny for no reason.
The building creaks in weird places, but that’s normal, right?
It’s old. It’s charming. It’s not haunted.
Probably.
The thermostat is still acting weird. It keeps bumping itself up two degrees whenever I’m not looking, which is fine, I guess, except I keep waking up sweaty and halfway out of my clothes.
But whatever. At least it’s not mold, bugs or an asshole landlord who ghosts you the second you sign the lease.
No complaints here. I’m twenty, broke, and finally out of roommate hell. I’ll take slightly haunted over passive-aggressive fridge notes any day.
* * *
When I go down the street for a little grocery shopping, the bodega guy flirts with me again.
He’s cute in a “I’ll sell you weed behind the counter” kind of way,but not my type. Still, he calls me “sweetheart” and offers me a free donut, so that’s a win.
“You new around here?” he asks, eyes dropping to the neckline of my tank top.
I laugh nervously, wanting nothing but to get out of there, but too polite to ignore his question. “That obvious?”
“I’d remember you.”
I fidget. “Thanks. Just moved in down the block.”
