Page 26 of The Bratva's Hunted Bride
“There’s a difference between locked up and protected,” I argue. “Running around the city without a thought for your own safety is—”
“My right!” she interrupts me. “You sound just like them, you know.”
“Because we all care about you.”
She scoffs and gets to her feet, bolting out of the room. Not this time, I think, getting up to follow her. I’m not goingto let her throw up these walls anytime we start to get close. It’s a defensive mechanism, I realize. The moment she feels the distance between us start to collapse, she goes on the offensive, and as much as I enjoy our little spats, I’m not willing to let that glimmer of vulnerability I saw vanish.
Chapter 12 - Talia
I almost kissed him again. I almost gave in to the temptation that’s been hounding me since we arrived here at the hideout, where I’ve gotten to see this other, softer side of a man that didn’t seem to possess one. Instead, I ran away. He doesn’t let me go far, though, and he’s right on my heels when I burst into the bedroom.
I spin around, forcing him to stop short so he doesn’t crash into me. “Get away from me.”
He doesn’t push further into the room, but he doesn’t back away, either. “No.”
Back to those infuriating one-word answers. They spark a heat inside me that threatens to erupt. “You’re a monster.”
The words are something I’ve thought often enough, but there’s a waver in my voice when I say them out loud. Timofey tilts his head to one side as he looks me over.
“Some people might think so.”
He reaches out and cups my cheek with one of his huge hands, his palm rough and callused from the work he’s been doing around this place. I can’t decide whether I want to bite down on it or lean into his touch. I settle for smacking it away.
“Anyone with half a brain would be afraid of you,” I say, staring him down, daring him to touch me again.
He steps closer, and I swallow down a lump in my throat. “Are you afraid of me?”
“I should be,” I say, barely above a whisper.
This time, when he reaches out to cup my cheek, I give in to my body’s desires and press into the touch. His thumb rubs against my lower lip. He shakes his head slowly.
“You’re mine, Talia,” he says, parting my lips with the tip of his finger. “And I will always protect what is mine.”
Before I can argue that I’m not his, that I’m nobody’s, his thumb slips away, and his lips are there, pressing against mine with an urgent hunger. I’m shaking, unsure if it’s need or fear that makes my limbs tremble even as I open my mouth for his questing tongue. His hands slide beneath the hem of my shirt, circling my waist to pull me against him.
Every brush of his fingers over my skin is another claim staked. He explores me, every inch, tracing up the curve of my waist to find my breast. I arch against him when his thumb skims over my nipple, moaning into his mouth. He cups my breast and teases the nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it stands in a sensitive peak, then moves across to the other.
I roam his chiseled chest with the flat of my hand, slipping it up behind his neck to pull him down, crushing his lips against mine. It’s frantic and messy, clashing teeth and warring tongues, but I can’t get enough of it. Every nerve in my body screams for more.
Timofey’s mouth leaves mine and I cry out in protest, but it’s back against my skin a heartbeat later, sucking and nipping at my neck. His fingers make quick work of the buttons on my shirt, and in a moment, I’m standing in nothing but panties. He rakes his gaze over my body, eyes flaring with desire.
“So fucking beautiful,” he says, lowering his head, lips brushing my collarbone before closing around the tip of my nipple.
His mouth is warm, and the soft suction sends a wave of pleasure through my body. I grab his shoulders, holding him in place, my fingernails digging into the muscle there. The scruff of his beard is pleasantly rough against my sensitive skin, a contrast to the soft swirl of his tongue lapping at my nipple.
“Timofey,” I whimper, kneading his back. He’s endless ripples of muscle. Pure stone beneath my hands. “I need you.”
In his arms, I’m nothing but a doll. He grabs me effortlessly, lifting me to hook my legs around his waist, and then we’re moving backward in the direction of the bed. I find his lips again and bite into his lower lip until he growls, hands gripping my ass.
He lays me back on the bed and looms over me. I’ve never felt so small, so powerless, and the feeling makes my toes curl.
“You’ll have me,” he promises, lowering his mouth to my breast again, pausing to look up at me with his lips hovering less than an inch from the sensitive peak, “but first, I’m going to taste you.”
I squirm as his hand lazily winds down my body, even as his mouth sucks with greater intensity and a flash of teeth that makes me gasp. His fingers find the waistband of my panties and trace the line across from hip to hip before dipping beneath the fabric. He strokes one finger along the crease of my hip, making me buck my hips, seeking his touch.
His laugh is low and thick, almost mocking as he teases me. He moves down the bed, kissing his way over my navel to my hipbone before grabbing my panties and pulling them down. Then he sits back, eyes raking over my form. I squeeze my legs together, suddenly shy, but he parts my legs with his hand and drops his gaze between them.
“So perfect,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to my inner thigh. I clutch the back of his head, a jolt of electricity racing down my legs. “So pink and ready for me.”
