Page 88 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
Tikhon’s head snaps up. “Arina—”
“It’s my choice,” I say firmly. “I’m not asking permission.”
He studies me for a long moment, then nods once, curtly. “Call me tomorrow.”
As we leave the restaurant, Ilariy’s hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with mine as if they were always meant to be there.
“That was brave,” he murmurs as we walk to his car.
“I was terrified,” I admit.
“Me too.” His thumb traces circles on my palm.
“I didn’t know if you’d back me up when I said I want to remain married to you,” I whisper shamefully.
He stops to turn to face me. “I meant every word I said in there. I love you, Arina.”
“So do I,” I whisper, looking into his eyes.
The kiss he gives me is gentle, a promise rather than a demand, but it sets my blood humming with anticipation.
“Take me home,” I whisper against his lips.
* * *
Seeing Ilariy’s house again feels like visiting an old friend welcoming me back with an embrace. No, not Ilariy’s house. Ours.
“I missed this place,” I say softly once we’re inside.
Ilariy comes up behind me and plants his hands on my waist. “It missed you too.” His lips brush against my ear. “I missed you.”
I turn in his arms, a sudden boldness overtaking me. I press my palms against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my fingers.
“I missed this house,” I murmur, letting my hand trail down his chest, over his stomach, toward the waistband of his pants. “But I missed something else more.”
His breath catches as my fingers brush against the growing hardness beneath his zipper.
“Arina,” he warns, his voice rough.
“What?” I ask innocently, even as I press my palm more firmly against him. “Don’t you want me?”
“Of course I want you,” he growls as he grabs the nape of my neck and pulls me into a kiss so fierce that gentle seems to have left the building.
And I’m all for it. My entire body is a tornado, a hurricane, chaos unfolding for more.
Our teeth, lips, and tongues clash until they leave me gasping. My skin feels too tight, too hot, like I might burst into flames if he doesn’t touch me properly. It’s been too long since I felt him inside me, screamed out his name.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I gasp against his mouth.
A wicked grin spreads across his face. “As my wife commands.”
Before I can respond, he bends and hoists me over his shoulder. I squeal as he carries me up the stairs like some conquering warrior.
“Put me down!” I protest, but there’s no real conviction in it.
“Make me,” he challenges, giving my ass a playful swat that sends heat pooling between my thighs.
When we reach his bedroom, he tosses me onto the bed. I bounce into it and shove my hair out of my face. He’s standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes devouring me.
