Page 45 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
But why?
What was his endgame here?
Maybe there was no ulterior motive behind these gestures—maybe they were just his own subtle ways of expressing his affection. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched considering how many awkward moments we’d had almost immediately after every banter.
The hidden stares at each other, the growing tension between us, and the teasing comments over silly things all hinted at the elephant in the room. Even after everything, my heart still beat for Yulian—I hated myself for that—but it couldn’t be helped.
I guess it’s true what they say: The heart wants what it wants.
Just last night, the most awkward thing happened; he stopped by my room, and we played cards. Everything happened so fast and so naturally—the conversation, the game itself, the laughs, and the bickering. For the first time, we didn’t fight each other. We didn’t yell or call each other names. I didn’t accuse him of being heartless and controlling. And he didn’t call me stubborn.
We were just two adults playing cards and having a good time. It’d been a while since I laughed that hard, and to think Yulian was the one who brought out that part of me.
How ironic!
I didn’t realize how much I missed having a normal conversation with him until last night. It was so peaceful, so natural, and I completely forgot my predicament. I wished every day could be like last night. I wished we wouldn’t fight all the time.
Ever since he left my room last night, I hadn’t stopped thinking about him, hadn’t stopped replaying the memory in my head. If he had waited just a minute longer, we would have ended up in my bed. That was what I wanted, and the look in his eyes last night was a clear indication that he wanted that too.
We’d come so close, literally inches apart. His breath was warm against my skin, his touch electric. Just one move from him, one kiss, and I would’ve surrendered. My chest was already heaving, my breaths uneven.
I wanted him so badly, but there was also a part of me that was scared of letting him in again. So, when he pulled away and said goodnight, I was both relieved and disappointed at the same time.
He turned me on and then left me hanging.
Not cool.
But then again, leaving was the best option at the time.
Was it, though?
Because now, all I did was cook up scenes in my head about how last night could’ve ended if he hadn’t left. The things we’d have done to each other—how rough the sex would’ve been.
It was a lovely thing to imagine.
However, it did little to calm me down; instead, it just fueled my desire and made me crave him even more.
To make matters worse, Yulian had been gone all day. By the time I woke up this morning, I was told that he’d gone to work already and wasn’t back yet.
Strange how I missed having him around, how I counted the hours until his return. I waited like a wife, alone and bored, hoping her husband would come home to her soon.
At sundown, after I’d showered and slipped into my nightgown, I heard a gentle knock on my door. My heart skipped a beat—it was him. It was Yulian. He was home.
I closed the book I was reading, tossed it on the bedside table, and leaped out of bed. I drew a deep breath, smoothed out the faint wrinkles on my dress, and strolled over to the door.
His hand was hanging mid-air when I opened it, my eyes meeting his. My gaze lingered a little longer than it was supposed to, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes drifted down to my cleavage, a small, almost imperceptible smirk lining the corner of his lips.
He cleared his throat, slipped his hand into his pocket, and said in a smooth, husky voice, “I just wanted to check on you.”
After ditching me for almost the whole day?I thought, then folded my arms across my chest. “Oh, how sweet—want a medal for that?” The sarcasm in my voice was clear as crystal.
“Can you not be a pain in my ass for just one second?” He walked inside, gliding passed me.
“Please, come on in.” Sarcasm. Again.
He chuckled, turning around to face me. “You love this, don’t you? Fighting me every chance you get.”
“You only think that because you’re controlling, and control freaks hate it when someone stands up to them,” I replied, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him.
