Page 17 of Kidnapped & Bred By The BRATVA
The roar tears out of my chest when I finally come, spilling inside her, flooding her with everything I am. My vision whites out, my body locked against hers, my cock buried as deep as it will go.
I stay there, panting, sweating, until the last pulse fades. My hand strokes her hair, rough but reverent, and I press a kiss to her temple.
“You’re mine now, Olivia,” I murmur. “You’ll be my wife. The mother of my children. My queen.”
She blinks up at me, dazed and wrecked, but she nods.
And that’s all I need.
Olivia
I don’t know how he does it, how he speaks like thunder and I obey without thought.
But I find myself on my feet, sheet falling away, heart hammering. He told me we would marry now, and there isn’t a trace of doubt in his eyes. He isn’t asking. He isn’t even persuading. He’sdeciding.
And I’m letting him.
Roman opens one of the trash bags with brisk movements, pulling out a little black slip of a thing, elegant but simple, the kind of dress that I had to wear to dinners with my father. But now it will have a new meaning.
“Put this on,” he orders.
I do. My hands tremble as I slide the fabric down, the cool silk clinging to curves I’ve always hidden. When I turn, he’s already dressed again, dark shirt, darker suit, like a king preparing to sit on his throne. His scar catches the lamplight, sharp and merciless.
He takes my hand, and I swear the world steadies under my feet.
We descend the stairs together. My legs quake, but his grip is unbreakable, guiding me through corridors until we reach the study. The air inside smells of whiskey and leather, rich andoppressive, the kind of room where deals are sealed and empires shift hands.
Maksim is waiting, leaning against the desk with a glass in hand. Beside him sits Clara, serene and smiling. Her gaze flicks to me, kind and knowing, before returning to her husband.
Roman doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Maksim. Witness,” he commands.
His brother arches a brow, amused but unsurprised. “So soon? I thought you liked your freedom, little brother.”
“I like her more.” Roman’s tone is final, cutting through the air like a blade.
Clara smiles faintly. “We’ll sign.”
Aleksei appears moments later with papers already in hand. Marriage contracts, crisp and official, the ink glistening at the ready. My father should be here. There should be a priest, flowers, family. Instead, there are Bratva brothers, their wives, and the man who stole me.
And yet, it feels more real than anything my father could have arranged.
“Where’s the judge?” he asks no one in particular.
“On his way,” Nikolai says as he enters the room. “Annoyed to be woken up at this ungodly hour on a Sunday.”
Roman pulls me to the desk. My hand shakes as I take the pen, hovering over the line where my name belongs. I glance up at him, searching, and find only certainty in his gaze.
“It’s your choice,” he says softly, low enough that only I hear. “Walk away now if you want. But if you sign, you’ll never be rid of me. You’ll be mine until the last breath leaves my body.”
The words should terrify me. Instead, they steady me.
I sign.
Roman takes the pen next, his hand bold and unhesitating, his name slashing across the page like a claim carved in stone.
Maksim scrawls his signature with a flourish, Clara with a gentler hand. The papers are folded, sealed, tucked away.
