Page 67 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
I take her straight to the bed and set her down gently.
She leans back, watching me like she doesn’t know what to say.
I crouch in front of her, brushing a streak of ash from her cheek with my thumb. Her skin is warm beneath all that dust. Still alive. Still mine.
“You don’t get to die,” I say, my voice low and firm. “Not now. Not ever.”
She stares at me, lips parting just a little.
“You are mine.”
And if they want you—
They’ll have to come through me.
I remember there’s so much work to do, and kiss her cheek before starting to pull away. “You’re safe here,” I say. “Nothing can touch you. I’ll kill anyone who tries.”
She shakes her head, breath stuttering. “Don’t leave me here alone.”
“I have to go handle—”
“Adrian.” She grabs my wrist. Her voice is small, choked. “Please don’t leave me.”
That stops me.
She’s not being dramatic. She’s not using it to get her way. She’s genuinely afraid.
I sit beside her. I shouldn’t. I need to be out there. But right now, she needs me more.
She leans into me, forehead resting against my chest. I pull her in, wrapping my arms around her tightly.
“You’re okay,” I murmur against her hair. “You’re okay. You’re strong. You didn’t break when everything around you exploded. You’re a goddamn warrior, do you know that?”
Her body trembles once, twice—then goes still.
“I’m not,” she whispers. “I’m not as strong as you are.”
Her expression breaks me, and before I can stop myself, I crash my lips to hers, holding her to me like she’s the most precious possession in my life.
She is.
She melts into my arms, and as the kiss deepens, I taste the metallic tang of blood. I suck deeper and smoothen the flesh with my tongue.
She moans and clings to me like I’m a lifeline. For her, I can be anything in the world.
“Adrian.” She pulls away slightly, her eyes glassy. “Make love to me, Adrian. Please.”
I want to. Oh, fuck, I want to. But after what just happened, I’m more concerned with her feelings and well-being.
“Jennie, you should—”
“Please. I need you.”
Her plea breaks something open inside me.
I don’t ask again if she’s sure.
I don’t need to.
