Page 68 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
I see it in her eyes—the storm, the longing, the desperate need to feel alive after staring death in the face. She’s not running from fear. She’s running to me.
So I lay her back slowly, reverently, brushing the dust from her clothes, from her hair, like I’m uncovering something holy. The chaos outside still rages, but here—here in this room, in this moment—there’s only her.
Jennie.
My wife.
Her fingers curl around my collar as I bend to kiss her again—slow this time, deliberate. A promise. A prayer. Her lips part, and I taste her breath, warm and shaking against mine.
I push her hair back gently and kiss her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat, and every spot that reminds her she’s alive. That she’s wanted. Her body arches toward me, eager and trusting, and I hold her like something sacred. Not fragile—but real.
She touches my face, palm soft against my cheek, and I let her pull me closer until there’s no space between us—no doubt, no past, no war, just skin and breath and need.
I take my time with her.
There’s no rush.
No power struggle.
Only reverence.
I kiss away the ash on her skin. I trace the lines of her body like she’s something I’ve been fighting for my whole life.
Soon, our clothes are gone, and our naked bodies merge, warm and fiery passion bridling between us. When I slowly sink into her heat, she cries out, tears falling from her face.
I freeze.
“Don’t stop, Adrian,” she moans, wrapping her legs around my waist, taking me deeper. A guttural groan escapes my lips, and I hold her tight, like I want her soul to merge with mine.
“It feels good, Adrian,” she cries.
“Yes.” I heighten the speed of my thrusts, pounding into her with abandon. She takes each one with vigor, meeting me halfway and moaning every time our bodies slap.
I lean down to kiss her eyes, lapping her tears with my tongue. By the time she cries out my name, I’m tumbling after her in an orgasm of my own. It’s the best sex I’ve ever had.
When it’s over, I don’t move. I stay wrapped around her, her head resting on my chest, our bodies tangled together in silence.
There are still fires and enemies outside this room. But for now, she’s safe with me. And I’m not going anywhere.
She falls asleep in my arms.
I don’t know when the trembling stops or when her breathing evens out. I only realize she’s asleep when her fingers go slack against my chest, her head heavy beneath my chin.
Something cracks in me.
She’s finally calm—after all the hell I’ve dragged her through—and all I can think about is how fragile she feels. How small. How breakable.
I don’t move. I don’t even blink. I just sit there, holding her like she might shatter if I let go. Watching her. Memorizing the shape of her mouth, the lashes curled against her cheek, the faint line between her brows that’s still there even in sleep. Like she doesn’t know how to stop fighting, even now.
My phone buzzes quietly in my pocket. It’s Zalar.
“Boss. You copy?”
I shift slightly, keeping one arm around her as I hold it to my ear.
“Yeah,” I murmur, voice low. “I copy.”
Zalar’s voice cuts through. “Is everything alright in there?”
