Page 113 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I didn’t have a choice either,” Artem replies. “I married you because my father needed me to. Because the Bratva needed me to. What I wanted didn’t matter. It still doesn’t. It never will.”

My heart constricts uncomfortably. This is not the first time he’s hurt me, but it’s the first time he can see exactly what he’s done.

“Let me go,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“What do you want from me?”

He contemplates for a moment before he sighs and answers, “I don’t fucking know.”

And then, before I can truly process what he’s just said, his hand snakes around the side of my neck and pulls me against his chest.

His lips slam down on mine in the next breath and I feel the brokenness inside me sigh with relief.

It takes me a beat to realize that this kiss is not like the other ones we’ve shared.

This one is… gentle.

Tender.

Sweet.

Even when my lips part under his, our tongues meet with intense and passionate friction, our bodies melting together until we’re wrapped up in each other’s arms.

I don’t even try to resist this time. It’s almost as though I’ve been walking around like a zombie these last couple of days and this kiss is slowly bringing me back to life.

I want his fingers inside me again.

I want his breath on my nipples, teasing me to another orgasm.

I’m desperate for release, for a respite from the constant worry, stress, and fear.

His hands stroke across my naked back, playing with the string of my bikini top. One light pull and it will fall away, leaving me bare and ready for him.

As if he is reading my thoughts, he unburdens me of the bikini top and it falls to the floor between us.

One of his hands closes over my breast while the other lands on the small of my back, pulling me closer into his groin.

I can feel his erection pressing against my thigh and it makes me dizzy with need. I want to reach down and feel his erection, but we’re pressed so close together that there’s no space for my hand to slip through.

Then his lips leave mine and fall on my neck. I can feel the intensity build and I know we’re about to have sex.

I know I shouldn’t be encouraging this. As a matter of fact, I should be pushing him off me.

But there’s no denying how much I want him now.

An involuntary moan escapes my lips. “Artem…”

I feel him stiffen, his lips still pressed against the nape of my neck.

Then, without warning, he pulls away and drops his arms from around me.

I’m so shocked that I can only stare at him, waiting for an explanation. His eyes are hooded, his thoughts shielded from me.

It makes me want to scream. He wanted me—I know enough to know that—so why had he stopped?

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