Page 233 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

It’s not like I’m starving for his affection. We have sex at least twice a day. Some days, we never leave the bedroom.

And even when I think I’ve had enough, it only takes an hour’s respite to get me wet for him again.

Artem jumps off the ground and grabs a sturdy tree branch above him. Each pull-up flexes his arms. His face is screwed up in fierce concentration.

When he drops back to the earth, he starts doing a round of push-ups. The lines of his tattoos twist and bulge with the motion.

He’s so focused on his work out that he doesn’t even notice me watching. Not until I walk down the porch steps and lean against the railing.

“Hey, you,” he says, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hey, yourself,” I reply. “Looking good”

He smirks. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Umm… awhile,” I admit.

He laughs. “If I knew you were watching, I would have put on a show for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you did anyway,” I reply. “I’m one satisfied customer. Well, partially satisfied customer.”

Artem’s eyebrows go up. Then he counts twenty-five and jumps down, his landing causing a small dust cloud to rise around his feet.

“Just partially satisfied?” he asks.

I touch a thoughtful finger to my lips. “I can think of another form of exercise that you could be doing,” I say, feeling a blush snake up my cheeks. “One that involves me.”

“Is that so?” he asks, as I walk towards him, swinging my hips a little extra just for effect.

I’m wearing a long, blue midi dress with thin spaghetti straps. It’s relatively modest as far as these things go.

But Artem’s eyes gloss over my body in a way that makes me feel utterly and completely naked.

“That is, if you’re not too tired,” I finish. I stop a few inches from him, just out of his reach.

“I’m all sweaty,” he points out.

“I don’t mind.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, his eyes darken with lust.

He lunges towards me, grabs me, and pulls me into his body. I squeal as I slap against his hard chest.

Artem wasn’t kidding—he’s soaked with sweat. But when the smell of his musky sweat fills my nostrils, I swear it makes me even wetter.

His mouth closes down over mine. I shudder at the release of his breath mingling with mine.

It’s easy to close my eyes and lose myself in this kiss. It makes my head spin and my knees weak. Before Artem, I had always assumed that was a phenomenon that occurred only in books and movies.

Now, I live it every day.

My hands scour over his chest and his rock-hard abs. All I want to do is lick every drop of sweat right off his body.

Something is deeply wrong with me.

His hands are rough as they run down my body and pull up my dress. I shiver against the cold mountain air—at least, until he squeezes my ass hard and I gasp into his mouth as heat flushes through me.

I love it when he’s rough with me. A primal instinct gets triggered every time he grabs me. Like he’s claiming me for the first time all over again.

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