Page 38 of Forced Bratva Kidnapped Virgin
I saw the restraint in his eyes, as though he was afraid of hurting me. That fear did something to me that I wasn’t ready to face yet.
However, what unsettled me the most wasn’t any of the things he did to me in bed. It was the fact that I didn’t regret my actions. I should—any normal person should—but I didn’t. Instead, what I felt was a growing ache that kept pulling me back to him.
He’d marked me that day and etched his face into my mind. Although it had been two days, I still hadn’t gotten over the incident. His touch had ignited a fire within me that I couldn’t put out.
It was strange and quite unsettling how my body craved this man, how every cell in me longed for his touch again. Even though I never thought in a million years that I would ever give my innocence to a man like him, I still felt that I’d made the right choice.
No regrets whatsoever.
If given the chance, I’d fuck him again—that was how badly I wanted him. I feared this strong pull between us might be the beginning of my torment. The last thing I wanted was to develop an unhealthy obsession with my captor. Or become addicted to his touch.
That would be catastrophic.
Deep down, though, I still believed he was exactly what I thought he was. A monster. The rational and reasonable part of me knew the dangers attached to falling for his deception. He wasn’t gentle. Nor was he kind.
A wolf could never change its nature even if it wanted to. It would always be a wolf. Wild and dangerous.
Since I was so certain about this, why couldn’t I get him the fuck out of my head? Why was this big bad wolf the only thing that occupied my mind?
The sex had been a bad idea because that single incident had blurred the line between prisoner and captor. I didn’t know who or what I was to him anymore. And the strong need to find out left a large hole in my belly.
Later that day, bored out of my mind, I decided to take a walk around the mansion. There were places to explore in this gigantic building, and I hadn’t even seen half of it. The house was quiet as a graveyard, and I noticed Nial had left for work already.
My feet padded across the polished marble floor as I strolled through the hallways. I hadn’t wandered far when I passed a door slightly ajar. The soft light and a glimpse of towering bookshelves caught my attention, forcing me to stop in my tracks.
I knew where the library was, and this wasn’t it. Did Nial have two libraries? I wouldn’t be surprised if he did—the place was big enough to contain lots of them.
My curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself walking toward the door. I pushed it open and wandered inside.
It wasn’t a library. It was a study. Not the one Nial was using currently. Maybe an abandoned one. It was still sleek, though. Everything was intact—the desk, the swivel chair, the bookshelves, the lamps, and the minibar in a corner.
The air smelled faintly of aged paper and fine wine. Sunlight spilled in through the window behind the desk, casting a warm glow on the expensive furniture. Above, a crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, its soft light illuminating the space.
I ran my finger along the spine of one of the books meticulously arranged on the shelf. Although the place seemedabandoned, there weren’t any traces of dust anywhere. Not on the books. Not on the shelves. Not even on the table.
Clearly, the room was cleaned daily.
I made my way to the desk across the entrance and sank into the swivel chair. The fine, expensive leather crunched beneath my weight as I leaned back in it. A crooked grin lined a corner of my mouth, and I rolled the chair forward, hands on the dark, mahogany table.
On the surface lay a pile of files and a closed laptop, with a Rubik’s Cube beside it. The mixed colors proved the puzzle was still unsolved. Beside it, a small pendulum stood quietly, its weight hanging still.
My eyes fell on the rubber globe sitting toward the edge of the table. I reached out and gave it a little spin, the tiny continents turning under the soft light.
I grabbed the Rubik’s Cube and began twisting and turning, making strategic moves. Seconds later, it was solved, with all colors on the right side of the cube. Then I put it back where I found it and reclined in the chair.
As my eyes roamed the interior, my gaze fell on the table’s drawer. I pulled it out and found something that seemed like a weathered notebook with a thick brown cover.
I picked it out and flipped it open, ready to feed my eyes. Since this used to be Nial’s study, whatever was in here must be personal. I didn’t mind going through his old journals to entertain myself.
It was called snooping, and it was wrong. But I couldn’t help it.
Unfortunately for me, the words were in Russian, so I couldn't understand a thing. And although the handwriting was steady, it still seemed a bit immature.
After flipping a few more times, I finally caught a line written in English.
“Loneliness breeds inside me, and I fear I’ll become like my father. Cold. Ruthless. They told me to embrace the darkness. They said emotions make me weak. I think they’re wrong. Emotions aren’t a weakness. They’re proof of our humanity.”
Those words cut through me like a knife. It was hard to believe that Nial wrote this. Because the voice in my head sounded like that of an innocent boy. Maybe this was a younger version of the Nail I knew—the version of him that was still human.
