Page 42 of Forced Bratva Kidnapped Virgin
“Say my name, Nail.”
I tried not to, but it slipped through my lips. “Kiera….”
“Yes…” she moaned, her voice sweet and enticing. “Again.”
Moved by the immense amount of pleasure sprinting through me, I did as I was instructed.
“Good,” she purred, molding her breasts. “You like that, don’t you?”
I nodded, squeezing against her ass.
Her expression turned cold in a flash, and her grip around my neck tightened. “Then why did you send me away?!” she growled, her eyes blood red.
That’s when I woke up, gasping loudly.
I sat on the bed in the middle of the night, sweating. My fingers combed through my hair as I let out a soft sigh, my heart still racing. I was horny as fuck, my hard cock poking from underneath my boxers.
It was a dream, one that left me craving every inch of her body. My chest was heaving with slow, controlled breaths as I sat there in silence. My mind was reeling with the crazy things I’d do to her if she were here with me. But she wasn’t—because I asked her to leave.
It had been two freaking months already, and I still hadn’t gotten over her yet. I thought that with time, I would get used to living without her; that everything would return to the way it used to be.
I was wrong.
Things had gotten worse.
Ever since she’d left, I barely focused on anything. I zoned out during important meetings, and now people were starting to talk. I couldn’t care less about what the fuck they were saying about me. I just hated how badly her absence was affecting me.
It was as though she were tattooed on my mind with permanent ink. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t get rid of her. The images of her face always flashed in my head, reminding me of what I’d done.
I recalled the look in her eyes that day in my study. She was disappointed in me. For a long time, I told myself it didn’t mean anything. But deep down, I knew it did. It wasn’t just disappointment I saw in her eyes. There was also pain hidden behind her frown.
And that pain of hers had been haunting me this entire time. I’d come to realize soon after she left that the unfamiliar knot in my chest was guilt. And it had been gnawing at me ever since.
Was I too harsh on her?
Did I make the right decision when I asked her to leave?
Why did she hate the idea of regaining her freedom? Didn’t she hate it here? Was it possible she was starting to feel some attachment to me? Was she angry because I severed whatever connection we had?
These questions and more overlapped in my mind, keeping me distracted and unproductive. To make matters worse, for weeks, I hadn’t been able to answer even one.
However, despite all of this confusion, I knew for sure that at the time, letting her go was the only thing I could think of. If she had stayed, things might’ve spiraled out of my control by now.
I was already getting too attached to her emotionally. And that terrified me. So perhaps keeping my distance was the best for both of us.
***
A line of exotic cars parked beside the private hangar, the soft blue runway lights stretching across the dark tarmac.
The cool breeze brushed against my face as I leaned casually on the hood of my white Rolls-Royce. Above, twinkling stars dotted the night sky as the crescent moon hung somewhere behind a small cloud.
The wind from the cooling engines tugged at my tousled hair as I fixed my eyes on the looming aircraft in front of me. My men were scattered around—not too far and not too close—their watchful eyes roaming the tarmac.
I glanced at my watch, wondering what in the world was still keeping that dumb fuck inside his PJ. Did he not know that I was standing out here, waiting for his sorry ass?
Just as my face was about to turn ugly, a mechanical whir broke the stillness. The aircraft door opened, and a narrow set of metal stairs slowly unfolded from the side of the jet.
I raised my head and saw him standing at the head of the steps, a smug smirk playing on his lips. He locked eyes with me, dipped his hand in the pocket of his black coat, and began down the stairs.
