Page 65 of Forced & Obsessed By the Bratva King
I look up at him and secretly admire every hard inch of this man who was formed with the sharpest and most brutal tools.
He was right about the night getting colder, but the second my arms go around his neck, the cold vanishes. And so does the rest of the world around us. The only thing that matters is him. And a sudden hope bursts in my chest, like a blooming flower in a garden tilting toward the blinding rays of sunlight, that maybe it is possible. Maybe there could be a world where I get to know him beyond the dark suits, the guns, and need to always be on guard.
And if there’s even the slightest possibility that this man can be mine to have, to hold, and to cherish, I’m desperately eager to find it. But then shame hits me, hard and fast. I can’tgive in just because he showed me kindness. He kidnapped me. No matter what, that’s my reality—and I have to get away.
Even though part of me truly wants to stay.
Chapter Fifteen
Leonid
The mooring line snaps taut against the cleat as Elena hauls it into place. She straightens for a moment and wipes the back of her hand over her forehead before returning to the task she delegated to herself.
She doesn’t notice me standing on the deck across from her, or if she does, she doesn’t acknowledge me.
I’ve been standing here for about ten minutes, maybe even longer, drinking in the way her thick thighs contract under her pants each time she bends over and fighting the image of her bent over my desk beneath me while I fuck her crazy.
Except I don’t just want to fuck her, I want to take her slowly, filling her mind with thoughts of me until she’s moaning my name through those tempting lips of hers.
It’s her thing to never acknowledge me or tense like everyone else does when I’m around. The only time my presence ever draws a reaction from her is when our fingers brush or our eyes meet abruptly.
I hate that any contact with her stirs me in ways I don’t like but can’t resist. I’m not entirely certain how much longer I can pretend she doesn’t affect me in more ways than one.
My self-control hangs by a thread each time I’m around her.
God.
Dropping my hands into the pockets of my pants, I walk up to her, and the scent of her soft, floral perfume pummels my senses. “That’s the third booking you’ve moved this week.”
My shadow falls across the deck right in front of her, but she doesn’t look up. “That’s because the client changed their arrival time,” she says, narrowing her eyes at the manifest in herhand. “You’d know that if you read the report you asked me to send you.”
I read every report, email, or anything else that pops up about my business. When it concerns the bratva and its members, everything needs to be perfect. Or close to perfection. But I don’t bother correcting her. “I prefer hearing the explanation from you.”
She pauses, her fingers smoothing down the edge of the manifest before she raises her head and gives me a searching look. Her warm, sea green eyes lock onto mine. Her expression is defiant, yet a faint blush creeps up her neck.
“Okay. The client is paying a premium to have their arrival window adjusted.” She pauses and swallows, trying to steady her voice but failing. I can see the rapid pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “I needed to make sure everything was in order myself.”
She straightens up and brushes a strand of honey-brown hair back from her forehead before shifting her weight to one leg, her curvy frame resting in a way that tests the absolute limit of my composure.
I should simply nod and walk away before I lose control and do something I shouldn’t, but I don’t. Instead, I step closer, intentionally crowding her space until that floral scent completely overtakes the salty marina air.
“Let me see the manifest.”
Her tongue swipes over her lips, followed by the subtle movement of her teeth digging into her lip as she hands me the manifest.
I reach out, deliberately letting my fingers brush against hers. A sharp jolt of electricity skitters between us from the contact, causing her breath to hitch, but she doesn’t retreat.
“When are you letting me go?”
The question comes out so suddenly that it catches me off guard. I thought we’d come to an understanding, but it looks like my little bird doesn’t fully understand the situation, so it’s my job to make sure she does.
“Never.”
Rage turns her sea green eyes almost red. “Never? Leonid, I can’t be your prisoner forever. You have to let me go eventually.”
“You’re not a prisoner here, Elena. You’re my wife.” My voice drops into a low rumble. “And as my wife, there’s no escaping my world. There’s no escapingme. Even if you run, I’ll turn the world upside down to get you back.”
She scoffs. “Your wife? That sounds like I’m a prisoner in a shiny cage. I miss my parents and my best friend. As your wife, would you let me travel across the world if that’s what it took to see them?”
