Page 114 of Bratva Bidder

I do—without question.

He pulls me to the edge of the bed, lifts one of my legs up, his hand under my knee, and enters me again while I kneel sideways on the mattress. The angle is brutal—thrusts grinding right into that spot inside me, my moans turning into desperate cries.

I lose track of how many times I come.

He doesn’t stop.

Even when he finishes again—cock pulsing, heat flooding inside me—he stays buried, kissing my neck, my shoulders, whispering that I drive him fucking crazy.

We collapse together eventually—panting, tangled, my legs draped over his, both of us slick with sweat, flushed and ruined.

24

KONSTANTIN

She stirs against me,her body warm and soft where it’s draped half over my chest, her thigh tangled with mine under the sheet. The light outside is the faintest gray—dawn not yet here, but close enough to make the silence feel full. Her skin shifts under my arm as she lifts her head slightly, hair mussed, lips parted in that hazy, half-asleep way.

I turn my face toward her, brushing a hand along the bare curve of her hip.

“You’re still here,” I murmur.

She doesn’t lift her head right away. Her fingers flex gently against my ribs.

“This reminds me of Barcelona,” she says quietly.

My heart slows, then picks up again. I can still smell her skin. Can still feel her heartbeat against mine.

“Yeah?” I say, voice low. “What can you tell me about it?”

She shifts slightly, her thigh sliding along mine, bare skin on bare skin. “You were drunk. Not messy. Not loud. Just…brokenin a way I recognized.” She hesitates. “You held me like you couldn’t believe I was real.”

I stare up at the ceiling, her words crawling under my skin.

“I remember the room,” she continues. “The curtain didn’t close properly. You pulled it shut with one hand and kissed me with the other. All things aside, you were the best sex I ever had. The only, actually.”

My breath hitches. “Nadya?—”

“Yeah, I was supposed to save my virginity for my husband,” she says drily. “But I didn’t really care. The irony isn’t lost on me.”

I lean on my elbow. “You’re not just using me for sex, are you?”

She lets out the faintest laugh, one without humor. “What makes you think that?”

I raise a brow.

Not at her. At myself.

At the part of me that can fuck her all night but still doesn’t know where we stand when the light starts to rise.

“You’re my husband,” she says softly.

The words hit me harder than they should.

That’s the first time she’s said it. Out loud. Without irony. Without distance. Just…fact.

My chest tightens. “I wasn’t sure if you still believed that,” I say.

“I don’t know what I believe half the time,” she admits, her voice breaking around the edges. “But when I’m here, like this, I want to believe it.”