Page 76 of Bratva Bidder

She doesn’t speak. Neither of us does.

The rain soaks us through, but neither of us moves.

“I tried to remember,” I whisper. “I swear to God, Nadya. I never stopped trying. I knew something was missing.”

She’s frozen, staring at me, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like armor.

I take a shaky breath and push through the memory. “Lev found me in Madrid. Battered. Barely breathing. He got me out, brought me home. I had nothing on me—no phone, no ID, not even a wallet. They’d taken everything but the blood in my veins.”

I pause, eyes locked on hers. “He told me about Barcelona. What little he knew. He didn’t mention you—because he didn’t know about you. You were…you were the piece I never recovered. Some days I’d wake up and feel it—that there was a part of me still trapped in that city. A ghost I couldn’t name. Now I know why.”

The words taste like regret. Like something I should’ve said years ago.

“I didn’t leave you,” I whisper. “I lost you.”

Rain sluices off the brim of my coat, pooling around our shoes, yet neither of us moves. We stand there breathing the same ragged breath, the distance between our mouths no more than a tremor. She drags the back of her hand across her cheeks—smearing rain, tears, mascara—and for the first time since Barcelona I see the softness she’s fought so hard to bury.

“I looked for you,” she whispers, voice trembling. “In every stranger’s face, every city skyline, I looked for the man who made me believe in miracles for one night.”

Those words split me open—clean, helpless, beautiful. I cup her jaw, thumb skimming the raindrops on her lips. “The miracle was mine,?zayka. I just didn’t know its name until tonight.”

For a heartbeat nothing exists except the electric space between us.

I close it, holding her soaked face in my palms, and kiss her.

It isn’t gentle.

It’s six years of absence and a thousand silent questions answered in the press of her mouth to mine. She opens for me with a soft gasp, and rainwater slides between our lips, salty andsweet; her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer as if she can’t bear a single inch of air between us.

When I finally break away, we’re both breathless, foreheads pressed together, panting clouds into the downpour.

Lightning forks across the distant sky; thunder rolls somewhere above the palms.

“Konstantin…” Her whisper is a shiver against my tongue, and God help me, it unmoors the last of my control. I lift her with a rough gentleness, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist as I carry her off the deserted path toward the waiting car.

The streets have emptied—city lights flickering through the downpour, traffic long fled from the storm. I open the passenger door, set her gently inside, then slide behind the wheel. The moment the doors shut we’re cocooned in dimness and the soft hiss of rain on glass.

She straddles my lap, rain-slick dress hitched above her thighs, and I drag my palms slowly up her sides, savoring the way her body arches into every touch. My fingers weave into her wet hair, tilting her back so I can trace my lips over the hollow of her throat. Her answering moan curls hot in the hush, making my own pulse stutter.

Fog blooms across the windows; the city outside disappears. My pulse thrums low and heavy as her thumb strokes my lower lip, then sweeps lower to the rapid beat beneath my ribs. “Nadya,” I breathe, awe and heat twined together, “I swear I’ll make this right.”

My fingers tangle roughly into her hair, pulling her mouth back down to mine, desperate for more. Our kiss becomes deeper, needier, edged with urgency—years of lost time fueling ourhunger. Her hips grind instinctively against mine, making me groan into her mouth as heat pulses hard between us.

“Fuck, Nadya,” I breathe, pushing her wet shirt up impatiently, fingertips skimming soft, rain-damp skin. She gasps as I tear the garment away, baring her completely in the shadowed privacy of the car. Her full, perfect tits fill my palms, nipples tight and aching beneath my fingers.

I lean forward, capturing one peak in my mouth, rolling my tongue slowly, then firmly against the sensitive flesh. Her breath hitches, head falling back as she arches into me, offering herself without reservation. My cock throbs painfully as I tease her breasts, biting gently, tasting her sweetness, savoring the way her soft whimpers echo in the small space around us.

“Please,” she whispers, grinding herself down harder onto me, eyes dark and pleading. “I need?—”

“I know,” I say hoarsely, trailing my hand roughly down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her skirt to find her already slick and burning. I stroke my thumb deliberately across her swollen clit, making slow, torturous circles that leave her shaking in my arms.

Her hands grip my shoulders tightly, fingernails biting through fabric as she rocks herself against my fingers. I press harder, faster, desperate to see her lose control, my other hand gripping her waist so tightly it leaves marks.

“Konstantin,” she moans brokenly against my ear, her hips jerking, muscles tensing beneath my touch. I slip two fingers deep inside her, curling upward, feeling her walls clench and pulse as I thrust rhythmically, claiming every inch of her. Her breath shatters into a cry of release as she comes hard aroundmy fingers, body trembling violently, her forehead pressed against mine as she clings to me.

I kiss her again, gentler now, swallowing her gasps, murmuring softly against her lips.

“I’m not letting you go again,” I say fiercely. “You’re mine, Nadya. Always have been.”