Page 13 of Bratva’s Stolen Bride (Obsessed Bratva Bosses #1)

PAYTON

I wake being tugged between utter contentment, and heavy guilt.

Feliks is holding me to him, his chest to my back, us both lying on our sides.

He breathes slow and even, and though you could easily interpret the way his arm is snug on my waist as imprisoning, it just feels protective.

And last night, my god. Thinking about yesterday makes me all squishy inside. Between my legs heats.

I’ve never experienced being really wanted. The way he edged me, but also covered me with sunscreen to protect me.

Being chased. I didn’t know I’d love that either.

And this beach and house that feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever lived, his honesty on the plane, and yeah mind-blowing orgasms don’t hurt. Of course they don’t.

But weighted against that is that my arrogant arsehole kidnapper won’t let me call my sister, and Hayley will be going nuts with worry.

Dawn is just breaking out of the window, but because of the time difference, I’m awake. And perhaps being more used to making the trip, Feliks is still asleep.

I think of my phone on that top shelf in the lounge.

Could I? Dare I? I have to. After losing Taylor, Hayley will be distraught over me going missing.

I shift forward, and Feliks’ grip on my waist tightens. That’s not romantic, I try to tell myself. It’s not sweet.

Smoothing my hand over his forearm, I lift it off, and he grumbles in his sleep.

“I’m just going to the loo,” I whisper the lie as I creep out of his protective embrace and the light blanket.

He growls again, but when I tuck the covers over his shoulders, he accepts it, and his eyes remain closed, long lashes fanning his cheek.

I tiptoe across the room, waiting for him to wake and stop me, but he doesn’t.

Miraculously, somehow, when I turn the door handle and look back, he’s motionless.

The bedroom is dark because of the blinds that Feliks shut last night, and there’s the hum of air conditioning, so I pray that he won’t hear me or notice I’m gone.

I shut the door softly behind me, and pad silently to where Feliks stashed my phone.

I can’t reach, of course, that was the point. But there are lower shelves, and I’m not that heavy. I consider a chair, but I’m hyper aware Feliks could wake at any second. Moving furniture from the other side of the room is riskier because it’ll take longer, and the wood appears solid.

I go for it, putting one foot gingerly onto the bottom shelf and testing it. It holds. Of course it does. Everything in Feliks’ life is made of premium materials.

I take the next step up more quickly, then another, hanging onto the edge of the bookshelf. Ooo, is that a copy of…? No, I cannot get distracted.

I climb one more then snatch the phone and skip back down, heart thumping in my chest like our neighbour’s music at the house in Richmond.

My finger is pressing the power button as I hear a door handle turn.

Shit shit shit.

No pockets in these night shorts, and what if he checks for the phone? I don’t think. I just scale the bookshelves as quickly and nimbly as I can, slide it into place, and hop to the ground. As Feliks rounds the corner, I’m staring out at the ocean tinged with pale-yellow light from the sunrise.

“Lisichka,” he says warningly. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at the beach,” I say innocently, turning to him. And oof. He is somehow even hotter in the cool of the morning than he was last night. He’s naked except for a pair of black boxers that leave nothing about his size to the imagination. Even not erect, he has plenty to show off.

“I came to get a glass of water and got distracted. It’s so beautiful.” But I’m studying the tattoos on his chest, not the serene ocean. If he could stand in the sea, preferably naked and wet, that would be the ideal view for me.

“Just looking out the window?” he echoes sceptically. “If I check for your phone, it’ll still be there?”

I shrug. “Unless you moved it.”

The control required to keep myself from twitching as he reaches up—he’s ridiculously tall so it only needs him to stretch up an arm.

He feels for the phone, and when he finds it, surprise flits across his face. Our eyes meet.

“Good girl.”

And even though I know it’s not true, I can’t help but respond, heating everywhere despite the air conditioning.

“Breakfast.” He nods. “How do you take your coffee, moya lisichka?”