Page 2 of Bratva’s Stolen Bride (Obsessed Bratva Bosses #1)

FELIKS

She’s beautiful.

I suppose it’s not a surprise that my son shares my taste in women, but I didn’t expect it, or his girlfriend to be so utterly gorgeous. She steals all my breath and my wits.

Her straight brown hair, pale-blue eyes, and heart-shaped face sound unremarkable when listed as attributes, but there’s something very special about this girl.

She’s dressed in a simple pair of cut-off jean shorts that show her long legs, and a plain white top. Her curves aren’t on display, but the shape of her perfect handful breasts and the flare outwards from her waist to her hip is unbelievable.

The expression of shock on her face, and the shadow of fear, only make my cock throb all the more, because she examines me from head to toe.

It’s an undeniable recognition as our eyes meet, for all that she’s twenty years younger than me, and Ivan’s girlfriend.

Something deep in my chest snarls mine .

I can’t steal her from my son. That’s immoral even by my standards, isn’t it?

“You’re Payton Love.” An absurdly sweet name. It suits her.

She hesitates and presses her lips together. It only makes me more aware of how pretty she is. How vulnerable. She nods warily.

“I’m Feliks Rykov.”

She shrinks back, her bottom lip trembling. She recognises my name.

That’s good. I tell myself it’s better she knows I’m a monster.

“My son Ivan is your boyfriend.”

She lifts one shoulder, as though unwilling to confirm or deny.

“You’re not seeing him anymore, and I need you out of the way.” That emerges a little harsher than I intended, but the thought of Payton with Ivan now makes me sick in a personal sense, rather than merely because the combination of a sadistic man and an innocent woman is disastrous.

“Mr Rykov,” she breathes, and my cock twitches. “Please, let me go.”

“No.” That’s not going to happen.

I’ve been alone for decades. I don’t think I’ve ever needed anyone. I’ve definitely never been in love, and I have no reason to care about this girl beyond offering safety. If she wants to leave and probably get herself tortured and killed by Ivan, what is it to me?

“Please.” She’s across the limo in a second, and falls to her knees before me. Her hair flows over her shoulders in a smooth waterfall, and now she’s at my feet, I see the swell of her breasts, peeking out of her top. “I’ll do anything. Just let me go.”

“I’m not going to…” I begin to explain that I won’t hurt her, and this is for her safety, but she reaches for me, and it’s all I can do to keep my mouth from falling open.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” she murmurs, brushing her palms onto my thighs, and I wonder whether she knows what a bad idea this is.

Speech is utterly outside of my capacity.

The conflict in me is painful, because this feels so right, and yet absolutely wrong. Having my son’s girlfriend sliding her hands up my legs has electricity zapping down my spine and my palms itching to pull her close. To have her on my lap and to feel her soft-looking lips on mine.

On the other hand, I’m filled with revulsion that she’s clearly doing this to try to escape. As a transaction, not because she wants me.

My cock doesn’t know the difference, though, and is hardening as her hands get nearer to where I’m already dreaming of her touching.

But when she looks up into my face and I find her pale-blue irises dark, and her pupils blown, my pulse spikes.

She’s half my age. She’s probably in love with my son. She doesn’t feel this connection between us because I’m imagining it.

That last one I can’t make myself believe. She’s doing this for the wrong reasons, yes, but she isn’t repulsed by me.

Then her gaze flicks down to where I pocketed the key to the limo’s central locking, and I get it.

“Tell me what you want me to do, sir.” Her voice is pure sex, and she angles her chest forwards to give me a better—albeit still very limited—view of her tits.

“You seem more interested in what’s in my pocket.” It’s meant as a warning, but it’s too raspy. I’m getting aroused, exactly as she intends. Already, from her touch through my trousers, and not yet even on any part of significance.

She shakes her head as though she doesn’t understand. “I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll let me go.” Her hands creep further up my thighs, testing the muscle she finds there.

“Mmmhum.” It’s an effort not to smile. This girl is intent on getting away, not staying to discover whether my intentions are good or bad, and I respect that. “Reach for what you desire, Payton.”

She reaches for my cock with one hand, and simultaneously for the car key with the other.

And as she does, I draw a knife from my jacket pocket. The blade flicks open with the push of a button, and I bring it to her neck, where her pulse beats fast.

Letting out a soft squeak of distress as she feels the cold steel, her hands still.

“Moya lisichka.” The endearment slips out of my mouth instinctively. My little fox. She’s smart and beautiful.

She has one hand on my half-hard cock, the car key in the other, and I have my knife to her throat.

We stare into each other’s eyes, and I can see renewed fear there.

I don’t think she’s as experienced or as reckless as her actions suggest. She isn’t showing me her exquisite body, or working my cock. She’s as compelled as I am by this ridiculous situation, and brave. So brave.

Even unaware that I’d rather turn this knife against myself than actually hurt her, she’s not moving.

She’s my match. This girl who is young and innocent and forbidden, and whom I only intended to protect from my son.

Blood rushes to my cock as I look at her, and her little fingers rest on my growing erection. The spark between us is undeniable.

My hand is almost shaking. My heart is beating out of my chest. This feels like something.

Moreover, I feel. For a man who has spent his life not caring for anyone or anything, this is unheard of. It’s exhilarating. It’s terrifying.

I think she’ll need protection from me .