Page 8 of Bratva’s Stolen Bride (Obsessed Bratva Bosses #1)

PAYTON

“It’s safe now, lisichka, you can come in,” he calls after a minute.

Nervously, I peer around the doorway, and nearly scream again.

Because, yes, technically he’s right. But he is casually doing up the laces at the front of a pair of board shorts and I am not prepared for the sight of him half naked.

He’s lined with tattoos, all over his chest and upper arms. Beneath the black ink and hair, he’s in amazing shape. His biceps are defined, and his shoulders are wide so his whole chest tapers to his waist. His belly is flat, with a six pack, and his hips topped with a “V” of muscle.

He’s so different to me. His hair, for one. I’ve never thought about a man’s nipples, but his penny-like disks surrounded by scattered dark hair make me want to run my lips over it.

And the way a teasing trail of hair leads down to the line of his shorts, low on his hips….

Ooof.

“There’s a suitcase of clothes for you.” He nods at the space under a window.

“Thanks,” I say, still struggling to look away from him.

I pause before I open the case, and I’m glad I’m braced, because the first thing I see is a white dress. A stunning, white dress that’s floor length, and obviously intended for a bride.

“Uh, I think there’s been a mistake.” I finger the dress, and can’t help but lift it out and hold it in front of me, turning to Feliks.

He pauses. “A misunderstanding, perhaps. But it will fit, yes? Not a mistake.”

My brow furrows in confusion.

“I’ll leave you to get changed to swim,” he continues, barely looking up. “I’ll be in the lounge.”

Under the dress, I find shorts, T-shirts, white cotton knickers, and sundresses that are perfect for throwing on over a bikini. It’s all tagged and pristine, and there’s even some toiletries.

And two bikinis, but no one-piece that I’d usually go for swimming. I dither a bit, before choosing the blue bikini with tie sides. I’m self-conscious as I check myself in the mirrored doors of the wardrobe. I swim a lot, so this should be normal, but the thought of Feliks’ eyes on me is different.

I wrap a soft turquoise sarong around me, leave my clothes in a neat pile, and go out to find Feliks.

“Did you put on sunscreen?” he asks without looking up when I enter the lounge. He’s reclined on a sofa with a laptop before him.

“No.” I scuff my bare feet. I hadn’t even thought of that, but obviously I need it, or I’ll burn to a crisp within minutes. Unlike Feliks, who is gorgeously tanned.

“Well.” He gestures at the table, where there’s a bottle of sunscreen. Then he glances up, and the impact of him seeing me partly revealed under the sarong is gratifying to say the least. His pupils dilate as he takes me in.

I bite my lip. Focus on the important points, not the way he makes you feel, Payton . He kidnapped you .

“Unless you need Daddy to help you,” he says, and I think it’s supposed to be ironic, but his voice is hoarse, and I respond as though it’s deadly serious.

I whimper. It’s undeniably a pathetic, needy little sound.

Yes. I need that. Very much.

I’m not too proud to admit that Ivan pursuing me and giving me gifts was why I gave in and agreed to be his girlfriend.

I’m only human. I want some comfort in my life, and being able to help my sisters felt good.

But Feliks offering—even as a joke—to give tender and personal care?

Loving, like a daddy? Yeah. That’s worth a thousand necklaces I could sell. That’s something I could fall for.

I’m pinned in place by my own stupid desires as Feliks eyes me, then deliberately sets aside his laptop and, grabbing the sunscreen, paces over to me.

I’m super aware of how tall and big he is compared to me. How he could overpower me easily, and we’re all alone on this island, and though it should scare me, it doesn’t. It’s… Hot. Really, really, hot.

He uncaps the sunscreen and squirts a generous amount into his palm, then sets it aside and rubs his hands together. The sound is lewd and unmistakably suggestive. That white cream contrasts to his black-tattooed fingers and the slickness mirrors what’s between my legs.

I’m caught in this thirst trap, helpless to do anything but stare.

“Don’t be shy,” he rasps, and the tension between us notches up. “Unless you’d rather do it yourself?”

I shake my head, but my hands are trembling as I open the sarong and let it fall to the floor. Then I’m bared to him, only insubstantial triangles of fabric covering my most private places.

“Mm.” He gives a deep sound of masculine appreciation at the reveal of my bikini-clad body. “Good girl.”

Oh god that feels amazing. Good girl. I can’t remember when I was last praised like that. Hayley says thanks when I do stuff around the house, and it’s nice when an essay is returned with ticks and “Good” or “Great!”

But to have someone—an experienced, worldly, rich and powerful man like Feliks, in particular—say it to me in person, with his deep voice? That’s chocolate ice cream on a hot day.

Taking my hand in his, he smooths his palm up my arm and over my shoulder. I press my lips together to keep from making inappropriate noises as this huge man puts sunscreen on me with bold sweeps of his hands. First one arm, then the other.

He’s not brisk or efficient, but neither does he linger in obvious seductiveness.

Picking up the sunscreen again, he cups my shoulder with his big palm, and I turn with the slight pressure.

His movement is confident as he clears the hair from my back, then passes his hand over my shoulders and down my back.

I didn’t know sunscreen could be sexy, but I bite my bottom lip to stop the sound of how much I like this getting out when he reaches my hips. His hands are so big it barely takes any time for him to cover my back and certainly not as long as I’d like.

His touch is turning me to molten jelly, despite the air conditioning in this house.

When he wordlessly clasps my shoulder and turns me to face him again, I’m struck again by how enormous he is.

I have to crane my neck to look up at him.

Those dark-blue eyes are intense as he holds my gaze and slides down to kneel.

We’re almost face-to-face, me looking very slightly down.

Which, of course, should make me feel dominant that he’s knelt, but actually it only emphasises that he could crush me with one tattooed hand.

He pours more suncream into his hands and dips his gaze to my legs starting at my left ankle, and cupping my whole calf. I’m vibrating with how erotic this is.

I tingle all over as his hands get above my knee, then to mid-thigh. It’s only when he reaches higher that I wonder if he’ll take what I’m so obviously offering.

I hold my breath.

“Spread your legs for me, lisichka.” His voice is gravelly as he nudges my inner thigh with the back of his hand.

Obediently, I shift my feet apart, but looking down, he moves slightly, and my eyes go wide as I see that his shorts are tented. That thick, hot length I had under my fingers earlier has returned, and it steals my breath.

But despite that, he rubs the suncream into the delicate skin of the top of my leg, apparently focused on his task, and not noticing the demand of his own body or the way I’m writhing with horny thoughts.

The bikini bottoms are at an angle over my bottom, and as his fingertips run along the seam between the fabric and my skin, I’m practically panting.

I want him to dip under the stretchy line and brush against my throbbing, heated, swollen clit. I can’t press my legs together to get a bit of friction, and he’s literally right in front of me so there’s no way to writhe or reach between my legs and give myself relief.

But I’m getting so turned on.

My heart is beating fast as he starts again with my other leg, one palm easily enveloping the top of my foot. Then he slides his hands up my other leg, pausing to put more suncream into his palms, then at my inner thigh, I swear he slows.

He’s holding my gaze, and I’m totally trapped by him. No handcuffs required for this captive. Apparently, sunscreen is all that’s needed.

His hands encircle my thigh, giving it a subtle squeeze that I don’t think I’d notice if I wasn’t attuned to his every movement. It’s as though there’s a connection between us, an unseen thread of communication without words, where the slightest touch is a meeting of souls.

I try to tell myself that’s absurd, and not true, but when he calmly removes his hands and picks the bottle of sunscreen back up, I’m bereft. I need him.

He grasps my waist almost like he’s steadying me, and brings one hand around to my tummy, smearing white cream as he does. Then his palm rests there, his thumb swiping over my belly button.

His gaze is fixed on my lower stomach, but whereas with anyone else I’d think they were judging that it isn’t flat and it’s kind of pudgy, with Feliks there’s something wistful in his dark expression that makes me wonder how it would feel to have his baby growing in my belly, and all his protective, possessive focus on me.

I squirm a little with the idea, the bright spark impossible to keep inside.

His face stays carefully neutral as he runs his hands up my ribcage. I can see what’s going to happen before it does, and I hold my breath, keeping still so perhaps he won’t notice when… Oh, yes. The side of his finger brushes the underside of the curve of my breast.

My heart is a tiny bird fluttering its wings.

Which is unfortunate, because Feliks moves his attention to the top of my chest.

And. Oof. Uh. This. Bikini. I thought it had a decent amount of coverage, but the triangles are miniature. Really, really, small. Compared to his hands, which cover my entire breast easily.

He smooths his fingers up and over my neck, stopping on my racing pulse. He’s got a delicate touch for a man so big.

And when he unfolds himself and pushes up to his full height and dabs sunscreen on my face, I’m so conflicted.

I know he’s seen how I’m responding to him, how I want him, but he’s being utterly controlled. Far more appropriate than you could expect from a mafia boss, when I’m his captive.

I keep forgetting that.

“Close your eyes,” he rumbles.

My heart lurches.

“What are you going to do?” I blurt out.

He takes a step closer, so I can feel the heat of his much larger body. Taking my chin in his forefinger and thumb, he holds me immobile.

“Whatever I want, Payton.”

A shudder of desire racks me from head to toe.

“It’s only you and me here, and you being a little brat won’t change that you aren’t just in my power. You’re in my kingdom. You can’t run, or hide, or escape. You’re my prisoner, and I can do anything I like to you.”

Please do .

“You belong to me, now, lisichka.”

Yes .

“You will do what I tell you, sooner or later. You have no choice.”

Why is that so hot?

“So. Close.” His voice goes dark and smoky. “Your. Eyes.”