Page 27 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva

Not for tenderness.

For ownership. For possession. For the cold feel of power masquerading as love. But when his lips landed on my skin, they did not meet my mouth.

He kissed my forehead softly.

My entire body tensed.

That wasn’t what I expected. I expected him to curl his arms around my waist and kiss me as if to prove a point, the same way he did in that club. This show of affection didn’t fit him. I needed him to act as possessively as he had that night.

The room applauded, but I barely heard them through the sound of my heart pounding in my chest.

I angled just close enough for my lips to move, my voice so low that he could hear but no one else.

“I didn’t know you had that in you to be this gentle,” I whispered, a wisp of sarcasm curling around the tip of my tongue.

His lips didn’t curve into a smile, and his eyes didn’t flicker, not with rage or anything else.

He leaned in again, and this time his mouth brushed against the shell of my ear. “You think I’m being gentle?”

Goosebumps rose on my skin as his breath caressed my ear and neck. “Aren’t you?”

I expected a smirk or something, but he barely blinked. “Be ready for the night, little bride.”

I gasped, a shiver slicing down my spine.

He leaned back, taking my hand and placing it in the crook of his elbow as he turned us to face the crowd.

I willed my back to stay straight, my feet to walk, and my face to remain stoic as we walked down the aisle ceremonially together as husband and wife—Mr. and Mrs. Yezhov.

But all along, I kept reminding myself not to react to his words or let them affect me. That was his goal, and I wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

Don’t fall. Don’t break. Don’t feel.

Because the moment I would let myself feel…I would not survive him.

We turned.

The priest’s voice rang out, “Husband and wife.”

The guests started cheering and clapping.

The weight of Matvey’s arm still hung slumped across mine, his fingers lightly resting on the silk of my cuff. Distantly, it would have been intimate, but within my skin, from the inside out, it was like chains of ice.

I smiled.

Or at least, I tried to fake it.

My lips were curled the way I’d learned to curl them, but it wasn’t because I was happy or sad.

It was armor.

The masses didn’t see the way my jaw clamped down, or the way my throat seared, or the way my body protested against the diamonds and silk.

All they saw was a Carter daughter married into Bratva royalty.

A fusion of power and blood.

A victory for both families.