Page 27 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva (Yezhov Bratva #8)

It started with the sounds of ocean waves crashing against the seashore, before the loud caws of seagulls echoed across the sky. The sun was out, scorching hot, and surprisingly warm at the same time.

The rest of the world was a blur as I stood at a corner, felt the salty breeze run through my hair, and dug my toes deeper into the warm sand.

Everything was going great, and the scenery seemed beautiful, until a beautiful figure appeared on the shore, treading through the sand like Poseidon, in all his glory.

Only, he looked a thousand times hotter than the Greek god, with a body sculpted by the best sculptors they had in Olympus.

I didn’t get a good look at his face, but whoever crafted him was surely wide awake, giving him all those good edges and forms. I doubt Zeus had enough patience to make this one.

I moved toward this handsome figure, waving my hands above my head like a madwoman to get his attention.

But the breeze grew stronger and stronger, until it became a mighty rushing wind, pushing me farther away from the sound of oceans, the caws of excited birds. But most importantly, away from him.

Suddenly, I jerked awake on the bed and regretted it a second later. The immediate headache that exploded seemed like it was on a revenge mission.

“Shit!”

Curse Poseidon.

Surrounding me in the quiet room were fluttering gauzy curtains, floating through the air like performing ribbons. Surprise, surprise. It was breezy outside. And warm sunlight slipped through windows, dusting the edges of the villa in quiet warmth.

I lay back on a pillow and leaned into the fluffiness to manage my headache. After a short moment, the ache subsided, but the pain was still ever-present. I took a peek at the cuts on my arm. They were cleaned and bandaged, but beneath my skin, I felt the dull throbs from the bruises.

Bits and pieces of flashbacks began to come together. The masked man. Ricochets of bullets flying across the air. The attack.

Instinctively, I traced the curve of my belly and held my breath as a silent reassurance to tell myself my baby was okay.

In a rush, I was swept up in a rollercoaster of emotions—first panic, then confusion.

Fear gripped me in a way I didn’t think possible, and I cursed out the first unintelligent thing that came to mind while I tried hard not to cry.

And somewhere beneath my armor, I was relieved that I escaped that horror story in one piece, but knew that, even if I was safe for now, the world around me was still haunting and dark.

How long would it take before I finally got rid of the haunting trauma from that night? Honestly, I wasn’t sure.

But what mattered now was taking care of myself for the sake of my baby. My baby’s well-being was my utmost priority.

I peeled back the covers and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, stretching once, before standing.

I hadn’t even stepped out of the bedroom, but I could feel the eerie stillness in the house.

After a quick hot shower, I put on a tube top and denim shorts and moved through the hallway, my fingertips grazing the smooth plaster walls. My wet hair dripped on my bare shoulders as I passed familiar paintings and open doors.

The silence pressed in thicker and felt stranger by the minute. I didn’t hear the maids having conversations or any of Matvey’s men working the grounds.

From the sound of it, it was just me.

In the kitchen, I grabbed a small handful of grapes and a piece of bread, something quick to hold me over.

And while I nibbled on the bread, my thoughts started to wander.

I didn’t want them to, but they did.

My eyes drifted to the untouched coffee machine, to the vacant stool he usually sat on, flipping through his phone or watching me with that stoic, cold gaze.

Where is he?

I didn’t say it aloud but just let the question live quietly in the back of my mind as I made my way to the terrace.

The doors creaked open, and the breeze slipped in, warm and laced with the scent of salt and frangipani flowers.

In the midst of all the evil and darkness that hovered above our heads, the scent of those flowers reminded me that there was hope in the beauty of life.

Outside, the world felt too big for one person.

I stood there, staring out at the view, still chewing absently on the last bite of bread.

That’s when he caught my eye.

Standing by the poolside with a glass in one hand was Matvey. His shoulders were broad, and even from a distance, I saw how tense they looked, as if he was bracing for something that hadn’t yet happened.

He didn’t know I was there, not yet anyway. I could tell by the way he stared out over the water, jaw tight, lost in thought, with his free hand in the pocket of his black dress pants.

Whatever was running through his mind seemed far from peaceful. The air around him appeared charged and dangerous.

Watching him in his brooding element brought back the Poseidon figure from my dream. The stunning god by the seashore, treading the sand.

Of course, it was him.

With a structure and imposing frame like that, it couldn’t have been any other person.

The only difference between that dream and reality was—

Me.

Yes , me.

In that dream, I desired that man. I craved him like addicts need meth. The desire was so intense, it felt like fuel igniting fire. The strong urge to be with him was…overwhelming.

The reality, however, was a painful contrast. On most days, I wanted to hate him, stay as far away as possible. When I looked at him, or even thought about him, all the emotion that burned in my chest was red-hot anger—

Matvey looked over his shoulder, and then up, like a superhuman with spider senses. Almost as if he felt me watching. When his eyes lifted and found mine, the air shifted.

Now, I felt stupid for looking.

And yet, as much as I wanted to turn on my heels and go back to the bedroom, I couldn’t tear my gaze away. He had me spellbound and rooted to the spot.

— and an insane attraction.

There was no use denying the combination of my thoughts about this Russian. As much as he made me furious, that fury ignited other sparks that had absolutely nothing to do with hate.

The seconds counted down, and he didn’t look away.

Something in my chest clenched, and heat flared up like a blade pressed too close to skin. There was rage in his gaze, but something else lingered too. Something softer, buried deep.

And neither of us made a move to say anything, but God, I felt it.

***

I was smoothing the sheets over the bed, tucking in the edges with more care than necessary. That was how desperately I needed a distraction from everything and everyone.

Hours had passed, dawn had turned to dusk since the moment on the terrace, but the look in his eyes plagued my mind.

I burned like I had a fever, and at first, I blamed the pregnancy hormones. But my unborn baby and I knew it had nothing to do with Matvey consuming my thoughts.

The eerie stillness of the day had bled into the night, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

I’d just pulled the blanket up to the fluffed pillows when I heard the door creak behind me.

I didn’t need to look; I just knew it was him.

If the cologne wasn’t a clear hint, the way the air shifted whenever he entered the room was enough to know.

It was like a foreboding aura— dark and dangerous, tempting, and enticing, all at the same time.

Being around him left me infuriated and confused. And this time was no different.

I stayed crouched beside the bed a second longer, breathing in the scent of flowers from outside and the musk from inside, pretending I hadn’t heard him. Pretending I didn’t notice the heat of his gaze prickling my back.

“I caught you staring.”

I stood and nodded without turning around. “That was hours ago. I wondered where everyone went and, in the process, wandered to the terrace.”

I felt him walk closer. The hardwood creaked under his steps, and my pulse answered in kind.

I turned then, folding my arms to hide the way my fingers trembled. He looked tired.

Again, I didn’t want to notice it, but I did. There were shadows under his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before, and wrinkle lines between his brows like he hadn’t slept in days.

“It was deliberate. I didn’t want anyone around so you wouldn’t be disturbed. I didn’t expect you to be up early,” he said, hard eyes searching my face. “Do you feel dizzy? Any headaches? Are you—”

“I’m fine.”

His jaw clenched, and the rage I had seen earlier in his eyes returned. Except, it didn’t seem like he was angry at me.

He took another step closer, looking more menacing than he already was seconds ago. “No, Zoella, you’re trying to be, but you’re not. The bastard that fucking did this—”

“You’ll find him and make him pay?”

I surprised us both with my response. He hadn’t expected to see my vulnerability, and I didn’t plan to expose it either.

It just happened to slip out, accidentally. But maybe it was because I was tired of holding it all in. Maybe I was tired of pretending that I could move past that trauma like it was a walk in the park.

Matvey was right; I was only pretending to be fine when I was dying inside, needing something—or maybe, someone—to hold me and tell me everything would be alright.

His jaw flexed, and he took yet another step forward, completely eliminating the bridge separating us.

“I’ll make sure he regrets making it out of his mother’s womb.” He hesitated, pausing as if he had something else to say but wasn’t sure how to deliver it. “No one hurts what’s mine and gets away with it.”

The minute he said that, my heart began thrashing against my chest, like a wild animal needing an escape.

It didn’t help that I was aware of how impossibly close we stood. It didn’t help that my skin sang for this man, and more than ever, I wanted him to be that person to hold me. To reassure me.

I looked at his arms and wanted to remember what it felt like to be held and cradled in them.

No.

We aren’t doing this.

“Don’t,” I whispered, stepping past him, but he caught my wrist gently.

“Zoella.”

I froze at the way he said my name. It wasn’t angry or soft. Just…aching.

He pressed in, close enough that the warmth of his body seeped into my skin. His hand slid from my wrist up to my shoulder, then to my jaw, thumb brushing along the edge like he was committing the shape of me to his memory.

“We’re not doing this tonight,” I murmured, but it didn’t come out steady.

His gaze dropped to my mouth and lingered.

“No?” he asked, barely above a breath. “Who’s calling the shots?”

And then his knuckles skimmed down my side, over the thin fabric of my tube top, a light graze over my shorts, right before his fingernails dug into my hip.

My stomach clenched, my braless nipples peaked, pressing against the elastic fabric, and my breath caught.

It was the kind of touch that said “I want you” without the words. The kind that set fire to everything I’d been trying to hold in.

“Matvey…” I warned, but it sounded more like a plea.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he just looked at me like I was the only valuable thing left in his world.

And maybe that was why, when the storm finally broke between us, I didn’t stop him.

The rest of the night moved quietly.

But this quiet wasn’t eerie like before. It was welcomed, with only the sound of our pleasure rising to the roof as the air between us turned molten, thick with everything we hadn’t said—everything I was too afraid to feel.

I didn’t wait.

I yanked him close to me, my fingers sinking into his overgrown hair, needing him like I needed air.

Our mouths clashed in a heated blur of frustration and mad raging hunger, all heat and desperation, like we could erase the darkness hanging over our heads if we just kissed hard enough.

He lifted me onto the bed with a low growl and dragged down my shorts roughly, pulling the pair off my feet and throwing them to the floor.

His voice dropped to a husky tone that turned my insides to liquid.

“Spread your legs for me,” he whispered, and I did. “Perfect.”

I lay before him with my legs spread widely apart, too wet, too ready for him to devour. And when he ran his fingers over my clit, I whimpered in delight and shuddered shamelessly in anticipation.

Without any warning, his shoulders slipped between my thighs, and my breath caught.

My fingers curled into the sheets.

Then he buried his face between my legs with no hesitation or mercy.

A choked sound tore from my throat, half-moan, half-shock at just how good it felt, like I was being transported to a realm beyond the natural.

My back arched instinctively, hips twitching toward his mouth as he dragged his tongue through my wet pussy like he was starved for the taste.

He groaned, nipped at my clit, and pleasure unfurled in me like fire licking up dry wood: fast, greedy, and all-consuming.

I clenched the sheets tighter, grounding myself against the onslaught of sensation.

My thighs trembled around his head, and I could barely hear anything over the sound of my pulse racing.

Every flick of his tongue and low growl that vibrated against me pushed me closer to the edge.

And he didn’t stop. He wanted me undone, shaking, shattered in his hands.

And I was so close to giving him exactly that until he paused, raised his head, and left me in painful suspense.

“Mat—”

“Hush, baby.” He smirked, starting for the buttons on his dress shirt. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He peeled his shirt off. His pants went next.

Truly a god. Much more perfect than Poseidon.

His body was solid and warm as he pressed me down into the sheets and nestled his cock between my thighs.

I gasped his name against his throat, and he groaned like the sound of it undid him.

Outside this room, everything was spiraling. There was still the masked man on the loose. But right now, I didn’t care.

Right now, it was just him.

The press of his body over mine. The hard drag of his mouth on my neck. The way his eyes locked on mine like he was shattering and holding the pieces together with only his will.

Every touch lit a raw fire inside me.

With each firm and purposeful thrust of his hips, pummeling his cock deeper and deeper inside of me, I felt branded, claimed, pulled under by the current I was not sure we would ever truly escape.

For a few quiet hours, there was no Bratva, haunting nightmares of dying at a killer’s hands, or fear of danger.

It was just us, me and Matvey, burning slow and hot in the dark.