Page 25 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #14)

I wake up to the sound of whispering outside. I smile through still closed eyes. It’s Arina again, telling off one of the maids.

“I said he likes orange juice, not watermelon! Please take this tray back. Wait, you know what? I’ll do it myself. You forgot to bring the yogurt.”

She’s trying to be quiet, but her annoyed whisper can be heard through the door.

I snuggle deeper into the bed. Over the past week, Arina has made my room as comfortable as she possibly can.

She got hold of these pillows that feel like clouds, ensured there are scented candles to keep the room smelling fresh, got me something called a humidifier, and other things I never knew existed.

I take a deep breath, just to smell Arina’s perfume. Most nights, at my request, she sleeps next to me. I tell her I’m bored out of my wits while I heal and have no company or work, so she doesn’t argue, even though I know she thinks she might be a distraction.

But, she’s not. She’s the only thing keeping me sane. We don’t do much at night. Usually, just hold hands and talk. But I find myself looking forward to our little ritual.

Fully awake now, I sit up in bed and stretch without wincing, and it feels like a victory. A grin spreads across my face.

At last, I don’t hurt. I shift around a little, testing my joints. My ribs don’t hurt this morning. I pull up my T-shirt and notice the bruises there have faded to almost non-existent.

I feel a warmth in my chest, and it’s not from the relief I feel over the fact that I’m mostly healed; rather, it comes from the knowledge that I healed because of her . After everything I’ve done, all the mean words she overheard, she still came back. She still stayed.

Just then, the door opens without a warning knock, and I know it’s Arina, thinking she’ll wake me. I smile at the sight of her, and her eyes widen when she sees me sitting up and grinning.

“You’re awake!” she squeals. “And you’re sitting up! How are you feeling?”

“Like I could run a marathon,” I fire back.

“Sure, you could.” She rolls her eyes, though I can see the relief on her face.

She walks over with my breakfast tray in her hands, and for the dozenth time this week, I worry about her. Since I got hurt, she’s been taking such good care of me that I wonder if she’s forgotten that she needs care too.

She sets the tray across my lap. “The doctor said you need protein, so eat up.”

I reach for her hand instead, my fingers curling around her wrist. “Thank you.”

“It’s just breakfast,” she says, but her cheeks flush.

“Not for that.” I shake my head. My thumb brushes the soft skin of her inner wrist. “For everything, Arina. These last few days, I couldn’t have managed without you.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and begins to pour me some juice from the pitcher. “Well, maybe if you weren’t such a grumpy stooge, the maids would have helped you.”

“Hey!” I protest playfully. “It’s not my fault they suck at doing things right.”

“You snapped at them every time they entered. By the end of it, they told me in so many words to handle you myself or they’ll quit,” she looks amused.

I grin as I reach for a piece of toast. “Well, that explains it then,” I say and take a bite.

“Explains what?”

“Why do you look more tired than I do, even though I’m the one who got beaten up?” I grin.

Arina’s eyes widen in mock shock at my playful remark as she picks up a grape and throws it at me. I duck with a laugh before sitting back up, and the laughter fades when I take her hand again and look into her eyes. “You sure you’re taking care of yourself?” I ask, with worry.

“Don’t worry about me. Someone had to make sure you didn’t die in your sleep,” she tries to joke, but when I don’t smile, she sighs. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

“I do, actually,” I say softly, remembering the terror on her face when she saw me at the warehouse. “But I’m okay now, really. I want you to stop hovering over me, okay? Make a plan with the girls. Go out shopping. Get a massage. Get some rest, Arina.”

She smiles as she leans forward, her hand cupping my cheek. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?”

“I’ll try not to make a habit of it,” I promise, turning my face to press a kiss to her palm. “And you’ll get some rest tonight?”

“Yes,” she promises now, her eyes darting between mine. The past week has been a haze with all those medications I’ve been having, and seeing the color of her eyes properly, the pretty hues of blues and greens that remind me of a tropical forest, makes me go into a trance.

She doesn’t pull away, and ever so slowly, I interlace my fingers with hers.

God, how I missed her. She was around, yes.

But I missed being one with her, missed the softness of her skin against mine, missed that look in her eyes when I hit the spots she likes, missed the feel of her hair spreading across my chest.

With our eyes still locked, time turns in on itself and ceases to exist. The air we breathe becomes shared; my skin hums, and I feel charged, electric.

Her breath catches, and I watch her gaze drop to my mouth.

“I should let you eat,” she says in a whisper.

“I’m not very hungry.” I push the tray aside. “What I really want is a shower.”

“Then I should let you shower,” she whispers, and when she swallows, her throat bobs.

“But there’s a problem,” I say hoarsely, my eyes now roving down to her lips, down her body, before flicking back up again. She’s still in her sleep shorts, which are so terribly short, and that tight t-shirt does little to curtail my imagination.

She bites her lower lip and inches toward me. “Which is?”

“I might get bored in there all by myself.” I raise an eyebrow. “Any suggestions for entertainment?”

For a moment, she just stares, then a slow smile spreads across her face, and she makes me feel divinely primal.

“I might have an idea or two,” she says, her voice dropping a notch lower.

Checkmate.

I grin and swing my legs over the side of the bed, grab her hand, and tug her toward the bathroom. She laughs as she follows.

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy!” she squeals at my pace as she follows. Once inside, I slam the door shut.

“Then I guess you’ll have to do all the work,” I murmur, backing her against the counter.

Her lips part as she looks up at me, and that’s all the invitation I need.

I lean down and skim my lips against hers, over and over, until she giggles and bites playfully into my lower lip.

I grin as I kiss her properly now, sliding my lips along hers, and then she parts her lips for me, and I slither my tongue into her mouth.

She melts against me as her hands slide up my chest.

I pull away and brush my nose against hers. “I’ve missed you,” I breathe.

“I missed you, too,” she whispers, and my chest cracks open.

I kiss her again, harder this time, my palms clutching the back of her neck, my thumbs caressing her jawline. The heat between us flares, and I reach for her shirt with greedy hands, sliding it over her head.

I gasp and pull back when I notice she isn’t wearing a bra.

“You’ve been walking around the house like that?” I growl, unable to help the possessiveness thrumming through me, even while my eyes drink in the sight of her naked breasts.

“Doctor’s orders,” she says with a wicked grin. “I have no time to dress fully with a patient to attend.”

“Is that so?” I trail my fingers down her throat, across her collarbone, to cup one breast. “And what’s the medical justification for this?”

Her head falls back as I brush my thumb across her nipple. “Keeping your heart rate up. It’s... therapeutic.”

I laugh and dip my head low, nibbling at her neck.

She’s now tugging at my sweatpants, pushing them down my hips, and then I pull back as her hands slide my t-shirt over my body until I stand naked before her.

Only fair, since she’s already half-bare.

“Get the water running,” she urges, and I step back to turn on the shower. When I look back, she’s stepped out of her cotton shorts, and my greedy eyes lap up the swell of her breasts, the tapering at her waist, the flare of her hips.

God, if she could see herself the way I do.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, giving out my hand.

She blushes as she takes it. “Shut up and get in the shower,” she tries to deflect from the compliment.

I smile and pull her in with me, making sure she gets most of the warm water. The water cascades over her hair, plastering it to her breasts. Rivulets run down her body, tracing paths I want to follow with my tongue.

“Turn around,” she requests softly, and I turn to face the wall as she takes some soap and begins to lather my shoulders and back, massaging the tension from my muscles.

“Christ, that feels good,” I groan as her thumbs dig into a knot at the base of my spine.

“You’re tight everywhere,” she murmurs, working her way lower. “Must be from lying in bed for days.”

Her hands skim my ass, my thighs, and I have to brace myself against the wall to keep from turning and pinning her against it. She’s being gentle with me, a little too gentle.

When she’s all done, I turn and pour some body wash into my own hands. I begin to glide over her shoulders and move lower, cupping her breasts. I watch how her nipples pucker as my thumbs circle them, and my cock begins to twitch, to harden. Her breath hitches, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Like that?” I ask.

“Mmm,” is all she manages, arching into my touch.

I continue downward, over the soft plane of her stomach, the curve of her hips.

And then, I get on my knees, my hands gripping her hips. Her eyes blast open as I begin to slide my hands down the inside of her thighs.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice breathy. “Your injuries—”

“I’m fine,” I assure her, pressing a kiss to her hip bone. “Besides, it’s my turn to take care of you.