Page 26 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

Kostya had always taken pride in his control. In the boardroom, in a firefight, in bed. Control was what kept him alive in his world, what made him effective, what separated him from the hotheads who died young and bloody.

But with Azriel beneath him, her smoky gray eyes dark with desire and her lips parted on his name, control became something he had to fight for with every breath.

“Kostya,” she whispered, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the scars that mapped his history.

Each touch sent fire racing through his veins, each caress undoing another layer of his carefully maintained restraint.

Her skin was soft and warm beneath his hands, the flush of arousal rising slowly, beautifully.

He captured her mouth with his, savoring the soft gasp she made when his tongue swept against hers.

This time would be different. Not the desperate claiming of their first night together, not the heated reunion after his return from business.

This would be worship. Reverence. A slow exploration of everything that made her his.

“I want to take my time with you,” he murmured against her throat, lips brushing the racing pulse beneath her skin. “Want to memorize every sound you make, every place that makes you tremble.”

She made a sound, half sigh, half moan, that went straight to his core.

His hands slid over her ribs, the gentle curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.

He kissed his way down, mouth mapping her like scripture, tongue tasting the salt of her skin.

He lingered at her breasts, taking one into his mouth while his fingers teased the other.

Her breath caught, fingers curling into his hair.

“Kostya…” she gasped, her back arching.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with restraint.

He took his time, drawing circles around her nipples with his tongue until her thighs shifted restlessly and her nails bit into his shoulders. He kissed lower, trailing fire over her stomach, nuzzling the soft curve just above her sex, inhaling the musky sweetness of her arousal.

When he settled between her thighs, her legs fell open with trust so complete it undid him. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, taking in every twitch and shiver.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he said softly.

She did.

Then he licked her, slow and deliberate, tongue sliding through her folds, savoring the way her entire body jolted.

He groaned as he tasted her, already soaked for him, already trembling.

He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, watching her fall apart inch by inch, her thighs trembling around his head, her hands fisting the sheets.

He sucked her gently, then harder, alternating pressure, slipping a finger inside her, then a second when her body greedily welcomed the stretch.

She was so tight, so wet, so perfect. Her hips rolled into his mouth, breath coming in short, broken gasps.

He curled his fingers just right, and she shattered.

Her cry was raw, beautiful, full of the kind of pleasure that cracked open something inside him. She pulsed around his fingers, body shaking with release, and still, he didn’t stop, licking her through it, drawing every last tremor until she collapsed back onto the bed, breathless.

Only then did he rise above her, kissing her slowly as she reached for him, pulling him closer, aligning their bodies. He pressed the head of his cock against her entrance, pausing, brushing her hair from her face.

“Are you sure?” he asked, even now.

Her answer was a breathless, “Please.”

He slid into her in one deep, slow thrust. Her lips parted in a soft cry, her legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him deeper. Her heat surrounded him, wet and tight and perfect, and for a moment, he just stayed there, buried inside her, trembling from the sheer intensity of it.

“You feel like home,” he whispered.

Then he began to move.

Slowly. Reverently. Each thrust was drawn out, deep and deliberate, designed to drive them both insane.

Her fingers traced the muscles of his back, nails dragging lightly as her hips rose to meet his.

She moaned his name again, like a prayer.

Like a promise. He kissed her every time she gasped, drank in every sound she made like it would keep him alive.

“I can feel everything,” she whispered. “All of you.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “You’re everything to me.”

Their rhythm built gradually, hips rocking together in perfect sync. Her body opened for him, took him deeper with every thrust, until the tension coiled again, tighter, hotter. He slipped a hand between them, fingers stroking her clit as he moved inside her.

She gasped, writhing beneath him. “Kostya, don’t stop.“

“I won’t,” he promised, teeth grazing her shoulder. “I’ll never stop.”

Her body seized around him with a second climax, stronger than the first, and this time she sobbed his name, arms clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping her anchored.

He followed, hips jerking as he came with a deep, hoarse groan, emptying into her with a relief that felt like breaking and healing all at once.

They stayed tangled, panting, foreheads pressed together. Her fingers traced the back of his neck, slow and soothing, as his heart thudded against hers.

“You didn’t just take your time,” she murmured. “You gave me something back.”

He kissed her, softer now. “You gave me something, too. Everything.”

They lay tangled together afterward, her head on his chest, their breathing slowly returning to normal.

He traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, marveling at how right this felt, how perfectly she fit against him.

The moonlight streaming through the windows painted silver stripes across her skin, and he found himself memorizing every detail of this moment.

“I never thought it could be like this,” she whispered against his chest, her breath warm on his skin.

“Like what?” he asked, though something in her tone made his chest tighten.

“Safe. Wanted.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes, and he saw something vulnerable there that made him want to tear apart anyone who had ever made her feel otherwise. “With my father, I learned that love meant pain. That caring about someone meant they could hurt you worse than anyone else.”

The casual way she mentioned it, like it was simply a fact of life, made rage simmer in his veins. But he kept his voice gentle when he spoke. “That wasn’t love, solnyshka . That was abuse.”

She smiled at the Russian endearment, her fingers tracing the tattoos that decorated his ribs. “I’m starting to understand the difference.”

The simple statement hit him harder than any declaration of love could have. She was learning to trust again, learning that intimacy didn’t have to come with pain, and somehow she was learning it with him. The responsibility of that trust felt heavier than any business deal he’d ever negotiated.

“Stay with me,” he murmured into her hair, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She lifted her head to look at him, confusion flickering in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I mean, really stay. Not because of our marriage or your father’s debt, but because you want to. Because this means something to you, too.”

The vulnerability in his own voice surprised him, but he couldn’t take the words back. Didn’t want to. She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing circles on his chest, and he held his breath waiting for her answer.

“It does mean something,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. “You mean something to me, Kostya. More than I expected, more than I thought possible.”

Relief flooded through him, followed immediately by something that felt dangerously close to love. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, pulling her closer.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “Never wanted to protect someone the way I want to protect you. Never needed someone to be safe and happy the way I need you to be.”

She was quiet for so long he wondered if she’d fallen asleep, but then she spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

“Sometimes I wake up and forget where I am. For just a second, I think I’m back in that house, waiting for the next explosion, the next punishment for existing.

But then I remember I’m here, with you, and it feels like I can breathe again. ”

The confession broke something open in his chest. He tilted her chin up so he could see her face, allowing her to see the fierce protectiveness blazing in his eyes.

“He will never touch you again,” he said, each word a solemn vow. “Never even get close enough to breathe the same air as you. I promise you that.”

Something flickered across her expression, too quick for him to read, but she nodded and settled back against his chest. “I believe you.”

“Good,” he said simply, but the word carried the weight of everything he couldn’t yet say, everything he was planning to do to make sure that promise became reality.

***

Three hours later, they sat around the massive dining table in the main Nikolai family home, surrounded by the controlled chaos that defined any gathering of his siblings and cousins.

Azriel had changed into a soft blue dress that made her eyes look like storm clouds, and Kostya found himself stealing glances at her throughout dinner.

She’d grown more comfortable with his family over the past few weeks. Where once she’d been quiet and watchful during these gatherings, now she laughed at Viktor’s stories and traded barbs with Irina like she’d been part of their circle for years.