Page 32 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #15)
“Thank you,” I murmur. I lean forward and kiss him, meaning it to be soft, grateful, but as always, it deepens. His lips press to mine, gentle at first, then insistent, hunger waking in the touch.
He cups my face, tilts my head back, and kisses me again, this time deeper.
My hands slide into his hair, tugging him closer, desperate to feel all of him.
His tongue slips past my lips, coaxing a gasp, his teeth nipping just enough to make me shiver.
He tastes like coffee and something dark, something purely Adrian.
He doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t need to. He lifts me effortlessly, guiding me until I’m straddling his lap, the soft robe I’m still wearing falling open as I settle against him. His hands find my waist, hot through the silk, gliding up to cup my bare breasts.
He thumbs my nipples, slow and purposeful, making me arch into him. I moan into his mouth, my hips grinding down, already aching, already wet for him.
Adrian groans, hands tightening on my hips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
I fumble with his shirt, impatient, shoving it off his shoulders so I can press my mouth to his skin.
I kiss down his throat, biting gently at his collarbone, loving the way he tips his head back, his hands everywhere: my breasts, my hips, my thighs.
He tugs my robe open and pushes it from my shoulders, leaving me naked in his lap, his dark eyes devouring me.
His hands move lower, finding the heat between my legs. He strokes me, slow at first, teasing my clit with the pad of his thumb, sliding two fingers inside me. I gasp, clutching his shoulders, rocking into his hand.
“Please,” I whisper, “I need you.”
He pulls his hand away and lifts me, carrying me easily across the room, laying me down on the couch.
He kneels between my thighs, eyes locked to mine as he undoes his belt, pushes his slacks down just enough to free his cock.
It’s thick and hard, the head already slick.
He strokes himself once, twice, then lines up and slides into me in one deep, perfect thrust.
I cry out, arching, and he stills, buried to the hilt, letting me adjust, his breath harsh and broken.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, bending to kiss me again. His hips start to move—slow, deep strokes at first, then faster, harder, finding the rhythm he knows will make me unravel.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wide, his cock hitting the spot that makes me see stars.
I meet every thrust, my nails digging into his back, my legs wrapping around him, holding him tight.
The world narrows to the feel of him inside me, the slick heat, the way he whispers my name like a vow.
He slows, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, making me sob, making me beg. “Adrian, please don’t stop, fuck!”
He bites my shoulder, his hand slipping between us, finding my clit and rubbing hard, relentless circles. “Come for me, Talia. Let me feel you.”
I shatter, the orgasm crashing over me in waves, my body clenching around him, my voice breaking on a cry. He groans, thrusting faster, chasing his own release, until he buries himself deep and comes with a guttural sound, spilling inside me.
We collapse together, tangled and breathless, sweat cooling on our skin. He holds me close, his hand stroking my hair, his lips pressed to my temple. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, voice rough with emotion.
I nuzzle into his chest, letting myself melt into him, letting his pride and love fill all the places that used to ache. For a long time, we stay like that, the city quiet outside, the world reduced to the steady thrum of our hearts, the slow, lazy trace of his hand on my bare skin.
Later, as the sun sets and the lights of the city flicker on, Adrian helps me up, wraps me in his shirt, and carries me to bed. He tucks me in, kisses me slow and sweet, and lies beside me, his hand on my belly, his breath warm at my ear.
“You’re wonderful, Talia,” he murmurs, his voice like a promise.
He brushes a stray curl from my cheek, then draws me close until my head rests against his chest. His arm drapes across my waist, anchoring me there. His body is still warm, the steady thump of his heart a calming rhythm under my palm.
I let out a long, contented sigh, snuggling into his embrace. For a moment, neither of us says anything. The soft hush of the city outside, the muted patter of rain against the window, and the tangle of our limbs are all I need.
Adrian strokes my back, tracing lazy shapes across my bare skin. “You know,” he says, lips grazing the top of my head, “if your editor is smart, they’ll give you your own column. Something big.”
I laugh quietly, my hand wandering up to play with the buttons of his shirt. “You just want the world to know you’re married to a famous journalist.”
“Of course,” he teases, his voice rich with affection. “I want everyone to know that the most brilliant woman in the city is mine.”
I nudge him gently with my elbow. “Maybe you’re just angling for good press.”
He lifts my chin, meeting my gaze with a fond smirk. “I don’t need good press. I need you.”
I roll my eyes, but my heart stumbles at the earnestness in his tone. “That was almost sweet, Sharov.”
He grins. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence, laughter fading into quiet peace. Adrian’s fingers trace up and down my arm, lulling me toward sleep. “Rest,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’ve changed the world enough for one day.”
I close my eyes, letting his warmth and the steady rise and fall of his chest lull me under. For the first time in a long time, I drift off feeling safe—loved, seen, and exactly where I belong.
*****
THE END