Page 14 of Konstantin (Marinov Bratva #1)

“Well, either way, I really think you need to stop calling me your girlfriend. People will start to believe it.”

His expression darkens as he leans in. “It’s inevitable, Ms. Monroe. I’m just getting you used to the idea.”

I let out a wry laugh. “Look, if this is about sex…” My voice drops so the other tables don’t overhear. “Maybe we should just get it over with. That way you can be done with whatever interest you have in me.”

“You think I just want to fuck you?” His lips curl as he leans in, close enough that every nerve in my body sparks to life. “Net, katyonak. Of course I want to see you on your knees—begging, crying because you can’t take another orgasm.”

His hand grips mine, thumb drawing circles on my skin with rough tenderness. “But that’s not all this is. You’re the kind of woman I want to savor, Tessa. Slowly. Thoroughly. Again and again. Until you ache for it. Until you can’t breathe without it. Without me .”

I swallow hard, wanting everything he just described.

He’s dangerous. Arrogant. Criminal. Yet here I am being a whore for the enemy.

My lips wind into a smirk. “Bold of you to assume I’d be the one begging.”

Amusement flickers beneath the hunger breeding within his gaze.

“Oh, you will. And when you do, you’ll say my name like it’s a prayer…or a curse. Either way, you’ll mean every fucking syllable.”

My pulse skips, hand gripping the glass a little too tight.

This is exactly what I wanted, right? To make him want me, crave me. Until I’ve infiltrated every facet of his life.

Except I wasn’t supposed to feel this out of control of my own body.

“So, are you going to tell me who Nadia was?” I quickly change the subject, though the thought of that woman makes me want to punch something.

He sighs, like he’d rather talk about anything else. “We slept together. Once. Years ago. Her family runs in my circles, and she thought there’d be wedding bells, but I’ve never been one to desire marriage and I told her so.”

I’m surprised he gave me all of that. A man like Konstantin doesn’t strike me as the open-book kind of guy.

“So you never plan on getting married?”

He shakes his head. “There’s no need.”

“Me too. ”

His brow pops. “And why is that?”

I laugh. “I need a reason, but you don’t?”

“Fair enough.” The sides of his eyes crinkle with his genuine smile.

“I’m sure your bed’s never empty, though. How many women are you sleeping with right now? One? Five?”

The image flashes through my mind: some faceless woman wrapped in his sheets, laughing at something he said, touching what I shouldn’t care about. But I do.

He squeezes my hand. “Right now? I’m hoping it’ll be you. No strings, of course. For either of us.”

My core tightens and I reach for my water, the cool glass the only thing keeping me grounded. I shouldn’t even be entertaining this. But it’s been so long. And that mouth… God help me, the things it did to me.

“You feel it too.” He drags his thumb over my knuckles. “Don’t lie to me.”

My throat dries. That voice could drag me straight to hell, and I’d beg him to take me deeper.

If he hadn’t destroyed my brother’s life, would I want him? Could I actually fall for someone who kills without blinking, who rules with fear and violence?

I don’t want to know the answer. But deep down in the darkest, most broken parts of me…I think I could. And that makes me just as twisted.

“No.” It’s barely a whisper.

His smile is murky and knowing. “You lie.”

He lifts my hand, brushing a kiss against my knuckles. My lashes flutter from the sensation, from the warmth of his breath.

“And I don’t like liars.”

“Maybe you’re the one lying to yourself.” My gaze holds his, daring him .

“I am,” he says, low and raw. “But not about this.”

His words swim with a husky baritone, dripping with meaning that I don’t understand. What is he lying about?

“You want me,” he goes on. “And I want you. That’s a fact. Denying it doesn’t make it any less true.”

A part of me wants to run. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating in the most maddening way.

He doesn’t just take up space. He owns it. And somehow, without touching me, he already owns this moment too.

“How long’s it been?” His words are etched in unsatiable hunger.

“What?”

His mouth curves. “Since you were properly fucked.”

Heat pulses straight to my core. My God, this isn’t fair.

“That’s none of your business.” It comes out breathless instead of indignant, and I hate that.

“Ah…” His eyes narrow. “So never.”

He’s not wrong.

“Shame.” He presses another kiss against my hand—soft, unhurried—and I feel it everywhere. “I could have you crying my name by dessert, if only you’d stop pretending you don’t want it.”

I stare at him over the rim of my glass, refusing to let him see how deep he’s already gotten under my skin.

“Think about it,” he adds, voice dipping to a gruff whisper.

My fingers tighten around the glass.

“Unless you’re afraid you’ll just keep coming back for more.”

I meet his stare and force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Marinov. You’re not that unforgettable.”

He laughs, completely unbothered. Like he already knows I’m lying.

The worst part is, deep down, I know if I let him have those parts of me I’ve never let anyone else see, I’ll never want to walk away.

And there’s no coming back from that.