Page 40 of Owned Bratva Bride

But our fingers brushed as she got to me.

The feel of her warm skin against mine lingered. I couldn’t ignore it.

I closed in on her, forcing her to lean her back slightly against a shelf.

“Don’t tempt me. You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I grated against her ears.

Her only response was a smirk. Then she walked away.

***

“They said he should be dead by now, with the way his capo was looking at him,” Viktor disclosed, chuckling.

“That would mean he’s lucky,” I remarked, not looking up from the report I was reading.

“Boss, Navarro hasn’t lifted a finger yet. I don’t think he’s so interested in keeping her safe,” Leonid informed.

“No signs of planning a retaliation?”

“No, Boss. We’ve kept a close watch on him and his men. It’s just been business as usual there.”

“And we’ve not received any call from him, either,” Viktor added.

“Maybe he just doesn’t care. She’s not his wife,” Leonid offered.

The thought of him—or anyone at all—not caring about her twisted my stomach in some kind of way. It made me hate Navarro more. Not that the image of him smiling lovingly with her made me hate him less.

“Or he’s biding time. Maybe he’s waiting for us to let our guards down before he swoops in like a hawk,” I mentioned.

They both nodded in agreement.

“He’ll wait forever, then,” Viktor uttered.

“Don’t stop watching them, either. The bastard has nothing to lose; he might be planning to go all out,” I instructed.

“Yes, Boss.”

“You can leave now.”

I didn’t get up from my seat behind the desk until later that evening.

Once I did, I went straight to the security monitors.

There she was, the vixen that was taking my mind captive. She was sitting on the hallway floor, bent over a book, her legs wrapped in a blanket.

My eyes remained fixed on the screen, watching her unmoving body, imagining what it would feel like to sweep the hair covering the side of her face away.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I left the office and went straight to my bedroom.

I found it hard to sleep.

When I eventually did, different images of Marielle bombarded me. I dreamt of her pressed beneath me, her skinmelding with mine, in my bed. I could hear her voice as she pleaded for mercy as I tortured her with my body.

I woke up covered in sweat. I didn’t need to look down; the throbbing sensation in my dick said it all.

I sighed in shame.