Page 25 of Sexting the Bratva Boss (Text to Touch)

Ruslan

"I won't let anything become an obstacle for you."

Not even myself.

I said those words while looking into Eva's hopeful eyes. I wasn't just speaking to her—I was making a promise to myself.

When Eva mentioned family, childhood memories came flooding back, threatening to drown me.

I saw my parents and their so-called marriage—nothing but a transaction built on family interests and power.

No love. Just unspoken mutual exploitation.

In that palace-like mansion, I'd never once seen them eat a meal together.

I remembered my so-called father, who didn't even glance at my injuries.

"If you want to be the bratva heir, a little cut like that is nothing," he'd said.

Then came my mother's voice, telling the butler with obvious irritation, "I'm attending a very important party."

The butler couldn't call a doctor without their consent.

The pain—a slash from chest to abdomen, the result of a life-or-death fight with one of my father's bastard sons. I'd killed the kid, but barely survived myself. I could feel all my blood draining from the wound. Even now, I wondered how I'd made it through that night.

I remembered the fever that nearly killed me, how I felt myself slipping into permanent darkness. Only when my mother finally came home from her party did she let the butler take me to the hospital. That's the only reason I'm alive.

Family. Children. Love. These were never warm words for me.

I'd never experienced parental love—how could I love my own child? The same cold, selfish blood that ran through my father's veins ran through mine. I couldn't give a child the warm home they deserved.

I was terrified of recreating the suffocating childhood I'd endured for another innocent life.

I didn't know how to be a decent husband, let alone a father. And Eva didn't even know I led the bratva—she'd never seen real darkness.

I chose the coward's way out, using her career as an excuse to tell her it wasn't time. I'd rather see her succeed, become the woman she dreamed of being, than drag her into a miserable marriage and my dark world.

I watched the light in her eyes slowly die as I spoke, knowing my words were breaking her heart. But I had no choice.

Hurting her now was better than destroying her entire life.

After that night, our relationship hit rock bottom. The air was thick with awkward silence.

She didn't say anything more about it, but I could feel her sadness. She stopped lighting up when I came home, stopped sharing funny stories from set. Several times I found her sitting alone by the window, staring out with a loneliness I'd never seen in her before.

I felt frustrated but didn't know how to fix things .

The turning point came one night when I got back from business and found her already asleep, brow still slightly furrowed.

I lay down beside her and pulled her into my arms. In her sleep, she seemed to sense my presence and unconsciously curled closer, seeking warmth.

That instinctive movement eased some of the tension I'd been carrying.

The next morning, she gave me her usual good-morning kiss, tasting of mint toothpaste.

That evening, I tried to be intimate with her. I could feel her initial stiffness, but under my insistent yet gentle kisses, that resistance melted into burning desire. She responded even more passionately than usual, as if trying to merge herself completely into my body.

Good sex was better proof of reconciliation than any words. Bodies don't lie—since she still wanted me, still accepted me, our problems were behind us.

After that, everything seemed to get back on track. She'd enthusiastically discuss scripts with me, analyze characters. She'd imitate Elliot throwing tantrums on set, making me laugh.

Thursday afternoon, I'd just finished a video conference about Stellar Entertainment's next investment cycle when Anna knocked and entered.

"Boss, an invitation from the Vanderbilt Family." Anna placed the envelope on my desk. "Next Saturday at eight PM, Amberlin Crystal Banquet Hall. Annual charity gala for the children's cancer foundation."

I picked up the invitation. These events weren't new to me—I got dozens of similar invitations every year.

They were social games for high society to maintain appearances, exchange resources, and consolidate their circles.

Usually, I had zero interest. I'd either have my assistant write a seven-figure check in my name or occasionally attend alone, observing from the sidelines while making necessary small talk before leaving early .

Bringing a date? The thought had never crossed my mind.

But this time, looking at that elegant invitation, Eva's face naturally appeared in my thoughts. With Eva, I felt an urge to announce to the world that she belonged to me. I imagined her in the most stunning gown, walking into the ballroom on my arm, and the image made my chest warm.

"Anna." I set down the invitation. "Tell Mr. Vanderbilt that I'll attend."

"Yes, Boss. Should I arrange formal wear for you?" she asked, clearly used to this routine.

"I'll handle it myself." I picked up the latest quarterly financial reports. "You can go."

"Yes, Boss."

At ten PM, I came home to find Eva sprawled on the carpet surrounded by several books on method acting, taking notes with intense focus. The lamplight created a soft halo around her concentrated profile. She didn't look like a famous actress in that moment—more like a student cramming for finals.

My heart involuntarily softened. I took off my suit jacket and sat on the carpet beside her.

She was so absorbed in reading that she didn't notice me until I sat down. She looked up with delight. "You're home!"

"Yeah." I reached out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Studying acting?"

"Books Margaret recommended," she showed me the text like a proud student. "She says a good actor never stops learning."

"Are you free next Saturday evening?" I asked.

"Next Saturday?" She thought for a moment. "I should be. Elliot said we're getting a two-day break next week."

"Good." I nodded. "Come with me to Amberlin Crystal Banquet Hall for a gala."

"A gala?" Her eyes immediately lit up with curiosity. "What kind of gala?"

"Charity event hosted by the Vanderbilt Family," I said casually. "Lots of boring people saying boring things. "

"The Vanderbilt Family?" Her eyes widened. "The legendary financial dynasty?"

"It'll be quite the spectacle!" She obviously ignored my dismissive comment, getting excited as she leaned toward me on her knees, the movement making her oversized t-shirt slip down to reveal her delicate collarbone. "What do I need to prepare? I've never been to anything like this."

"Don't worry about any of that," I cupped her cheek, thumb stroking her smooth skin. "Just be yourself. I'll have everything else handled."

"Who did you usually take as your date to these things?" she asked, blinking like a curious kitten.

Looking into those green eyes full of anticipation and barely concealed nervousness, I felt like a cat had gently scratched me with soft claws. I ruffled her hair affectionately.

"I don't usually attend these events, and when I do, I go alone," I answered, voice low and serious.

"Alone?" She seemed surprised.

"Yes." I looked at her steadily. "You'll be my first date."

Eva froze, clearly not expecting that answer.

After a few seconds, she launched herself at me, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck and burying her face against my throat, nuzzling like a contented cat.

Holding her warm, soft body and breathing in her familiar citrus scent, I felt deeply satisfied.

Finally, she lifted her head to look at me, cheeks flushed pink.

She pressed a kiss to my lips. "I'm honored, Mr. Yvannov."

I gripped the back of her head and deepened the kiss.

My tongue invaded her mouth, teasing and tasting while she responded eagerly.

I pulled her closer until there was no space between us, feeling her soft breasts pressed against my chest. We exchanged saliva between tangled lips and tongues, creating wet sounds that made my blood heat.

Only when she started gasping for air and gently pushed against my chest did I finally pull back slightly.

Looking at her swollen, glistening lips and the dazed desire in her beautiful eyes, I kissed her again.

The afternoon of the gala, I had Stellar Entertainment's styling team come to the house.

The massive walk-in closet had been transformed into a professional studio rivaling any haute couture backstage. Dozens of racks filled with the latest designer gowns were wheeled in. Stylist Jett selected several different styles for her to try.

I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed, quietly appreciating the show.

Each time Eva emerged in a different gown, she'd ask for my opinion. My answer was always the same.

"Beautiful."

It was the truth—I found her stunning in every single one. The gowns seemed made for her.

But after hearing the same response repeatedly, Eva complained, "Seriously, Ruslan? You're such a guy," then went back to discussing options with the stylist.

Finally, Jett and Eva settled on a red silk gown.

When Eva stepped out of the dressing room wearing it, the entire room seemed to fall silent.

I gestured to the styling team, who quietly filed out and thoughtfully closed the door behind them.

Looking at Eva, I felt my breathing stop.

The dress was the deepest red, silk fabric perfectly molding to her curves and emphasizing her tiny waist. The high slit showed glimpses of her long, elegant legs with each step.

Usually, she wore no makeup, beautiful as a white rose with morning dew.

But now, with expert makeup, she was a different kind of beautiful. Red lips like fire, eyes sultry and captivating—dangerously, breathtakingly gorgeous.