Page 31 of Sexting the Bratva Boss (Text to Touch)

We went to an ordinary chain supermarket near the mansion.

The evening supermarket was alive with domestic energy—housewives pushing shopping carts, elderly folks picking through discounted vegetables, kids crying for candy.

All of it completely clashed with Ruslan's perfectly tailored suit and that intimidating aura that screamed "stay back. "

The moment he walked in, every eye in the place was on him. He seemed to notice, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. I couldn't help but smile—this man who controlled everything was actually uncomfortable in a grocery store.

I naturally linked my arm through his and said in a voice only we could hear, "Relax, Mr. Yvannov. There are no corporate spies here, just housewives trying to buy fresh eggs."

He seemed amused by my comment, the corner of his mouth lifting as the tension left his body. He took my hand while pushing the cart, following me like a dedicated bodyguard.

I picked up a box of fresh strawberries and held it up to him.

"Help me check these out?"

He took the container and studied it seriously for a long moment before delivering his verdict: "Color's too bright—probably not ripe. Try that darker box next to it. The flavor will be sweeter."

Looking at his completely serious expression, I burst out laughing .

"We need some tomatoes," I said, moving to the produce section and placing two plump, red tomatoes in the cart. "Plus onions, basil..."

Eventually, our cart was overflowing with ingredients. At checkout, when he pulled out that unlimited black card, the teenage cashier's eyes went wide.

I smiled and pulled cash from my wallet instead, explaining under his disapproving look, "This is what you call a life experience, Ruslan."

He didn't insist on paying, quietly putting the black card back in his pocket.

By the time we got back to the mansion, it was completely dark.

I pulled ingredients from the shopping bags and efficiently tied on an apron. Just as I was about to tie the strings behind my back, large hands came around me from behind, taking the ties from my hands.

His chest was warm and solid against my back through the thin fabric. He tied the apron strings, but his fingers didn't immediately move away—instead, they traced along my waistline. The touch felt electric, making me shiver.

"What can I do?" he asked in my ear, his warm breath tickling and sending little jolts through me.

I tried to keep my voice normal. "You can wash the vegetables."

Without another word, he went to the sink and rolled up his sleeves, exposing those strong forearms. Whether he was washing tomatoes or peeling onions, he did everything with complete focus.

I started preparing the steaks, using the back of my knife to tenderize the meat. The kitchen filled with the sounds of running water and blade against cutting board.

He finished with the vegetables and picked up the strawberries he'd certified.

I put the marinated steaks in the pan—they sizzled immediately, filling the air with mouth-watering aromas. That's when Ruslan appeared beside me with the washed strawberries.

"Try one," he said.

I turned around, about to reach for one, but he'd already picked out the plumpest, reddest berry and held it to my lips. I opened my mouth and the sweet-tart juice exploded across my taste buds .

"How is it?" he asked, his finger still lingering near my lips, barely brushing the corner of my mouth.

I was about to say "sweet" when he suddenly leaned down. His face filled my vision as his warm lips covered mine.

This kiss tasted like strawberries. His tongue skillfully explored, capturing the half-eaten fruit and drawing it into his own mouth.

Then his tongue swept across my palate and teeth, wanting to steal every trace of sweetness.

Finally, he deepened the kiss, lips and teeth tangling in desperate passion.

My brain went completely blank, and I nearly dropped my spatula. I could only grip the counter, letting him steal my breath and overwhelm my senses. Not until I felt like I might suffocate did he pull back slightly.

Our foreheads touched, breathing mingled. His thumb traced my slightly swollen lips while his burning gaze threatened to melt me completely.

"Sweet," he said.

My cheeks burned. The steaks were still sizzling in the pan, reminding us where we were.

He stepped back, giving me space to breathe, then played the perfect assistant by handing me a plate when I flipped the steaks.

"Done," I said softly, untying my apron.

The steaks were perfect—seared outside, tender inside, juicy and flavorful. We ate quietly, chatting occasionally as the evening slipped peacefully away.

The next day, just as I was about to leave for set, Ruslan stopped me.

"Give me your phone."

I was confused but obediently pulled my phone from my bag and handed it over. I watched him tap and swipe, then do something on his own phone.

"What are you doing?" I asked curiously .

He didn't answer immediately, not until he'd finished setting up both phones. Then he looked at me seriously.

"I installed a tracking app on your phone."

"Tracking app?" I was stunned. "Why?"

"Because I want to know where you are at all times." His answer was direct and dominating.

I liked seeing him care about me this much, but I also felt confused and uneasy. Why the sudden need for tracking software? I searched his face for clues, but his expression gave nothing away.