Page 25 of Sold to the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #6)

Fedya couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so soundly—so peacefully, so easily.

And it was all thanks to the soft, warm body curled around his.

He could feel the bright rays of the sun from the window behind his eyelids, and he woke, blinking the sleep away to find his body tangled together with Maeve’s on the bed.

Her head was on his chest, red hair spilled all over his skin. Their legs were entwined at the foot of the bed, and his arms were around her back. Her nightgown had ridden up as well, so her naked thighs were directly in contact with his.

Fedya dragged his gaze up her body, pausing at her lips, which were slightly parted as slow, easy breaths escaped her lungs. Her eyes were closed, her face soft, and he counted all eighty-five of her freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks.

Fedya wasn’t sure he could ever get over how ethereal she looked.

Their bodies fit perfectly together on the bed like the last two pieces of a puzzle.

It made him think back to the night before, how she’d been straddling him only a few hours ago, how dizzy he felt with desire that she was right there, bare and open for him, the only piece of clothing on her being her wet panties.

Her tits were right there, right in his face, her nipples practically begging for his mouth.

It was torture for him—the worst self-inflicted punishment he’d ever given himself.

Even though his self-control had broken slightly, causing him to touch her eventually, it was nothing compared to the thousand and one ways he’d thought of taking her.

If he’d moved more than he did, he would’ve taken it too far because he knew once he started, he wouldn’t stop.

He had been trying to be smart, to be sure if she wasn’t just playing any games with him.

He’d caught her in a lie last night when she said she was hovering around him simply because she wanted him to join her in the room.

And then she rolled over without warning, taking him by surprise even though he didn’t make it seem like that.

If she’d stayed any longer on him after he told her to go back to bed, if she’d rocked her hips against his hand even after that, he would’ve snapped completely. He would have done every single thing he’d imagined doing to her and more. He’d still be fucking her right now.

Fedya curled a finger around a red strand of hair that lingered on her face. Still fast asleep, an imperceptible sigh left her lips as she shifted slightly against him, unintentionally brushing against the tent in his sweatpants.

Fedya muttered a curse under his breath when his hips jerked in response. His body had been fully aware of her on top of him, and he’d woken up with an erection so hard he could barely think straight.

Gently and carefully, he peeled Maeve off him, replacing himself with a pillow that she greedily latched onto in her sleep.

He barely got to shut the door of the bathroom before enclosing his fist around his cock.

He closed his eyes and thought of her naked beneath him, the soft skin of her knees digging into the tiled floor.

He thought of her eyes, glazed over with lust, lips parted and swollen, cheeks flushed with desperation.

He thought of burying his cock in her throat, choking if she had a gag reflex.

But he wouldn’t stop. He’d work himself deeper until tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, until she was a trembling mess between his thighs.

He thought of bending her over the bathroom sink, of pressing her head against the mirror, his hand wound tight in her hair so she could watch him fuck her from behind.

He’d fuck her so hard she’d be breathless, begging, torn between telling him to stop and begging him for more.

His jaw clenched as he palmed his length furiously, stroking hard and rough to the dark fantasies his brain had conjured about her.

He’d never been a gentle lover, not really.

His fantasies were always dark and domineering, always desperate for control, for a kind of satisfaction that blurred the lines of pleasure and pain.

He didn’t think she’d resonate with his sexual preferences, with how hard he wanted to fuck a woman, how he wanted to dominate her, how he craved control on the bed.

There was no denying her feistiness, but he didn’t think she’d be into anything more than plain, lights-off, vanilla sex. That was another reason why they didn’t fit, and yet Fedya couldn’t fathom the thought of not wanting her, no matter what she liked.

A hot puff of breath ripped out of his chest as he came with her name caught behind clenched teeth, strips of cum shooting out of him, coating his fingers and splattering against the tiles.

Fedya dragged a clean hand over his face before cleaning up and walking into the shower.

All he could think of as the hot sprays of water hit his muscles was the woman outside the bathroom door.

Fedya wasn’t foolish enough to have trusted her, at least at the beginning.

He’d resorted to using fear since he had no reason to believe her loyalties would be tied to him simply because he married her.

She’d been stripped of her choice, her decision, and was married away to a dangerous stranger in exchange for ammunition.

Anyone in their right mind would be bitter towards the person who did that to them, and that was why Fedya made sure to remind her of the fact that her father was her real enemy and not him.

Still, whether he liked it or not, Cormac was her father.

Her blood and flesh and bone. And that was why he couldn’t blame her for not being able to answer his question in the car last night.

He appreciated it, even, because her lack of response was better than a lie, because whether he admitted it to himself or not, he’d played a part in her choices being stripped away, even though he couldn’t help it.

He wasn’t exactly a gentleman to her either when he first brought her here.

He’d threatened to kill her, destroyed her phone right before her eyes, cutting off every form of contact between her and her father—but she would have other people she loved, wouldn’t she?

Because by doing that, he had not just cut her off from her father, but everyone else in her life, and that would definitely make her feel like a prisoner.

So, yes, she had every reason to hate him.

But Fedya’s heart softened with every passing second he spent with her.

His fascination had grown into an obsession he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

His obsession was something else now, coiled tight into a single feeling that made it a bit hard to breathe whenever she was near.

And that made him ease whatever worries and distrust he may have had towards her as well.

He wanted to do something nice for her, something to make her hate him less. He lathered his soap as an idea struck him. It would take him leaving her alone for a while to get it all set up, but it would make her happy nonetheless. It had to.

By the time he emerged, Maeve was awake, sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy cat. The straps of her nightgown were both crooked now, her red hair a riot around her shoulders.

Their eyes met, and time seemed to elude them for a moment. Fedya could hear his own heartbeat as her gaze shifted past his to the towel wrapped loosely around his hips.

Then he witnessed the reddening of her cheeks as she looked away.

Fedya didn’t smile, and something flickered in his chest. She wasn’t snapping, scoffing, or pushing him away for whatever reason. She was blushing because he was in nothing but a towel—like she wasn’t the same woman who tempted him last night, all in the name of gaining his trust.

Cute.

Reluctantly, he left her to her privacy, heading to the kitchen to make breakfast for her instead. He heard her light footsteps as he flipped pancakes and looked up to find her standing rigidly behind one of the chairs in the dining room.

She was still wearing her nightgown, an indication that she hadn’t taken her bath yet, but her hair was wrapped atop her head in a messy bun now, a few strands curling around her exposed neck.

“I need some air,” she began, her fingers clutching the back of the chair. His eyes trailed over her figure slowly, her erect nipples, the teeth marks on her bottom lip like she’d been biting it too hard.

“There’s air all around us, zhena .”

“That’s not what I mean. I want to leave the house, step out for a bit—”

“Nope.” He cut her off as he flipped the last of her pancakes and switched off the stove. He heard her sigh of frustration as he washed his hands over the sink, palmed them dry with a towel, and grabbed his keys.

“You’re leaving,” she said, her eyes following him as he walked out of the kitchen.

“Not for long,” he said, slipping a jacket on. She was following him to the door. “I’ll be back before you start missing me.”

“That’s not fair,” she frowned, coming to stand in front of him, making herself a human shield against the door. She folded her arms across her chest, the action making her tits push up against her gown, her cleavage exposed to his hungry eyes.

“What has it been now? Days? Weeks? I don’t know because time blurs into nothing here,” she complained.

“I’ve grown bored, and you won’t let me have your phone.

I’m not asking to go to a club. Just right outside.

Fresh air, maybe or—” Her eyes lit up. “Or you could take me with you, maybe to a bookstore or something. A drive would be nice.”

“No,” he said, firm, final.

Maeve scoffed, dropping her arms from her chest. He discovered now that he hated to disappoint her, but there was no chance in hell he was letting her out of there yet.

Her mouth tightened, jaw set with fire. “Fine then. If I don’t get to leave, you don’t either.”

“I could easily move you away from there, Maeve.”