Page 30 of Sold to the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #6)

The house had fallen silent after Fedya’s siblings left.

Maeve was certain she could still hear their laughter and teasing lingering in the walls of the kitchen and living room, but what bothered her more than the projection of her imagination was just how much she loved spending time with them, how much she adored their relationship, the love they clearly had for one another, how quickly she felt like one of them, and how easily they made her feel accepted and wanted.

She’d never felt like she had a family until them, and that made her chest ache because she knew better.

She knew these people weren’t hers. They didn’t even know the truth about her identity.

What would they do if they found out? What would happen to this attachment for them that had grown on her?

Would they look at her with the same eyes they once used to look at her with admiration or with hate?

Would they be disgusted by the truth of who she was?

Who her father was? What her father did to shake the balance of their family?

And Fedya, the man who was hers—if only temporarily—was complicated, dangerous, and her feelings for him were not at all in line with why her father pushed her into this marriage.

And yet it was so easy to forget why she was here in the first place. So easy to forget herself in Fedya’s kisses, in his touch, in a parallel life that she’d stepped into when his siblings were around, one that didn’t revolve around schemes or expectations from her father or survival.

One that was genuine and true. Warmth and connection and belonging all wrapped in five individuals—including the man she kept lying to herself she wasn’t in love with.

He was in the shower now, the sound of water rushing from inside while she stared at her reflection in the mirror of the room.

Her mind flicked to the security camera in the studio.

Surely, he should’ve seen it by now. There was no way he wouldn’t have checked yet.

He’d spent an obscene amount of time showering before he joined her and his siblings to play games.

And he’d looked at her like he’d seen it.

Yet, he hadn’t said as much as a word about it, even after his siblings had left them alone.

He hadn’t physically reacted to it, hadn’t so much as looked at her in that way.

There was no way in hell that he wasn’t interested in her little show. For all she knew, he was probably jerking off in the shower to the memory of it right now.

His restraint irked her, though, because she wanted a reaction. That’s why she did it. She wanted to break that calm he’d developed since they slept together a week ago. He’d left bruises on her skin from how hard he’d fucked her that day, and now he had suddenly become a saint?

Moments later, she was pushing the door to the bathroom open, padding through the steam that greeted her, heading towards the sink. There was no point announcing her arrival when she could clearly feel his eyes on her as she slipped on her robe and tied it around her waist.

The whole thing was supposed to be an innocent, casual act—so casual she would be. She pretended to have the decency not to look at him as she picked up her toothbrush, squirted some toothpaste, and met her own gaze in the mirror.

She could feel him, all of him, as she slowly brushed her teeth. She could feel him through the foggy glass, his presence pressed against her back like a wave of heat. He was watching her; she knew this very well even without turning around to look at him.

There was lather in her mouth when she grinned, just as the shower cut off abruptly.

She continued brushing her teeth, humming a song even as the door to the cubicle creaked open behind her. She caught his reflection in the mirror as he stepped out with the confidence of a fully clothed man, even though he was stark naked, dripping, and hard as a rock.

Maeve squeezed her thighs beneath her robe as she focused on her brushing instead. But the image of his stiff cock swaying lightly between his legs with every step he took towards her was forever engraved into her memory.

“I’ve never had a woman seduce me with toothpaste and silence before,” he said, his voice rough.

Maeve turned slightly, meeting his gaze in the mirror with a soft, casual shrug. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t think I’ve seen the footage?”

She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth. Her breath smelled like mint, but she needed it to smell like him. “I was starting to wonder.”

“I saw it.”

“Good for you.”

He took a step closer. “I watched every second of you fucking yourself, knowing fully well that I’d watch it.”

She turned around now, leaning against the sink as he approached her. “I was counting on it.”

“I should be angry.”

Maeve’s eyes traveled down his body. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she stared at his cock. “But you’re not.”

“No,” he admitted, voice raspy now. His hands gripped her hips, and his length pressed against her stomach. “I’m dizzy with the need to bend you over this sink.”

Maeve let herself forget everything that wasn’t him. In that moment, her father didn’t exist to her. His promise of her freedom didn’t either. The only thing that did exist was the man standing in front of her.

So she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him first. His lips were soft against hers, following every motion of her kiss.

She pulled back, breathless and filled with heat. “Do it then.”

His mouth was on hers again, and instead of the hard, filthy kiss she was used to, he kissed her slowly, deeply, like he had all the time in the world and he wanted to spend it on her mouth.

They kissed like long-lost lovers, and underneath the scrape of his teeth on her lip was her heart—a thunderous beating thing against her ribcage.

Her head felt light, her breath rushing out of her lungs so quickly she thought she would pass out in his arms. Her body was responsive to his touch, to the slow, addictive caress of his tongue against hers.

The sounds of their kissing echoed in the bathroom before his lips descended down her jaw, kissing a hot, wet path down her neck and collarbone.

His voice was rough and thick with emotion when he spun her around, bending her over the sink. “I need you,” he said as he bunched her robe over her hips, slipped her panties down, and buried himself into her in one hard stroke. They moaned at the same time. “So fucking badly.”

The bathroom mirror fogged with heat, but Maeve’s breath left a clearer print each time she exhaled, moaning, gasping, bracing herself against the edge of the sink as Fedya drove into her from behind.

She’d never felt so good, so full, so hot for anyone before.

His touch was the most intoxicating thing she’d ever felt, and with every thrust, she became even more and more addicted to it. Drunk on it.

She loved it—loved him, his body, his hands on her hips, his cock hitting places in her she didn’t know existed. Oh god, it felt good. Too good to be true. But it was true. Very true and very real. Better than the first time.

One of his hands gripped her hip, anchoring her while the other slid up to a fist in her hair, pulling her head back just enough for their eyes to meet in the mirror.

The sight of her—lips parted, eyes drooping from pleasure, flushed and trembling—only made him rougher, harder, pounding her into the sink, the hard porcelain digging into her stomach until she felt pain and pleasure colliding into a volatile thing that burst into flames in her body.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his tongue licking the sweat off her neck. “Look at me while I fuck you, Maeve.”

She could barely keep her eyes open from how good he felt inside her, stretching her walls out, sliding in and out of her pussy. Her ass bounced against his hips, skin slapping against skin, the wet slick of her arousal obscene in the echoing tiles.

He bent low to growl in her ear, “This what you wanted?” and her only answer was a desperate, wrecked yes. His hand was on her throat, choking out her moans before sliding two thick fingers inside her mouth.

“You feel so good, zhena ,” he panted behind her, rolling his hips into her. “This tight, little pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she cried around his fingers, feeling a wet sensation trailing down the corner of her mouth, a thin drool trailing down.

He turned her head to the side, dragging his tongue over her jaw as he licked up the drool, and then he was kissing her again, kissing her hard and messily until she came, trembling in front of him.

His hands had left a red imprint on her ass while he fucked her. He sank his teeth into her exposed collarbone, one hand groping her tits as he jerked against her, filling her up completely.

“My fantasies of you are nothing compared to this,” he admitted as he pulled out of her, watching his cum drip down her thighs.

He scooped her up into his arms, and his hand went between her legs, fingering his cum back inside her.

She was moaning when he sat her down on the bed, spread her thighs apart, and knelt down in front of her.

And just when she thought she would pass out, she let out a scream when he buried his face between her legs and licked her clean.