Page 14 of Stalked & Bred by the BRATVA (Bred by the BRATVA #6)

She wears the nightgown like it was sewn to fit her body and no one else's.

The way the silk hugs her hips. The way it clings to her thighs. The way her nipples press through the fabric like she doesn’t even realise. She thinks she’s trembling from fear, but I know better.

She’s not afraid of me.

She’s afraid of what I make her feel.

I leave her room with that image burned behind my eyes. Her standing in the moonlight, lips parted, breath catching, hands fisted at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with all the need building up inside her.

I want her to break first.

But if she doesn’t soon, I will.

I barely sleep. I’m too wound tight, pacing the study like a caged animal, replaying the way her voice shook when she asked me why. She didn’t demand an explanation. She asked like she already knew the answer, and just needed to hear it out loud.

Because you’re mine.

That truth lives in me like a second heartbeat.

By the next afternoon, I’m done waiting.

I find her alone in the second-floor linen closet. She’s pulling folded towels from the shelves, checking them one by one, unaware that I’m behind her until I step into the room and close the door.

She jumps, whirls around, nearly knocking the stack out of her hands. Her chest rises fast, eyes wide. But she doesn’t scream.

I step closer. “You don’t lock the linen room door.”

Her lips part. “You scared me.”

I reach past her to take the towels, set them aside on the shelf behind her. “You’ve already seen me at night. You’ve already felt me touch you. And you’re still standing here.”

Her throat moves as she swallows. “You can’t just walk into my room whenever you like.”

“I already have.”

“That’s not—” she cuts herself off, jaw clenching. Her voice is shaking, but there’s anger in it too. “You don’t get to stalk me and sneak into my bedroom and leave me things and then pretend this is normal.”

I arch a brow. “You think I’m pretending?”

“You left a photo,” she says. “A note. You watched me sleep.”

I don’t deny it.

She takes a shaky breath. “I thought… at first, I thought it was him.”

I freeze.

The words settle between us like a crack splitting through concrete.

“Who?” I ask, low and sharp.

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Sarah.”

The sound of her name in my voice stops her. She looks at me, blinking like she’s surprised I even know it.

“You were afraid it was someone else,” I say. “Who?”

She hesitates. Her fingers tighten around the edge of the shelf behind her. “My brother.”

The moment the word leaves her mouth, something shifts in me.

I already knew. Of course I knew. I’ve seen the file. I’ve seen the bruises. I’ve watched the way she flinches at certain sounds, certain shadows.

But hearing her say it?

That’s different.

It makes everything sharp. Immediate.

“You thought he was the one in your room?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer, but her eyes drop. Shame.

That look nearly undoes me.

I move closer, caging her between my arms, one hand braced on the shelf beside her head. She tenses, breath catching, but she doesn’t back away.

“Don’t ever confuse me with him again,” I say, quiet but deadly.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I would never hurt you,” I growl. “But I would kill for you.”

She stares up at me, lips parting like she wants to argue but doesn’t have the breath for it.

“If your brother ever steps foot near this house, I will take him apart piece by piece,” I continue. “If he ever touches you again, you won’t even get the chance to cry out. It will already be done.”

Her pupils dilate. Her fingers twitch like she wants to reach for me and doesn’t know how.

I lower my head until my mouth is at her ear. “He should have never touched you.”

She shudders.

I drag my fingers lightly down her arm, watching the goosebumps rise beneath the cotton sleeve.

“No one touches you now unless I say so.”

Her breath stutters. “What are you doing?”

I press my palm to her side. “Teaching you who you belong to.”

She gasps, and I swear I feel it in my spine.

“I’m not going to take you yet,” I murmur. “But I want you to feel what it’s like to be owned.”

I lower my hand, drag it slowly over the curve of her hip. She arches without meaning to. Her thighs press together, her breath coming quicker now.

I press my mouth to her neck. Just once. Just long enough to feel her pulse pounding under my lips.

“You’ve never been touched right,” I whisper. “But you will be.”

She exhales a trembling sound. Her hands fist in the front of my shirt, her body caught between resisting and surrendering.

I pull back before I lose control completely.

Her lips are parted. Her skin is flushed.

“Next time you dream of me,” I say, brushing a knuckle down the side of her throat, “don’t wake up.”

And then I’m gone.