Page 29 of Forced By the Bratva

Her scent followed me out of her room, a reminder that I couldn’t shake her off so easily.

The warmth of her against my chest hadn’t faded yet. Neither had the way she’d looked at me just before I left.

I told myself it meant nothing.

But did I really believe it?

Chapter 11 – Iris

I dreamt of him last night—after he stormed out of my room so abruptly, as if he were trying to stop himself from doing something he might regret later.

In my dream, however, he didn’t leave me all by myself. No, he reached out and pulled me to himself, then sealed my lips with a deep kiss that I couldn’t resist. I kissed him back with equal intensity, our tongues swirling in our mouths.

I tried to stop myself; I tried to pull away, but the kiss was so good it had me glued to him. His hands were all over my body, possessing my curves like he owned every part of me.

He fondled my breasts over the fabric of my shirt while pulling me closer against him. Overwhelmed with pleasure, I moaned in his mouth, basking in the feeling of his erection grazing my skin.

He lifted me in his strong arms and laid me back on the bed while his hands roamed over my body.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he whispered in my ear, lips pressed to my neck.

“Me too,” I breathed, locking my legs around his waist.

He ground his hips against mine, unbuttoned my shirt, and took my breasts in his hands. He raised my leg in the air, caressing my outer thighs with a touch so electrifying it sent tremors down my core.

“I wanna taste you.” He spread out my legs and went down on me.

“Oh, Ilya,” I groaned softly, fisting his hair.

In reality, I was writhing against the sheets, rubbing my thighs together as I said his name out loud.

Then I woke up.

After it dawned on me that it had been a dream and that I had been whispering his name, a wave of embarrassment washed over me.

I slapped my palm to my face, unsure how to feel about this. To make matters worse, I woke up wet—soaking wet. My panties were damp, and all I could think about was recreating the scene from my dream.

However, the thought of going down that road scared the bunkers out of me. I hadn’t done this before, and I didn’t want my first time to be with a ruthless mafia boss.

Not that there was something wrong with the mafia boss himself, per se. It was just that the circumstances around this newfound attraction made the whole thing super complicated.

It was no longer news that he was attracted to me or that I was attracted to him as well. However, I didn’t think I was ready to face the consequences that would follow if I ever allowed myself to give in to that temptation.

It felt like playing with fire, and I wasn’t ready to get burned.

Over the next few days, I tried to focus on reading as many books as I could, just to keep him out of my mind.

But no matter what I did, images of him would always sneak into my head, distracting me from whatever I was doing.

He’d been shirtless the night he’d barged into my room to save me from that spider. Since then, I hadn’t been able to unsee him without a shirt. Broad shoulders. A chest carved from something harder than skin. His stomach was cut into hard, defined ridges, the kind of thing that came from years of violence rather than a gym.

There’d been scars too. A thin one along his ribs, pale with age. Another near his hip, rougher, more recent. Marks that told a story I didn’t have access to, each one a piece of a past I wasn’t sure I wanted to learn about.

I hated how much I’d noticed and how he occupied my every waking thought.

Lately, I’d been thinking about that night, not just about his ridiculously attractive body or how close we’d come to sharing a kiss, but about how quickly he’d shown up when he thought I was actually in trouble.

He’d called out my name when he barged inside, gun in hand. And although I didn’t pay attention to his tone then, I realized I’d missed something important.