Page 36 of Baby for the Bratva King

I flop into bed, my head hitting the pillow. “Why would Felix care?”

“Good question. Perhaps you’re finally getting through to him.”

“By running away and being in denial about my feelings, sure.”

“Felix is used to women swarming him like bees, and you’re being avoidant.”

“True.” Footsteps echo outside of the door, growing closer. “Fuck, I have to go. I’ll speak to you later.”

I end the call, swinging my feet off the bed as Felix knocks on the door.

“Can I come in?”

Why would he possibly need to do that?

“Sure,” I croak, brushing myself off as he enters.

He catches my eyes across the room, and my chest goes fuzzy.

Up until this point, I’ve been pissed off at him. He interrupted me while I was dancing. He had no right to do that.

But he was protecting me back there, and it feels strange. I stand in a room full of men and they all stare. My father dresses me up, and I roll with the punches in exchange for some praise at the end of the night.

I put myself in uncomfortable situations without question. I let myself be seen because it feels familiar.

“Were you speaking to someone?”

“Just my sister.”

“Hm,” he grunts, stepping closer. “You never answered my question, sweetheart.”

“What question?”

“Your problems. You never told me if you learned to face them. But don’t worry,” he says, swiping a finger over his lip in contemplation. “I have my answer.”

His gaze makes me tremble, but I like the feeling.

The warmth in my chest expands, feeding hope into other parts of my anatomy. Felix is a pioneer, a household name, and he protected me. That has to count for something.

Desire sinks into the deepest part of my stomach.

And the more I accept the emotion, the more I melt.

An invisible force pulls me forward, giving me permission to let go.

I rise onto my tiptoes and plant a tender kiss to his lips, testing the waters, seeing how it feels.

I breathe deeply under his embrace, foreign emotions stirring in the pit of my stomach. It feels different this time.

Everything happened too fast in the shower. Things escalated quickly. My head was in a totally different place, like I was disappointing myself, breaking my own rules.

But this time it feels more disappointing to walk away.

We started a fire the last time we came together, and I want to feel that fire radiating through my body again.

I’m tired of hiding, of planting doubts in my own head. I’m tired of watching life happen instead of living it.

I want agency.