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It had been three days since he’d taken the hit.
Him, Bratva royalty—torn muscle and insatiable desire.
I, Manya, tied to him by marriage.
I so wanted to despise him.
His impatience, his charm, his control.
But the hit had only thrust us closer.
Those three days of twisting and turning
of throbbing muscles and thighs left quaking
to satisfy every impulse.
But as the Bratva tears itself apart,
can I resist his growled commands?
