The Bratva King's Kidnapped Bride - Page 61

Her hands ran down my sides to playfully smack my ass. I gripped her hair and stared right into her pretty green eyes. “Did you just give me an idea?”

“No,” she yelped, giggling as I flipped her onto her stomach. I kneaded each curvy cheek, then teased her opening with the tip of my cock.

“I’ve never seen anything so hot,” I told her, smoothing my hand down the curve of her spine, and giving her the lightest of taps. “You’re so damn beautiful, Katie. Perfection.”

She rose up on her knees, reaching behind her to pull at my hips. “Then why are you teasing me like this?”

“You’re right,” I agreed, plunging deep again.

She buried her face in the pillows, but I still heard her greedy moans as she met me with every stroke. With my hands on her hips, I pounded into her, barely holding on to my sanity.

“Come for me again,” I urged, desperate to feel her pulse around my cock.

She yanked away and twisted around to kneel in front of me. “Yes, but I want to see your face.”

I leaned back as she straddled me. With my hand clamped behind her to hold her steady, she rode me with abandon as she clung to my shoulders. Her head tipped back, all her glorious hair falling in a cascade over my fingers. I gripped a handful and pulled her close.

“Katie,” I said urgently. “Open your eyes.”

Her lashes flew from her cheekbones, and our gazes locked. I smoothed my hand down over her belly and between us to find her clit. She bit her lip, her nails digging into my shoulders, but never looked away.

Not even when her mouth fell open and my name came out in a loud cry. Not when I pumped my seed inside her, roaring out my own pleasure. I was the one to look away first, completely consumed by the way she made me feel. It was like no other, not in all my years.

Her arms fell to her sides as the pulses slowed. Her breath still came in sharp, rapid pants as she dropped her head to my shoulder.

“I love you so much, Aleks,” she said, sounding almost tearful.

Her words snapped me back to my senses. She’d never actually told me that before. I tugged her hair back to kiss her lightly on the lips before wrapping my arms around her and easing us both to lie down.

She snuggled up to me, nestled in the crook of my arm with her cheek against my chest. “I love you,” she repeated more softly.

I would have given anything to say it back and call it a day. Keep pushing the truth away. But every moment that passed with my lie between us negated everything else. If I told her how much I loved her now, she’d think that was also a lie. The feel of her soft breath against my chest with her whispered words should have made me relax into her embrace, but I wasn’t worthy.

Not of her love. Certainly not of her trust.

I pulled away to look at her clear, hopeful eyes. It killed me how she was such an open book, clearly wanting me to repeat her words. They were in there but couldn’t come out. Not yet.

Not until…

“Do you know what the Bratva means?” I asked.

“Isn’t it something to do with your brothers?” she asked. “In Russian?”

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that.” I took her hand, and she held on tight.

“What’s bothering you?” she asked, full of concern. For me. I truly didn’t deserve her. “Don’t tell me not to worry when I can see something’s wrong as plain as day. I’m really fine, so just tell me.”

And so I did. Everything from the very beginning. How our father had come from Moscow as a teenager and worked his way to a position of strength and power. The way he raised my brothers and me, and even our little sister Mila, to take over when he decided to retire back to Russia. I even told him how our old man still ruled with an iron fist over there, not content with living a simple life in his golden years.

I laid out each and every one of my businesses, trying to make her see that not all of the money that had been buying her lavish gifts over the last few months was made by less than honest means. I tried to explain the history we had with the many small bars, restaurants, and corner shops that we still offered protection to. I was at the helm of the Fokin name, which was known across the entire state of California.

But the more I explained, the looser her grip on my hand became, until she gently tugged it away altogether to cradle her injured wrist. It was slowly dawning on her that the reason she was kidnapped wasn’t simple corporate espionage.

It was personal.

The light faded from her eyes as she searched my face, desperate to hear me say it was all a joke. That this was the lie, and not what I’d been telling her all along.

“It’s a long tradition with my family,” I said. “There’s a lot of history with the Bratva.”