Page 11 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

My hand drops from her chin and slams against her hip, my fingers locking down to keep her from walking away.

But as my palm keeps her in place, my thumb betrays me, pressing into the curve of her waist possessively.

I leave it there much longer than necessary, and the fabric of her jeans shifts under my skin.

It doesn’t matter that Ruslan and my men are standing just meters away, watching everything.

In fact, I welcome it. I’m doing this for two reasons: to humiliate her and remind her exactly who dictates the rules, and simply because I can’t resist.

Damn it all. From the very beginning, I’ve found myself unable to think logically whenever she’s around. She ruins my focus and scrambles my instincts.

I lean in, closing the final inch between us, until my mouth brushes the shell of her ear.

My breath is slow and hot, a sharp contrast to the cold breeze blowing against her skin as I murmur, “Lies taste sweeter when whispered this close, Audrey.”

Her sharp inhale shatters against my chest, a sudden, ragged gasp that breaks her perfect façade.

For a second, the air between us thickens, turning heavy—too intimate, charged, and dangerously familiar.

She trembles. It’s a slight, violent shiver, but I know her body well enough to know it’s not purely from fear.

I feel the reaction ripple straight through her body and bleed directly into mine, sending a jolt of tension up my spine.

Unbidden and without permission, the memory of how she used to respond to me resurfaces.

I remember how easily her breath would hitch at my presence, how instinctively she used to lean into my touch, no matter how brief it was. She always melted in my arms and smiled in a way that warmed my heart right before I dove in for a kiss.

I tighten my jaw, grind my teeth until they ache, and forcefully push the memory back into the dark.

I refuse to let nostalgia get to me.

“I’m not lying,” she whispers. “I never have, and I won’t start now. You might not have noticed, but…I’m not scared of you, Igor.”

The words spark a flare of pure adrenaline in my veins.

I slide two more fingers beneath her chin, forcing her gaze upward, and look down at her, studying the defiance burning brightly in her eyes.

I know she’s trying to provoke me, to prove she’s unaffected, but all it does is draw me deeper.

I lean down.

Our mouths hover inches apart, so close that our breaths mingle in the space between us.

If I make one slight movement, the space between us would vanish entirely and my lips would fall on hers.

Like I want them to.

My grip on her waist tightens. My knuckles turn white against her hip, like I’m physically fighting to hold myself back.

I want to close the distance. Every instinct I have begs me to reclaim what once felt like mine, to take her mouth and burn away this new, cold composure she’s built.

The tension stretches thin, crackling like a live wire.

Ruslan clears his throat beside me, and the sharp sound snaps the moment cleanly in half before I do something stupid. I look at him with an arched brow. He rolls his eyes and makes a sharp gesture toward the rear exit of the building.

The heavy scuff of leather boots echoes down the lot.

I pull back just an inch, barely glancing at her as the heavy footsteps approach.