Page 25 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

“Coward?” I raise my hands and trace her lips with my finger. “No one’s ever called me that.”

“Well, I just did.”

I smile. “I don’t want you, Audrey. I need you. You have no idea how much I want to flip you over and fuck you until you’re screaming my name and trembling beneath me.”

Her breath hitches and her lips part, but I can tell from the way she only blinks at me that she’s too shocked to come up with any of her usual sharp retorts. “What?”

My gaze drags deliberately over her body. My fists clench, my blood heating with need. “I’ve wanted you from the second you walked back into my club.”

She smirks. “Then what’s stopping you? Your ego can’t stand the fact that I talk back to you?”

I chuckle. “If anything, I want to fill your mouth with my cock and fuck it until you learn to respect me.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she says with a frown. “That’ll never happen.”

“It will.” My finger moves from her lips to her neck, then down to the gap between her breasts. “Soon enough, you’ll be begging to have me inside you.”

Her chest heaves as bursts of raspy breath escape her. Her hazel eyes darken, and inside them, I can see the same desire I feel.

I’m not the only one holding back. Not the only one hanging by the last thread of my self-control.

“Or maybe you’ll be the one begging.” She inches closer. “Maybe someday you’ll be on your knees, begging for me to love you like I did a year ago.”

A muscle jumps in my jaw. For a heartbeat, all I do is stare at her. I still remember that day—the day she confessed her love to me, and the sadness in her eyes when I turned her away.

It almost broke me to see her in pain.

Almost.

And yet I’d let her walk away believing I saw her as nothing more than a plaything. She was too naïve and too young to be entangled in the mafia, and letting her go was my way of protecting her from my world.

From myself.

And I’ve spent every single day until I saw her again regretting what I did.

But rather than admit it, I laugh humorlessly. “You think I’d beg?”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Her smile is infuriatingly calm. “Your pride would never allow it.”

“My pride has nothing to do with this.”

“No?” She searches my face, her voice dropping to little more than a whisper as she tilts her chin up another fraction. “I’ve spent the last five minutes telling you exactly what you want to do to me. You’ve cornered me. Threatened me. Promised me.” Her gaze flicks briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “And yet you’re still standing there, doing nothing about it.” Her fingers settle lightly against the front of my shirt, smoothing an imaginary crease from my tie. “I think you’re afraid.”

My brows draw together.

“Not of me.” A faint smile curves her lips. “Of what will happen after you kiss me. Of what you’ll feel for me.”

The words land like a knife because she’s right. I’m afraid of losing myself in my newfound obsession for her. Because once I go too far, I can no longer pretend this marriage is only about keeping up appearances.

My hand slides from her wrist to the back of her neck, my fingers disappearing into the silk of her hair. I feel her inhale sharply, but she doesn’t move away.

“Careful,” I murmur, my forehead nearly touching hers. “One day that mouth of yours is going to push me too far.”

“It already has.”

That tiny, confident smile is my undoing.

I crush my mouth to hers, not gently, not hesitantly, but with every ounce of frustration, resentment, and desire I’ve spent a year trying to bury.