Page 74 of Bratva Baby

She collapses onto her side, then rolls onto her back. I lie beside her on the couch and push a damp strand of hair off her face. She turns into my chest without thinking about it, warm all over, skin flushed, body loose in the way that only happens after I’ve fucked her senseless.

I pull the throw down from the back of the couch and drag it over her, then over both of us when she makes a tired sound and hooks one leg over mine like she plans to stay exactly where she is. Fine by me.

“You’re heavy,” she murmurs against my throat.

“You just came three times. Your judgment is impaired.”

Her laugh is weak and pleased. “You count.”

“I count everything.”

I run my hand down her back, slow now, feeling her settle by inches. Her breathing evens out under my palm. She needed this more than she wanted to admit, and so did I.

She lifts her head enough to look at me. “You’re still thinking about freight.”

“Yes.”

“That’s romantic.”

“I just spent an hour inside you. Don’t get greedy.”

She smiles at that, lazy and gorgeous and more dangerous to me than any man I’ve met. I touch her mouth with my thumb and she bites it lightly. “Careful,” I say.

“You started it.”

“I start most good things.”

She gives me a look, but she settles closer instead of fighting. I drag the blanket higher over her shoulder, then reach for the water I left on the side table and hand it to her. She drinks because she’s smart enough to know I’m right when I hand her water after sex.

I smile down at her. “Alive and hydrated is my favorite version of you.”

“Liar. Your favorite version is naked and cooperative.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead, then her temple. “Cooperative was never part of the appeal.”

That quiets her for a second. Then her hand slides up my chest and stops over my heart. “Anton.”

“Yeah?”

I cover her hand with mine and wait.

“I love you.”

Everything in me goes still for one second, then settles into place so hard, it feels like something locking. I tip her face up and kiss her slowly this time, no bite, no punishment, no power play. Just her mouth and mine and the truth sitting there between us.

When I pull back, her eyes are wet enough to shine. Mine probably aren’t much better. “I love you too,” I say. “You difficult, reckless woman.”

She smiles against my mouth. “That sounded sincere for a criminal.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

“No,” she says, curling into me again. “You’re full of freight problems and bad timing.”

I laugh into her hair and hold her tighter. “Also true.”

For a minute we stay like that, tangled under the blanket with the city beyond the windows and the work waiting ten feet away on the desk. Then she lifts her head again, looks up at me, and says the thing only Sofiya would say right after this. “We still have work to do.”

22