Page 30 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

Over the past three weeks, I've managed to stock her with a wardrobe and some essentials, which she mostly refuses. But today she wears a pale blue sundress and her hair is braided. She looks hesitant, but not scared.

"The basement's finished. We've included everything your father needs, better than anything Solano ever gave him. In three days, my men will move him down there and he will start work." I beckon her to the rail where I lean, letting my gaze drift across the skyline. "I wanted you to hear it from me before it happens."

"No," she says coldly. "I already told you I won't help you force him, and I won't stand there and watch you do it either…"

"Isabela, you're taking this too hard. It's not a dick, Milaya, lighten up."

Her eyes darken as she glares at me. "This isn't a fucking joke, Demin."

"No," I agree, "it isn't. But there's a misunderstanding I should clear up." I lift my hand, brushing a flyaway hair off her temple. "You seem to think you have footing to fight me. I make the decisions, and I know what I’m doing."

"Then why even tell me?" Her glare is cold as she turns it on me, completely ignoring the beauty of the landscaping.

"Oh, you know… provoking that fiery attitude you have makes my dick so hard…"

The rage in her eyes is humorous, but I’m dead serious. When she looks at me like that, there's no controlling my cock. It has a mind of its own and it's swelling right now, even as she stalks toward me with her shoulders squared and her hands fisted at her sides.

"You think this is funny?" she hisses. "You think I'm going to break? That one day I'll just give up and do what you say like a good little⁠—"

"Whore?" I cut her off and catch her hand as she raises it to slap me. She's not nearly the type of woman I'd really call that, but watching her be goaded to rage is arousing. She is so fucking beautiful when she's angry.

"Get your hand off me." She lifts her chin. "The only difference between you and Solano is you fed me dinner first."

By rights, I should've lost patience with this woman a week ago, sent her back to a locked room and let her father's suffering do the convincing. Any other person in my house who spoke to me the way she does would already be a problem I'd solved.

But fuck, do I enjoy this.

That's the trouble with her—I haven't found a clean way to deal with her. She defies me openly, in my own house, and instead of putting her down for it, I want to see what she does next. I want to keep her talking just to watch her get angrier. Like cat and mouse, and I am the winner every time.

I reach out and catch her chin, turning her face up to mine so she has nowhere else to look. She stills under my touch but she doesn't flinch, and her eyes lock onto mine, so furious and bright.

"Let's be clear about something," I tell her in a rumble. "You belong to me now. Not Solano. Not your father. Me. This house, this roof, the bed you sleep in, the air you're breathing in it—all mine. And when I say to do something, you fucking do it."

I wait for her to twist out of my grip. To slap my hand away or tell me to stop, to give me any of the hundred reactions a sensible woman gives.

She doesn't do any of them.

She holds my eyes, her fury never breaking, and the corner of her mouth pulls into a smirk. "Then make me," she says, and it unleashes something I don't even try to hold back.

There's nothing gentle left in me by the time my mouth crashes down on hers, my hand sliding from her chin into her hair. For half a second, she's rigid, and I think I've misread it, thinking she's going to shove me off the roof if she can manage it.

But her hands come up and fist in the front of my shirt, pulling me in instead of pushing me away. She kisses me back like she's been waiting just as long as I have and is just as furious about it.

I get an arm around her waist and pull her off the railing, into my body, and she whimpers against my mouth as I crush my mouth to hers, the kiss raw and demanding as my tongue sweeps in. She whimpers again and pulls me closer as I keep one arm locked around her waist, holding her body flush to mine while my other hand drops to the hem of her sundress. I inch the fabric up her thigh, bunching it at her hip, so I can slide my fingers between her legs.

I cup her pussy firmly, stroking as I kiss her deeper. "You drive me fucking crazy," I growl against her lips. "Defying me like this, then melting when I touch you."

She whimpers again, but her hips keep shifting against my hand. So I press two fingers inside her, thrusting slowly while my thumb works over her clit. Her breath catches, turning into another soft, needy whimper that she can't hold back.

I don't let up on the kiss, devouring her responses as my fingers keep moving inside her pussy. "This is what you need, isn't it?" I murmur, biting at her lower lip before soothing it with my tongue. "Me taking control right here where anyone could see."

She trembles, clutching harder at my shoulders and her whimpers mix with the wet sounds of my hand between her thighs. I kiss her through every reaction, drawing out more of those desperate little noises from her throat.

Her body rocks into my touch, but I keep the pace controlled, focused only on her heat and the way she falls apart. I swallow another whimper with my kiss, my fingers never stopping their possessive rhythm.

"That's it," I growl against her lips. "Let it take you."

Her walls start to tighten around my fingers in quick, fluttering pulses. I don't slow down, driving her higher with each thrust. Then it crashes over her. Her back arches sharply, pressing her body flush to mine as a long, desperate whimper tears from her throat into my mouth. Her pussy clenches hard around my fingers, rhythmic spasms gripping me tight in wave after wave. I feel every powerful contraction, the way her inner muscles lock and release in uncontrollable surges that shake her entire frame.