Page 23 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"I always belong to you."

His pace built. The mattress rocked under us. I felt every thrust, felt him slam into the most sensitive place inside me over and over until the pleasure climbed sharp and bright. Kiryan kissed me, swallowing my broken sounds.

"I'm not going to make you anyone's substitute again." He pressed his forehead to mine. "You are my wife. The one I love most."

The words made my tears fall harder.

For the first time, I wasn't the sister who never measured up to Isabella. I wasn't the backup bride shoved into a gap. I wasn't someone who had to hide in corners. Kiryan knew exactly who I was—and he still chose me.

All those years of wanting finally got answered. I almost believed that if he kept holding me like this, everything I'd endured would mean something.

I shook in his arms, my body clenching around him. Kiryan drove harder, then after the last deep, brutal thrusts, he crushed me to his chest. Heat spilled deep inside me.

He stared at me, like he was about to say something—

And the light behind him suddenly turned vicious and white. His whole face blurred in it. His lips still moved, but his words stretched far away, fading. I reached for him in a panic and caught nothing but cold sheets.

I jerked awake.

The room was dim. There was no Kiryan. No scattered clothes.

The curtains stayed closed. A warm yellow lamp glowed by the bed. I lay alone, my nightgown untouched, the blanket pulled up tight to my chest.

It had all been a dream. But my body hadn't gotten the memo. I was sticky between my thighs, the most private part of me still twitching faintly from the orgasm. I squeezed my legs together, shame burning up from my chest to my ears.

I had dreamed Kiryan said he loved me. I had dreamed he touched me like that. Worse—every sensation had felt too real. The kisses, the weight of his arms, the satisfaction when he filled me—it all clung to my nerves like it had actually happened.

The fever seemed mostly gone, but the leftover heat had rushed straight to my cheeks. I shut my eyes, trying to shove the images away, but the things he'd said in the dream only sharpened.

"You are my wife. The only woman I want."

I hid half my face under the blanket. I was out of my damn mind.

On the bedside table sat half a glass of water and opened fever meds, the instructions pinned under the box. What I remembered from before the medicine dragged me under started to float up through the dream. I remembered Kiryan's thumb brushing the corner of my eye—so light it didn't feel like him. I'd gone still all over, like even my tears had paused.

He had fed me, helped me take the pills. The meds had hit fast. After my consciousness sank, someone had still moved around the room. Someone had murmured my temperature. A cold stethoscope had pressed to my chest. And Kiryan's voice—low, tight—had asked the doctor when the fever would break.

The sounds had come in pieces. I couldn't tell what had been real and what my brain had made up. I didn't know who tucked the blanket around me. I didn't know when I'd grabbed someone's wrist. But the hand that wiped my tears had belonged to Kiryan. That part had been real.

Maybe that was why I'd had that ridiculous dream—because Kiryan had been gentle in a way he never was.

Two soft knocks sounded outside the door.

I hadn't even pulled myself together when the door opened. A broad-shouldered woman with gray-streaked hair walked in carrying a glass of water. I'd never seen her before. When she came closer, I caught the worry on her face—no attempt to hide it.

"Good. You're awake." She set the water down by the bed and studied me. "How do you feel? Your face still looks flushed."

"Better." I braced a hand on the mattress, trying to sit up. "Just... kind of hot."

My head felt clear now. The fever haze was gone.

She steadied my shoulder and propped my pillow properly. Then she touched my forehead, checking, and her tension eased.

"The fever's down." Her expression softened. "I'm Olga, the housekeeper."

"I'm Elena."

"I know." She grinned, loud and easy, and tapped my hand with a palm that looked like it could break a man's nose. "You're the lady of this house."