Page 68 of Married to My Sis’s Bratva Fiancé

"You're back," I said.

He didn't smell like perfume. Just faint disinfectant and that clean cedar scent that was always him.

I shouldn't have felt relief over something that small, but my heart, dead a minute ago, started beating again anyway.

He stopped in front of me. Then, before I could even react, he slid a hand around the back of my neck and kissed me. Hard. Fast. Like he'd been starving. He didn't give me room to breathe. His familiar taste filled my mouth, and my waist went weak almost instantly.

I should've shoved him back and demanded answers about Isabella. Instead, I clutched his shirt and kissed him deeper, trading breath and heat like I had no pride left. I hated how easily I folded. I hated that the second I got a little warmth from him, my body bowed to it.

When he finally pulled away, I stood there in his arms, sucking air.

"I hate you," I said, staring at his strong jaw, the faint marks and scars that made him look like trouble in human form.

Kiryan's eyes darkened.

The next second, he lifted me up.

I yelped, and my legs locked around his waist on instinct. He caught my ass like he'd known exactly how I'd react.

He carried me upstairs without a wobble in his step. He kicked the bedroom door shut with his foot. He set me on the edge of the bed, and the moment my hips met the mattress, he bent down and kissed me again.

He kissed like he was trying to erase every thought in my head. His hands moved with a kind of frantic certainty, sliding over my shoulders, down my arms, back up again like he couldn't decide where he needed to touch first.

Then he did decide.

He went for my clothes like they were in his way, like they'd offended him. Buttons popped under his fingers. Fabric shifted and fell. His breath hitched, and when he looked at me, it was raw. Hunger. Possession. Like he'd walked into a room full of options and still only saw one.

Me.

It stunned me, that look. After what I'd heard. After what I'd seen.

He dragged my mouth to his again and muttered against my lips, "Mine."

The word landed heavy, almost violent.

My chest tightened. My heart slammed against my ribs like it wanted out. I should've laughed in his face. I should've told him he didn't get to say that, not after Isabella, not after the hospital, not after the way my life had become a mess with his name stamped on it.

Instead, I shivered.

He guided me back onto the bed, his body covering mine, and I moved carefully, almost without thinking, one hand hovering near my stomach as if I could shield the secret there with nothing but my palm.

He caught it.

Not the reason. Just the movement.

His gaze flicked down, then back up. "What's that?" His voice went sharper for a beat.

I blinked, thrown. "What?"

He let out a low chuckle, then pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "You look like you're worried I'm going to tear you apart."

I forced a breath to steady my voice. "I just... didn't feel great earlier."

His expression shifted, the edge easing off. The hands that had been impatient a second ago slowed down. He settled his weight more carefully, like he'd suddenly remembered I wasn't built out of steel.

"Tell me if it hurts," he said.

That gentleness hit harder than his roughness ever did.