Page 8 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

The words hit me like a physical blow. He’s looking at me with such dark eyes that it sends a thrill through me.

“I know,” I whisper.

His thumb traces the line of my lower lip. My breath catches. “You know what you’re getting into,” he says. “What this is.”

My stomach lurches, though not in fear. “A business deal?”

“Yes.” His hand slides to the back of my neck. “Just business.”

Then his mouth is on mine.

The first thought is that I should push him away. Except my body betrays me even as my mind screams to open the car door and leave.

I kiss him back with a hunger that surprises even me. My hands fist in his suit jacket, pulling him closer. His other hand slides into my hair, and he angles my head to deepen the kiss.

Heat floods through me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but numbness or fear. So long since I’ve wanted to be touched.

Roman’s hand leaves my hair and trails down my neck, over my collarbone. His fingers find the top button of my black dress.

“Tell me to stop,” he says against my mouth.

I don’t. I can’t.

He takes my silence as permission. The button comes undone. Then the next one. His fingers are deft and sure, and I wonder how many women he’s undressed. How many times he’s done this in the front seat of a car.

My dress falls open. The air is cool against my skin, and I can feel goosebumps rising. Roman pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

“I know.”

“Scared?”

“No.” It’s true enough, because I’m not scared. There’s heat pooling in my core and a flush in my cheeks that I couldn’t blame on fear even if I wanted to.

His hand slides lower, over the lace of my bra. My breath stutters out in a rush.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I say, even as my body arches into his touch.

“Probably not.”

“This is... it’s wrong. It’s⁠—”

“Do you want me to stop?”

I open my mouth to say yes. To be sensible and smart and all the things I’m supposed to be. “No,” I whisper instead.

Roman’s smile is dangerous. He leans in and kisses me again, harder this time. His hand finds the clasp of my bra and undoes it with practiced ease.

The rational part of my brain is screaming at me to stop this. Except the rational part of my brain has kept me trapped for three years, and I’m done listening to it.

Roman’s mouth leaves mine and trails down my throat. I tip my head back, giving him access. His teeth graze the sensitive skin just above my collarbone, and a sound escapes me that I barely recognize.

His hand slides lower. Under the hem of my dress, over the silk of my stockings. “Tell me what you want,” he says against my throat.

I can’t form words. My brain has short-circuited somewhere between his mouth and his hands.

“Vera.” His voice is rough. “Tell me.”