Page 91 of Forced By the Bratva

“You do. A little.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Ivan. He’d never let you live it down.”

I reached out and hooked a finger in the hem of her sweater, tugging her closer until she hopped off the desk and settled on my lap.

My hand wrapped around her waist without thinking about it. Her shape had become familiar under my palm—something my body recognized before my mind caught up.

“You, my beautiful wife, can be a pain in my ass sometimes,” I said, staring at her face.

“That’s ironic coming from my handsome husband who literally fucks my ass at will.” She threw her arms around my neck, her gaze teasingly seductive.

The words stirred something primal within me, and my eyes dropped to her chest where her twin peaks poked from underneath her sweater.

She looked down at me, something soft moving behind her eyes. “God, you’re so hot.” She caressed my face, brushing my hair backward.

I huffed a short laugh. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Maybe.” She casually lifted the hem of her sweater, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her soft thighs. “Maybe not.”

“Fuck.” I stared down at those alluring legs, my cock twitching in my pants. “You’re getting good at this.”

“What can I say?” She rested her hand on the print of my cock. “I’ve had time to practice.”

I slid my hand higher under the sweater, just enough to feel warm skin. “So smooth.”

“So hard,” she whispered in my ear while rubbing my boner.

She leaned down and kissed me, slow and unhurried. When she pulled back, she stayed close. “You know, if you keep looking at me like that, these reports are never gonna get finished.”

“They can wait.” I tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Dangerous words from a man who once made me wait three hours while he finished a call.”

“That was work.”

“This is also work,” she said, gesturing between us. “Domestic maintenance. Very important.”

I pinched her thigh lightly. She yelped and laughed, swatting my hand.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she said.

“I’m lucky you married me.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

“True,” I said. “But when you had the chance to leave, you chose to stay.”

She went quiet for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

I pulled her fully into my lap. She settled there as if she’d done it a hundred times, which she had.

My arm stayed around her waist. The house was silent except for the low tick of the clock on the shelf and the occasional shift of weight from the guards outside.

“You’ve been different,” she said after a while. “Since everything ended. Lighter, maybe. Or just less like you’re waiting for the next thing to go wrong.”

“It’s hard to stay wound tight when the biggest problem in the house is you stealing the covers.”

“I do not steal the covers.” She playfully slapped my shoulder.

“You do. Every night. I’ve started sleeping with one foot on the floor so I don’t get dragged off the mattress.”