Page 95 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
I feel him pulse inside me, heat flooding, marking me from the inside out. His arm around my waist is the only thing keeping me upright, his body shaking against mine.
We collapse together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and racing hearts. He pulls out carefully, and I wince at the sensitivity. When he tries to move away, I catch his wrist.
“Stay,” I whisper. “Just for a minute.”
He settles beside me instead, gathering me against his chest. His hand strokes lazy patterns down my spine, touch gentle now where it was demanding moments ago.
“You’re quiet,” he observes.
“Processing.”
“Regrets?”
I lift my head to look at him. His hair is disheveled, eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them, and there’s a vulnerability in the question that makes my chest ache.
“No regrets. Just… ” I search for words. “Scared of how good that was. How much I needed it.”
“Why does that scare you?”
“Needing you gives you power over me. And I swore I’d never give anyone that again.”
His thumb traces my lower lip. “What changed?”
“You did. This did.” I gesture between us. “Somewhere along the way, the cage started feeling like safety. That terrifies me more than anything you’ve actually done.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, studying my face like he’s trying to memorize it. “I don’t know how to be anything other than what I am. I can’t promise I won’t hurt you again. Can’t promise the cage won’t feel suffocating when reality sets in.”
“I know.”
“Icanpromise I’ll try. To give you more than just control and possession. To remember you’re not just mine to protect; you’re yours first.”
The admission costs him. I can see it in the tension around his eyes, the careful way he’s holding himself. Dimitri Rudenko doesn’t make promises lightly. Doesn’t offer compromises or admit limitations.
“That’s more than I expected,” I say honestly.
“It’s less than you deserve.”
He pulls me closer, and I let him. Let myself have this moment of perfect understanding before tomorrow forces choices neither of us is ready for. His heartbeat is steady under my palm, his warmth surrounding me, and for now—just for now—it’s enough.
“You’re the most complicated person I’ve ever met,” I murmur against his chest.
“I’m simple. I want control and you. Everything else is noise.”
“That’s not simple at all.”
“Isn’t it?” He tilts my face up, studying me with those gray eyes that see too much. “You’re the variable I can’t solve for. The one thing I can’t predict or control or protect adequately. You terrify me more than anything I’ve faced.”
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest.
“I’m just a woman,” I say.
“You’re everything.” He says it simply, like stating fact. “That’s the problem.”
I don’t have a response. Can’t form words around the weight of what he just gave me—vulnerability wrapped in certainty, fear tangled with possession.
Understanding him might be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.
Now I see the pattern. See the twelve-year-old boy who couldn’t save his mother, who learned that control is the only defense against loss. See the man who cages me not out of cruelty but terror that he’ll fail again.
