Page 14 of Traded & Bred By the Bratva
"Why?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
The question hits harder than it should, because I know what she's really asking.Why her?And I can't answer truthfullybecause I don’t know myself. So, I give her the only answer I can. "Because I don't share what's mine."
Sydney's eyes widen and heat sparks between us.
I should say something reasonable, something to diffuse the situation. Instead, I reach up and brush a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. The contact is brief, but a jolt transfers from the skin to skin contact.
Her breath catches.
Mine does too.
For one suspended moment, neither of us moves.
Then Sydney closes the remaining distance and kisses me. It’s soft, tentative, barely a brush of her lips against mine, like she's testing whether this is real.
Every coherent thought immediately disappears from my mind, and I groan. Forcing myself to be gentle, I carefully cup her jaw as though she's something precious and deepen the kiss.
A moan escapes from her throat, and it takes all my control to not throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the bedroom.
When we finally separate, both of us are breathing hard. I stare at her as rain continues tapping against the windows. And for the first time since walking into that auction, I understand exactly how badly I've complicated my life.
Protecting Sydney Noble was supposed to be a debt payed back. A favor owed to the man who once saved my life.
Instead, it's rapidly becoming something far more complicated and dangerous. Something I have absolutely no business wanting.
Her.
CHAPTER 5
SYDNEY
Istand there in the dimly lit penthouse suite, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. The auction is over. The gavel fell, the bids climbed higher than I ever imagined, and now Max owns me.
I don’t know this man, but the few stolen glances across the crowded room during the event sparked something electric when our eyes locked. And I want him more than I’ve ever wanted any other man.
Or maybe it’s just the auction adrenaline still surging through me, thick and heady, mixing with the champagne I drank as liquid courage before climbing up on that stage.
He stands before me, tall, broad-shouldered, and intense. He’s shrugged off his suit jacket earlier and tossed it over the back of a chair. The rolled-up sleeves show more of the dark ink on his muscled forearms. His eyes are dark, intense, drinking me in like he’s been starving for this view.
My dress clings to my curves, the silk cool against my heated skin, but under his gaze, I feel exposed already.
“Sydney,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue like a claim. He steps closer, one hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, but there’s steel underneath it. “You’re mine now.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I should feel nervous—this is insane, selling a year’s access to my body, to my person, to a stranger—but all I feel is want. The chemistry crackles between us, undeniable, like we’ve been circling each other for years instead of a few hours. “Yes,” I whisper, my voice breathy. “I am.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, and he pulls me in for another kiss.
This one, like the one I initiated, starts tender, his lips soft and exploratory, tasting me like I’m something fragile he doesn’t want to break. But then it deepens, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that makes my knees weak.
I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest beneath the fabric. He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me, and I know that this man is going to ruin me in the best way.
He breaks the kiss just enough to murmur against my lips. “I’ve wanted to touch you since the moment I first saw you in that ballroom. So fucking beautiful. And now you’re all mine.” His other hand grips my waist, possessive, pulling my body flush against his.
The hard ridge of his cock strains against his pants, pressing into my belly, and heat floods between my legs. “Max,” I breathe, tilting my head back as his mouth trails down my neck.
He nips at the sensitive skin there, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make me gasp. I feel the dominance in him, simmering, wrapped in this surprising tenderness that makes my heart flutter even as my pussy clenches with need.
He walks me backward until my thighs hit the edge of the sofa. The city lights glitter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow over everything. With careful but firm hands, he turns me around so my back is to his chest. “Let me see you,” he says, voice rough.
