Page 54 of The Bratva's Secret Baby
“This doesn’t mean I agree,” I say.
“It means you’re choosing,” he replies.
That’s the difference, and we both know it.
He touches me with restraint, one hand at my waist, fingers spreading like he’s anchoring me there instead of taking anything. I let myself feel it.
I lift my head and meet his eyes. There’s no softness there. No apology.
I close the distance myself and kiss him because I need to know it’s still real. It is. The spark is immediate and unforgiving, burning through anger and fear and every careful plan I’ve made since the night I ran.
I pull back just enough to breathe. “This doesn’t make us safe.”
“No,” he says. “But it makes us honest.”
I take his hand and lead him out of the kitchen, past the room where my daughter sleeps, toward a door I haven’t opened in years, knowing what I’m choosing and choosing it anyway.
15
ANA
The room is spare, barely more than a mattress and two folded blankets, but it’s clean, dark, and the only place in this temporary safehouse with a lock. I twist it shut behind us and press my back to the door, chest rising fast.
Dominik doesn’t move at first. He watches me like he’s not sure if I’ll run again or if I’ll come undone right here in front of him. That hesitation loosens something tight inside me, something I didn’t realize I was still carrying.
“I don’t want careful,” I say. “Not from you. Not now.”
That’s all it takes.
He crosses the room in two strides and cages me in with his arms, pressing me to the door with the weight of his body. His mouth crashes into mine, hard and hungry, and I meet him with equal force. There’s no rhythm yet, just heat and need and too many years we didn’t get to touch. I reach for his shirt, dragging it up, baring the lines of his torso, the lean muscle I remember and the new scars I don’t.
He lifts my blouse over my head, peeling it off slowly like he wants to memorize what’s beneath. My nipples peak instantly in the cold, the thin lace of my bra doing nothing to hide it. He looks down, then up, and I swear I feel his gaze like a physical touch.
“Off,” I say, voice rough.
He doesn’t argue. The bra joins the blouse on the floor, and before I can take another breath, his mouth is on me.
He takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, then licks the ache away while his hand closes over the other breast and squeezes. I arch into him, fingers threading into his hair, dragging him closer as I moan into the dark.
His teeth scrape, just enough to make me gasp, and he does it again, switching sides, mouth hot and greedy. I grind against him, desperate for friction, but he keeps control, one hand moving to pin my hip to the door while he devours my chest like he’s starving.
“Dominik,” I pant, “get the fucking rest of it off.”
He groans, deep and savage, and lifts me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist, and I feel the thick press of him between my thighs, even through the layers. He carries me to the bed and lays me down gently, then peels off my pants and underwear in one slow pull that leaves me naked, wanting, already slick with need.
I spread my legs without shame. I want him to see. I want him wrecked.
“Fuck, Ana,” he murmurs, eyes burning as he kneels between my thighs.
His hands grip my knees and push them open wider, exposing me completely. He doesn’t start slow. His mouth covers me like a vow.
He licks long and deep, then circles my clit with obscene precision, sucking it between his lips until my hips buck and I sob his name. His fingers dig into my thighs to hold me down, but his mouth never stops moving—tongue stroking, teasing, then plunging deeper as I grind into his face.
I come fast, helpless and breathless, thighs clamping around his head as the orgasm rips through me. He doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, keeps tasting, keeps dragging his tongue through the mess he made until I’m twitching and moaning and trying to pull away.
“Too much,” I gasp.
He looks up, face wet, eyes dark. “Not yet.”
