The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

Sylvia’s soft laugh sounds on the other side of the door. "Take your time, newlyweds."

I roll my eyes at Maksym. In tattered, sooty clothing, running for our very lives, acting like newlyweds is the very last thing on my mind. But apparently not Maksym's.

"Take your time," he says, reaching his hand to cup my ass cheek and give me a gentle squeeze.

"Even now, that's where your mind goes?" I ask him reproachfully.

His voice drops to a husky, heated whisper. "Your beautiful body is strewn atop mine. Your breasts are pushed against my chest, those taut nipples making my dick hard."

"Oh my God," I tell him, but my body responds. My body remembers his masterful touch when he reaches his hand to the nape of my neck and pulls my mouth down to his. Our lips meet tentatively at first, but I close my eyes when I become lost in sensation. The soft touch of his lips belies his sterner disposition, the warm caress of his tongue against mine igniting me straight to my very core. My body pushes up against his, needing friction, the touch of his tongue sending trills of vivid awareness like electric shocks between my legs. I grind helplessly against him, and his hand on my ass travels to the apex of my thighs, parting me. One finger strokes over my clothed pussy, and I whimper into his mouth, needing more.

When we pull apart, we're panting. I drop my head to his chest and take in a deep breath.

We have so much more to do, we can't be distracted with wanton lust.

"Breakfast," he croaks out.

"Breakfast," I agree.

He releases me so that I can roll off him. I smooth out my helplessly sooty, wrinkled dress and run my fingers through my tumbleweed hair. I frown. No, I'm a mess, no matter how much I try to preen.

"It didn't help," he says with a chuckle. "We'll have to wait to freshen up until we get to the compound. I’ll call Demyan."

He opens the door and takes me by the hand, leading me back to the kitchen where the elderly couple is preparing food.

"Morning," Sylvia says. "Tea or coffee?"

I slide on a stool while they serve us buttered toast, bacon, and eggs.

"Thank you," I tell her but Maksym makes his call.

Maksym keeps his eyes focused on me while he dials Demyan. I, however, am pretty content polishing off my entire plate of food in record time.

Maksym has to be careful in his speech, so that he doesn't give anything away to our hosts, but he also communicates the need for Demyan to come alone.

"The fire's been put out," Boris says.

"Thank God," Maksym mutters. "Our ride will be here soon. How can we pay you for your hospitality?"

Sylvia comes to us and gives me a knowing look that makes my stomach tighten. What does she know?

"You owe us nothing," she says, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. "But I will ask you to do something."

Maksym gives her a curious look. "Yes?" His eyes come to mine in concern, but I only give him a shrug. I have no idea what she's talking about. Dropping her voice, she traces a finger along Maksym's arm.

"I know what these mean," she says. "And I also know you're in more danger than a random forest fire."

How does she know? He meets her eyes, not confirming or denying anything. Her husband washes dishes in the kitchen, oblivious to our conversation.

"Do you?" Maksym says.

She nods and her voice takes on a harder, more serious edge. Though her eyes are bordered in wrinkles, and skin as thin as paper, her gaze holds the tenacity of a woman much younger than she is. "I once knew a man of the Bratva," she says. My skin prickles, and a shiver runs through me. "We dated in my youth, long before I met my husband." Holding Maksym's gaze, her voice hardens. "If you care about her at all, you will remove her from any association with the Bratva."

Maksym squeezes her hand when the sound of tires stopping on gravel meets my ears. Demyan is here.

"That's how you will repay us," she says softly, her lips curving upward in a soft smile. "Egor."

Maksym pulls his hand away. "Thank you," he says, not responding to her admonition. "We are grateful."

We take our leave and don't speak to one another as we approach the waiting car.

Remove her from any association with the Bratva.

It's but a dream.Chapter 13Maksym

The words of the old woman haunt me while I take my seat in Demyan's car.

If you care about her at all.

How could I care about her? I've taken her as my prisoner, punished her, and I'm planning on using her to bait her father. To seek retribution for the death of my Taya. When I took Olena, I had no idea she was the sweet angel who ministered to me in my distress. How could I?