Kidnapped by the Bratva (Sharov Bratva #5)

Chapter Twenty-Six - Sophia

Maxim’s words echo in my mind, filling me with a whirlwind of emotions. His confession felt real—raw, even. I could see the sincerity in his eyes, feel it in the way his voice softened when he spoke to me. It’s overwhelming, like a flood of feelings I hadn’t allowed myself to process until now. The rage, the hatred I had once felt toward him is still there, but it’s tangled with something else. Something deeper.

I look at him, standing so close, his eyes dark with desire, but there’s something softer, more vulnerable beneath it. His hand reaches out, his fingers gently trailing along my jawline, pulling me closer. I don’t pull away. I can’t. The space between us dissolves, and before I know it, our lips crash together, the kiss filled with all the pent-up emotions we’ve both been holding back.

His kiss is rough, hungry, but I can feel the tenderness in it too—the way his hands grip my waist possessively, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. I melt into him, my body pressing against his as the heat between us rises. His hands slip under my robe, pushing it off my shoulders until it falls to the floor in a soft heap. I shiver as the cool air hits my skin, exposed now, but Maxim’s touch ignites a fire inside me that quickly erases any trace of cold.

He doesn’t waste any time, his hands exploring every inch of my body with a mixture of roughness and care. My breath hitches as his lips trail down my neck, leaving a burning path in their wake. I feel his desire, his need for me, and I realize I want him just as badly. I’ve never felt anything like this before—this raw, intense need that makes me forget everything else.

“Maxim…,” I whisper, barely able to form the words as he lifts me into his arms, carrying me to the bed.

My heart races, my pulse quickening with anticipation as his lips hover just above mine. The room feels suddenly smaller, like all the air has been sucked out, leaving nothing but the two of us, tangled in this moment.

He lowers me onto the bed, his body hovering over mine, and the weight of him sends a jolt of excitement through me. His lips crash against mine, demanding, rough, just like him. My hands instinctively reach for his back, pulling him closer, needing more of him. His kisses are urgent, filled with a hunger that mirrors my own, and I can feel my body responding, heat flooding every inch of me.

His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back as his mouth trails down my neck. Each kiss is rougher than the last, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips as he bites gently at the sensitive skin. It’s as though he’s claiming me all over again, and I don’t mind one bit.

“Is this what you want?” His voice is a low growl, his breath hot against my ear as he presses himself against me.

“Yes,” I gasp, the word barely audible as my body arches into his. I want him. I want him in every way possible. The roughness, the intensity—it’s everything I never knew I craved.

His hands roam down my body, gripping my waist as he pulls me closer. There’s nothing gentle about the way he touches me. His hands are firm, almost possessive, but it sends a thrill through me I can’t quite explain. It’s like he knows exactly how to unravel me, how to break down all my walls until there’s nothing left but desire.

I’m completely at his mercy, and it sends a shiver of anticipation through me. His gaze darkens as he looks down at me, his eyes burning with a mix of lust and something deeper, something I’ve never seen before.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his hands sliding up my thighs, his touch firm and unyielding. “You know that, don’t you?”

I nod, unable to speak, too overwhelmed by the sensation of his rough hands on my skin. He leans down, capturing my lips in a fierce kiss, and I can feel the control slipping away from me, lost in the heat of the moment.

His hand grips my thigh, pulling me closer to him, and I can’t help the soft whimper that escapes my lips as his roughness sends another wave of desire through me.

Just when I think my arousal can’t build any higher, something shifts. The pressure eases, and his touch softens, his kisses becoming slower, more deliberate. His hand, once rough and demanding, now trails gently up my side, his thumb brushing tenderly against my skin. He pulls back slightly, his breath warm against my lips, and I open my eyes to find him gazing down at me, something softer in his expression.

He slips inside of me, hard cock filling me effortlessly. I squirm beneath him as he sets an agonizing pace, so fast I’m breathless.

“You’re more than just mine,” he says, his voice a low rumble as he pounds into me. “You’re… everything.”

His words send a warmth spreading through me, different from the heat of desire that had consumed me moments before. This is something deeper, more intimate. My heart swells, and I feel myself melting under his touch, completely undone by the shift in his tone.

He leans down, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s far gentler than before, and I sigh into it, my hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. His weight is comforting, grounding me, and the roughness from earlier fades away, replaced by something more tender. His hands slide up my arms, cradling my face as he kisses me with a sweetness that takes me by surprise.

I can feel the tension in my body ease, the frantic need for him softening into something more steady, more real. He’s no longer just taking me—he’s cherishing me. The contrast between his roughness and this newfound tenderness makes my heart race in a different way, and I feel a strange sense of calm wash over me, as if all the chaos around us doesn’t matter anymore.

His pace slows, his hands holding me as though I might slip away, and it’s in that moment that I realize this is what I’ve been waiting for. My back arches as I squeeze my eyes shut.

We come together quietly; I muffle a moan as hot come fills me; it leaks from me, pooling between our joined thighs as my world spins.

“Maxim,” I whisper, my fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, “I don’t want this to ever end.”

He smiles against my lips, a rare, genuine smile, and he presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “It doesn’t have to.”

For the first time, I believe him. I believe that this, whatever we have, is more than just a fleeting moment. It’s something real. Something I never thought I’d find with a man like him.

As I lie here in his arms, I can’t imagine ever being anywhere else.

***

I wake up in Maxim’s arms, his strong body warm against mine, his breath steady as he sleeps. For a moment, I let myself sink into the comfort of it. There’s a peace here that I’m not used to, something safe and secure in the way he holds me. It’s a side of him that no one else sees, a vulnerability that he only shows when the world isn’t watching.

My stomach growls, pulling me from the moment. I’m starving. I carefully slip out of his embrace, trying not to wake him. He stirs for a second but doesn’t wake, his arm falling back onto the bed as I slide out and grab my robe. I tie it loosely around my waist and tiptoe downstairs, the quiet of the house calming.

The kitchen is still and cool, the early morning light filtering through the windows. I open the fridge and rummage around, pulling out a few ingredients. Eggs, some vegetables—nothing fancy. I decide to make something simple for myself, my hands moving on autopilot as I chop and stir, the familiar motions grounding me. It feels good to do something normal for once, something that doesn’t involve the chaos that’s become my life.

As I plate the food, I hear footsteps behind me. Turning around, I’m greeted by the sight of Maxim standing in the doorway, shirtless, his hair tousled from sleep. His eyes, still dark from the night, scan the kitchen before they land on me.

“Nothing for me?” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

I chuckle, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. Even in this simple, domestic moment, he’s intimidatingly handsome. “We can share,” I offer, holding out the plate toward him.

He steps closer, eyeing the food with a raised brow. “Let’s see if you can actually cook.”

I roll my eyes, setting the plate down on the small kitchen table. “You don’t have much faith in me, do you?”

He sits down across from me, picking up a fork and taking a bite. His face remains impassive for a moment, but then he nods, a hint of approval in his eyes. “Not bad,” he says, his tone still rough, but there’s something softer beneath it. “You can make me meals from time to time.”

I can’t help but feel a little flattered, even though I know it’s just his way of showing appreciation. “Is that a request or an order?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Maxim’s smirk deepens. “A little of both.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. Despite everything, I actually want to cook for him. It feels good to do something small like this, something normal. There’s a strange comfort in knowing I can take care of him in this way, even though he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

We eat in silence for a few moments, the easy quiet between us a welcome change from the chaos that usually surrounds us. I glance up at him from time to time, catching the way his muscles move as he eats, the way his eyes flicker with something unreadable. He’s not a man of many words, but there’s a depth to him I’m only just beginning to understand.

“You should smile more,” he says suddenly, catching me off guard.

“What?” I blink at him, unsure if I heard him right.

He takes another bite of food, not looking up at me as he speaks. “You’ve got a nice smile. You should show it more often.”

I feel heat rising in my cheeks, surprised by the compliment. Maxim doesn’t say things like that often, and when he does, it catches me off guard. “Maybe I will,” I say softly, feeling a warmth in my chest that I can’t quite explain.

He looks up at me, his eyes locking with mine. “Good.”

The moment hangs in the air between us, something unspoken passing between us. It’s not romantic, not in the traditional sense, but there’s something there. Something real. I’m not used to this side of him, this quiet, almost tender version of Maxim, but I find that I like it. It’s a side of him that feels like it’s just for me, and that thought fills me with a strange kind of contentment.

As we finish the meal, Maxim leans back in his chair, watching me with that same unreadable expression. “I could get used to this,” he says, his voice still rough but with a hint of amusement.

“Used to what?” I ask, clearing the dishes.

“This,” he gestures vaguely to the kitchen, the food. “You. Here. Cooking.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a smile on my face. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not your personal chef.”

He stands, moving closer to me, his hand brushing against my waist as he passes by. “We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

My heart skips a beat at the touch, and I can’t help but smile as I watch him walk away, his broad back disappearing up the stairs. I don’t know what this is between us, but for now, I’m content to let it be what it is. It’s love, I know it is, but everything still seems so unsure.

As I finish cleaning up, I can’t stop the small smile that lingers on my lips. Maybe, there’s more to this than either of us realizes. For the first time in a long time, I feel hopeful.