บททั้งหมดของ A Taste of the Bratva King: บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

TamaraI wake up in a golden haze that feels almost dreamlike.I'm still wrapped in the soft sheets, my body humming with a satisfaction so deep it feels like it's rewired my nervous system. Every nerve ending is still singing from last night— from Sergei's hands, his mouth, the way he consumed me like I was his last meal.God, what did he do to me?I stretch, feeling the delicious ache between my thighs, the tender spots where his fingers gripped my flesh, where his teeth marked my shoulder. My skin still carries the phantom heat of his touch, and I can't stop the smile that curves my lips. Best sex of my life doesn't even begin to cover what happened last night.But then reality comes crashing back.The contract.The papers I signed with a trembling hand while my body was still buzzing from orgasm after orgasm. Five hundred thousand. For six months of... this. Of being his. But not his.What the fuck did I just do?I sit up abruptly. The weight of what I've agreed to settles on my c

TamaraThree weeks.It's been three weeks of living in this gilded cage, and I'm starting to lose track of where the contract ends and something else begins.This morning finds me sprawled across Sergei's Egyptian cotton sheets, my body humming with bliss and soreness in equal measure. The man is insatiable— and apparently, so am I. What started as clinical encounters "for the baby" has morphed into something that feels dangerously close to addiction.The kitchen counter. The marble-tiled shower. The antique bathtub with the gold fixtures. We've christened every surface in this house, and each time I tell myself it's just biology, just hormones, just the contract we signed. But the way he looks at me afterward— like he's seeing something that surprises him— suggests we're both lying to ourselves.Neither of us has addressed what's happening between us. The shift from transactional to... whatever this is. Maybe we're both too afraid to name it.The money appeared in my account exactly

TamaraBy eleven-thirty, I've given up on shopping entirely.My hands won't stop shaking, and every stranger on the street feels like a potential threat. The boutique bags sit in my car— evidence of a normal afternoon that turned into something from a nightmare.But I still have thirty minutes before my appointment with Dr. Varga, and the thought of sitting in the car, watching shadows and jumping at every sound, feels unbearable. There's a café across from his clinic— one of those sleek, expensive places with tall windows and baristas who treat coffee like an art form.Zsolnay Café. The kind of place where Budapest's elite come to see and be seen. And it seems like a highly unlikely place for anyone planning an assassination.I order a cappuccino and find a table near the back, positioning myself so I can see both the entrance and the street beyond. The coffee is perfect— rich and smooth with that bitter edge that makes everything else seem more manageable.For a few minutes, I almos

TamaraI'm curled into the plush armchair by the window, my hands instinctively resting on my stomach where new life grows.The revelation still feels surreal— I'm going to be a mother.And Sergei...God, the way his face transformed when he looked at me. For a moment, his carefully constructed mask slipped completely, revealing something raw and vulnerable underneath. The joy in his eyes wasn't calculated or measured— it was pure, unguarded happiness. He'd actually smiled, a real smile that reached his eyes and softened the harsh lines around them. When he kissed me afterward, it felt different. Like I was precious instead of just useful.Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but what if this changes everything? What if the baby growing inside me becomes the bridge between the cold contractual arrangement we started with and something real? Something that could grow into love, into a family that's more than just genetics and legal documents. The way he touched my face, whispered "thank

SergeiThe shrill ring of my phone drags me from the few moments of peace I'd managed to steal while watching Tamara sleep.Her honey-blonde hair spills across my pillow, one delicate hand curled beneath her cheek, and for just a heartbeat, I allow myself to imagine this is normal— that she belongs here, that the life growing inside her makes us a family."Sidorov." I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her, padding to the hallway where my voice won't disturb her rest."Boss, we have a problem." Péter's voice carries that rough edge when he's rattled. In all the time I've known the Hungarian construction manager, I've never heard him sound this nervous. "You need to come to the site. Now."I go still. "What happened?""Someone hit us hard last night. Place is..." He pauses, searching for words. "Fuck, boss. It's bad. Real bad."I'm already moving toward my closet, grabbing dark jeans and a black sweater. "Anyone hurt?""Nem, thank Christ. Night security found it this morning when the