Bratva Boss's Babysitter: An Instalove Possessive Male Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 192) by Flora Ferrari

Author:Flora Ferrari
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2020-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Erin

We sit on the open air balcony of the luxury hotel suite, the wooden decking sleek and seemingly brand new. The hot tub is off to our left, bubbling invitingly, and hot air fans us with warmth as we make major, major eyes at each other.

The dinner was like a revelation, realizing with shattering certainty how close Erik and I truly are.

He’s an orphan, too.

I never knew that, but the longer the meal went on, the more we talked about it.

His rise in the Bratva, starting as a courier and then participating in a fighting ring at the age of nineteen, proving himself with his fists first and then his brains later. And then using money stolen from a drug dealer to start his own legitimate business, growing it, until now more of his businesses are legitimate than not.

I’m not naïve. Nobody who lives on the grimy streets of any city can afford to be. He could be lying to me with his talk of legitimate businesses.

But the thing is, I know he’s not.

I know it’s dangerous to trust. But I trust him, wholeheartedly, unequivocally, I trust this man.

He takes a sip of his drink and smirks at me.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

Say it, say it, a voice urges inside of me.

My nerves try to take hold.

My anxiety tries to force me to second guess.

But somehow I push all of that aside as I sit up straight, folding my legs, noticing the way his eyes flit to my thighs. And for the first time in my life, I don’t think that a man must be assuming I’m disgusting.

I think about how sexy I might look, no, do look to him, my man.

My man.

“I’m thinking it would be a shame to let that hot tub go to waste,” I whisper.

There, the words are out.

Erik smirks, places his drink on the sleek glass table, and then rises slowly to his feet.

My mouth falls open as he starts to grapple with his buttons. He’s dressed in a cyan shirt, the same pallor as his eyes, and as he unbuttons confidently with one hand, the fabric squeezes onto his muscles as though trying to hold on for dear life, as though it knows that at any moment he could tear it to shreds.

His chest is revealed with each popped button, a sheet of muscle.

“Well?” he says, pulling off the shirt to show a sleek, muscled torso that’s carved like marble, his pectorals two giant mounds, his abs a solid block of brick. “What are you waiting for?”

“Are you serious?” I gasp.

He smirks and kicks off his leather shoes, and then starts to unbuckle his belt.

“I’m deadly fucking serious,” he growls. “Take off that dress. Get in that hot tub. Now, Erin. I can’t wait anymore.”

I stand up as though his words are invisible strings tugging me to my feet, and then without giving myself time to doubt I pull at my clothes. The hot air pricks my skin, makes it tingle, as I quickly tear myself into nakedness.

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