Silken Chains (Bond by Morozov Bratva Book 1) (Bond by Morozov Bratva Series)

I KNOW he’s there even before I see him.

My body tenses up, all instincts on alert for trouble.

As I come to, the room’s dark and I’m not by myself.

My heart thumps loudly in my chest as I take in the figure standing by the bed.

Victor.

He stands tall and foreboding, a dark silhouette against the dim nightlight. His piercing gaze never wavers from me as he looms over the bed, naked, every defined muscle on his bare chest is glistening with sweat and ready for action.

A shiver runs through my body as my nipples harden under the soft cashmere robe, aching for his touch.

“Victor,” I gasp, feeling exposed and vulnerable in just my flimsy panties and robe on top of the sheets. He stands there, silent and unmoving, but I can see the raw desire burning in his eyes.

“Why… why are you here?”

He stays quiet.

I feel the bed dip under his weight as he climbs in. I sense his entire body charged with an electric current that sends sparks shooting through me. My heart races as he hovers over me.

“I wanted you to stay, just stay with me…” I blurt out, surprised at my own words.

“I’m here now kiska,” he murmurs, his voice deep and low, his lips curl into a sinister smile, his eyes blazing with an intense hunger.

Trembling with anticipation, I reach out to touch him but stop when he leans over me, planting a hand by my head and gripping my neck. His fingers wrap tightly around my throat. I gasp for air, the pressure of his grip both exhilarating and terrifying.

His other hand grips my breast, sending waves of pain and pleasure coursing through me. His fingers twist and squeeze my aching nipple.

“Oh, God!”

“Oh, my God!”

“Yes…Victor.”

Every nerve in my body is alight as I struggle between wanting to break free and surrendering to his dominance.

His hands glide down my body, tracing a path to my belly button before spreading my legs wide open and sliding my panties aside. My heart races with excitement and anticipation as he plunges his fingers into my soaking wet pussy.

I never thought I’d get turned on by such a dangerous and forbidden situation, but the thrill only adds to the intensity. My hand instinctively reaches for his throbbing cock. It’s too big for my fingers to fully encircle, but I grip it tightly and eagerly stroke it as our bodies move in perfect rhythm.

“Fuck,” he groans with primal need, “you’re so fucking wet for me, kiska.”

“Ahh… you are insatiable.” I lick my lips greedily as I continue to stroke him, feeling his hardened length pulsating beneath my touch. My breath quickens, and my heart races as I succumb to the primal desire coursing through my veins. My stroke grows more desperate as he lets out a growl, sounding almost like an animal.

His fingers curl deeper and harder inside me, driving me wild with desire and ecstasy. A sharp gasp escapes my lips as I’m overwhelmed with pleasure, followed by a desperate moan that echoes through the room. I curse under my breath, unable to contain the overwhelming rush of passion coursing through my body.

“More,” I beg breathlessly, unable to hold back any longer as the intensity continues to build. My body trembles with anticipation and longing for what’s to come next.

His rough fingers, slick with my arousal, slide effortlessly over my throbbing clit. I moan in pleasure as he teases me through the fabric of my damp panties.

“You like that, don’t you, kiska?” he growls in my ear.

Before I can respond, his lips crash onto mine, hungrily devouring me. I greedily taste him as he nibbles on my lip, his hands roaming over my body and setting every nerve alight.

With one swift movement, he removes my panties, and my robe falls to the floor. His hands are rough and demanding as they roam all over my exposed skin. He bites down on each of my nipples, sending waves of pleasurable pain through my body.

“Spread your legs for me,” he demands, and I eagerly comply. “Let me fuck you,” he grunts in a low voice. “I’ll fuck you hard.”

I nod desperately, unable to form words as he enters me with force.

With a fierce grunt, he thrusts into me, gripping my breasts in his hands and using them as leverage. His movements are wild and unrelenting, driving me to the edge of ecstasy. I cling onto his shoulders desperately, afraid of flying off and crashing into the headboard.

His eyes blaze with an intense passion that almost frightens me. But I can’t look away, even as I feel another surge building inside me.

I clench my pussy around his pulsating hard cock, feeling every inch of him throb inside of me. My body shudders with the intense pleasure as I squeeze him tightly, begging for more and pushing him deeper.

“Fuck, yes!”

“Yes!”

I’ve never felt such an intense craving.

“You’ll come again for me,” he growls, triumphant. “Your slutty little cunt craves nothing more than being filled by its master’s cock.” My pussy grips onto him as if I never want to let go. The sound of our skin slapping together echoes around us.

“Fuck, yes!” I scream, overcome with pleasure as another orgasm consumes me. But my pleasure is suddenly cut short by a deafening gunshot that cracks through the air. The sound of dark laughter follows, mocking me as I am consumed by waves of fear and confusion.

Victor’s weight suddenly crushes me, his body unnaturally still. A cold dampness spreads across my hair and skin.

Panicked, I push him, my voice trembling as I cry, “Victor? Victor, wake up!” But he’s unresponsive, heavy. The dark stain on my shoulder and hair sends my heart into a frenzy.

With a desperate shove, I manage to roll him off.

My eyes are met with horror—a bullet hole in his forehead, blood a stark contrast against his skin.

Trembling uncontrollably, I bring my bloodstained hands to my mouth, tasting the metallic tang of death.

Tears blur my vision as I whisper in disbelief, “No, this can’t be happening.”

Rolling the diamond ring on my finger does nothing to ease the knot in my chest. I catch the time on the clock by the bed—it’s six in the morning already.

The night was rough, my nightmares worse than any before. Victor’s face messed up in my dreams. A bullet right through his head, turning those sharp gray eyes pitch black, like the life in them just vanished.

A chill ripples through me as I sit up, trying to shake off the dread.

“Could he be dead?” I murmur to myself, my heart thudding painfully at the thought. It’s a weird ache, deep and sharp.

Laur, get a grip.

Rubbing my chest, I try to ease the tightness, to shake off the cold dread that’s settled there.

There’s no way I can fall back asleep now.

I slide out of bed, the silk nightgown feeling out of place on my skin. It’s a constant reminder that my life has taken a surreal turn. The luxury around me feels empty, meaningless.

Anxiety won’t let me sit still. I pace the room, trying to shake off the unease.

“It was just a nightmare,” I tell myself, hoping to believe it.

But the truth nags at me. Victor is in the mafia, a world steeped in danger and death. Why does the thought of him hurt like this? He’s the reason I’m trapped in this golden cage. Yet, the worry for him feels as real as the grief I felt for my mom, lost to her sorrows.

Fuck, I’m overthinking again.

I force myself to stop pacing, realizing I need a distraction, something to cleanse the remnants of the nightmare clinging to my mind.

The idea of a shower flickers through my thoughts like a beacon. Maybe the water can wash away the images, the fear.

As the silk of my nightgown slides over my head and falls to the floor, the chill of the room brushes against my skin, a stark contrast to the warmth I’m about to seek. I step into the shower, letting the water cascade over me. But it does little to wash away the dread.

My heart feels heavy. “I’ll go look for him,” I consider.

No, Luar. He’s not your husband; he’s your captor!

Decision made. I won’t go searching for him.

Finishing the shower, I wrap a fluffy towel around myself, almost in a hug, seeking comfort from its soft embrace.

I approach the fogged mirror, wiping it with a hand to clear my reflection. It’s then I notice the puffiness around my eyes.

“Did I cry?” I murmur, staring at the stranger in the mirror.

The realization hits harder than the cold tiles beneath my feet. I’ve been shaken to my core by a nightmare, by the possibility of a loss I hadn’t even admitted mattered to me. This concern for Victor… it’s unsettling, confusing.

Why the hell do I care so much?

I take a deep breath, trying to anchor myself to the here and now.

I wander into the walk-in closet.

A fucking walk-in closet.

The realization that I now have a “his and hers” closet hits me hard. The dresses, all organized by color, the suits, and the extravagant pieces—it’s all too much.

Running my fingers over the fabrics, sequins, and lace, all this luxury still feels alien to me.

I puff out my cheeks in frustration, scanning the closet filled with outfits that scream wealth. No jeans in sight, just dresses and pants too fancy for my taste.

I really miss my own clothes. They might be nothing fancy, just sweatshirts and long pants, but they’re me.

In the end, I opt for the least extravagant pair of black pants and a simple, though clearly designer, white blouse.

Slipping on a pair of sneakers that fit perfectly, I can’t help but be impressed. “Wow, they’ve got everything down, from my underwear to my shoe size.”

Glancing at the ring on my finger, I realize… “This, too.” It must be the same size that Victor’s mom wore.

Approaching a full-length mirror, a silent curse escapes me.

“Shit, I look… elegant.” There’s a moment of disbelief as I see myself looking like those rich wives from Beverly Hills, a world away from my own reality.

The vastness of my room—or should I call it a suite?—hits me again. It dwarfs my old apartment, turning my past life into a distant memory.

What do I do now?

I let out a long sigh.

One breath at a time. Laur, just be thankful you’re still breathing today.

Determined to shake off my restlessness, I make my way downstairs.

The house is waking up; the soft morning light filters through grand windows, casting shadows that dance on the walls.

The early morning light casting a soft glow through the grand space. The TV remote sits precisely where it’s supposed to be on the coffee table. I sink into the plush sofa and try the TV, but nothing holds my interest. It’s too early, and my mind is elsewhere.

I shut it off, realizing it’s still early, just half past six.

“Fine, I’ll go look for him.” I finally give in to the worry gnawing at me.

Damn, why does the nightmare bother me so much?

He’s the man who took me from my life.

Without realizing it, my feet carry me to the door, half thinking it’ll be locked. But it opens right up.

“Oh! Did they forget to lock me in?” Stepping out, I move quietly, almost like a thief, down the corridor, recalling Victor’s words about his meeting room.

“Maybe he’s there, working? Or maybe dealing with mafia stuff…”

The corridors feel endless, lined with doors that hide secrets and stories I can only guess at.

I notice the voices of maids downstairs as I approach a room, the door slightly open, light spilling out. Nearing it, I freeze at the sound of Ksenia’s voice, tense and low, her frustration barely contained.

“What the fuck happened there, Igor?” she snaps into the phone.

My steps betray me, pulling me toward the door.

Logic yells at me to back off, to keep out of mafia messes. Yet, here I am, curiosity bulldozing my caution.

“What do you mean you guys got ambushed?” Ksenia’s voice slices through the silence, sharp and demanding.

I edge closer, making sure to stay out of sight, holding my breath like it could make me invisible. Peeking around the corner, I see Ksenia in full force.

She’s there, in the heart of Victor’s dark, wood-drenched office, chaos in the form of papers and files strewn across the desk. Ksenia leans over them, glasses perched on her nose, phone clutched tight. The air smells of old books and something… richer, darker.

I barely breathe, watching Ksenia handle the crisis on the phone.

She paces back and forth, her hand gripping the phone tight enough to make her knuckles white. Every so often, she stops, pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s fighting off a headache or trying to squeeze the bad news into something manageable.

With a long slow breath, her next question answers every piece of dread from my nightmare.

“Tell me now, is Victor dead?”