I was caught spying on a Bratva king. His punishment? One night of sexting, surrender… and two pink lines.
The plan was to delete the accidental photo. Instead, I sent him the stolen shot. His reply—a bolder one, made my body hum and my thighs tremble.
He set my desire ablaze and demanded payment. My fingers clawed at his skin, desperate to quell the ache.
Yet he pressed me into his sheets, tasting me—controlled, savoring, until I was left utterly raw and gasping.
But it was nothing more than a one-night fling, especially he was the Bratva king. So I ran—with a secret growing inside me.
Five years later, I thought I’d buried it all. Until my new neighbor opened the door— and those same brown eyes locked on me, the ones my daughter sees in the mirror.
