THEA SMITH- an innocent godess gets trapped in the web of the satan himself- YAROSLAV ZOLNEROWICH the Pakhan of Russian Bratva
He got obsessed with Thea when he got the first glimpse of her, believing that an angel from heaven itself descended, sear...
Thea's heart was pounding so loudly in her chest she could barely think straight. Strip him. That's what he wanted her to do. Her mind screamed at her to hesitate, to stop, but right now, there was no one else around—no maids, no Dimitri or Ivan. It was just her and him. She gave a reluctant nod, her stomach fluttering with nerves. She stepped forward, avoiding his eyes, hoping he didn't see how unsure she was. Her hands trembled as she helped him stand, trying to focus on anything but the way his presence overwhelmed her senses.
She stood in front of him, her fingers fumbling with the first button of his shirt. Before she could make much progress, his strong hands suddenly gripped her waist, jerking her closer. She gasped, her wide eyes locking onto his, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. His touch was fire, burning through the fabric of her top and into her skin. Her cheeks flushed, her legs weakening under the intensity of the moment. Her heart was racing, and the fact that she was wearing a cropped top made everything worse. His fingers were right on her bare skin, the heat of his palm sending a shiver up her spine.
She dared to look up, and his eyes—oh, his eyes—were dark, full of something raw. Love? Lust? Devotion? It felt like too much. She gulped, feeling her throat dry up, and a tiny voice in her head urged her to look away. "Open them," he commanded, his voice low and dripping with seduction.
Her fingers moved again, though her brain felt scrambled. Thea forced herself to focus, opening the first button, then the second, and by the time she reached the third, his chest was in view. Her face burned even more, and she averted her gaze, praying he didn't notice her embarrassment. His hands didn't help—they moved slowly, softly, grazing her waist again and making her entire body shiver. This close, with his body towering over her, she felt fragile, vulnerable. She tried to steady herself, focusing on the task at hand.
Reaching the last button, she peeled the shirt away, careful not to look directly at his chest. Don't look, Thea, don't look, she kept repeating in her mind. The heat was unbearable. Once she removed the shirt, she moved to his side, trying to finish the job as quickly as possible. But as she glanced up at his face, a wave of fear shot through her. His expression had changed. Gone was the softness—replaced by something dark, almost dangerous.
Her heart skipped a beat. "R-Ro, you okay?" she stammered, her voice small and uncertain.
He hummed in response, his eyes never leaving her, his gaze intense. The weight of his stare sent a chill down her spine, and for a moment, she felt like prey in front of a predator.
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Yaroslav watched her every move, his patience wearing thin, but he needed her to go at her own pace—needed her to fall deeper into his world. When she hesitated, he smirked to himself, knowing he could wait just a little longer. Her reluctance only made the moment sweeter. She was here, right in front of him, within his grasp.
But when she touched him—when her soft, trembling hands made contact with his skin—something shifted inside him. The delicate pressure of her fingers grazing his shirt set his nerves on fire. His grip on her waist tightened instinctively, pulling her closer. He didn't even think about it. It was a reflex, a need. A dark, possessive need to feel her against him, to consume every part of her. The shock in her eyes, the way her body tensed in response, only spurred him on.
