I refuse to go quiet, refuse to be conquered. I meet him stroke for stroke, grinding up to meet him, twisting to break his rhythm. He catches my wrists again, pins them, his body blanketing mine.
“You belong to me now,” he grits, sweat beading at his temples. “Say it.”
“Go to hell,” I spit, but I can’t stop the moan that escapes me as he thrusts deeper, hitting a place that makes my vision blur.
He grins, savage, lips at my ear. “You can pretend to hate me, but I know the truth.”
He’s everywhere, his mouth on my neck, his hands gripping my hips, his cock filling me so completely I can’t remember why I ever wanted to fight. I’m soaked, trembling, nails clawing at his back, leaving welts he’ll wear for days.
He shifts, pushing my knees higher, driving into me at a new angle that rips a cry from my throat. “Let them hear you,” he demands, voice dark velvet. “Let them all know who’s fucking you.”
I arch up, biting his shoulder again, and he thrusts harder, relentless, until the pain melts into pleasure, until I’m begging him with my body even as I curse him with my words.
“I hate you,” I pant, “I hate you, I hate you—”
He clamps his hand over my mouth, laughing into my hair. “Lie to me all you want, Bella,” he whispers, rocking into me so deep I can barely breathe. “Your body’s honest.”
He slides a hand between us, finding that spot that makes me unravel, his thumb circling until my hips are shaking. “Comefor me,” he commands, tone that won’t allow disobedience. “Now. Scream for me.”
So I do. I shatter around him, crying out, back arching off the bed, every nerve on fire. He fucks me through it, never letting up, groaning my name against my neck as he finds his own release, spilling inside me with a ferocious growl.
He collapses over me, both of us slick with sweat, the sheets twisted beneath us, my legs tangled around his hips.
For long moments, there’s only our breathing—harsh, ragged, proof of the battle we’ve just fought. He doesn’t let go, even as his weight pins me down, his lips ghosting over my jaw.
I lie there, stunned, body humming with aftershocks, his scent, his skin, the ache between my legs all reminders of what just happened. I don’t want to feel safe beneath him, don’t want the strange satisfaction curling through my belly, but I can’t deny it either.
He props himself on one elbow, studying me. “You liked that,” he says quietly. It’s not a question, but a certainty.
When it’s done, I’m left trembling. I’m spent, sweat-slick, heart galloping under my ribs. Emil lingers over me, his hand smoothing my hair from my damp forehead, thumb tracing the curve of my cheek.
There’s something almost gentle in his touch, but his gaze is impossible to read. He leans in, mouth brushing my ear, and whispers in Russian—soft, dark, intimate. I don’t know if it’s a blessing, a threat, or both.
He slips from the bed, moving with silent purpose. I watch him dress, pulling on his shirt, straightening his cuffs with military precision. He doesn’t look back. The door closes behind him with a quiet finality that lands like a slap.
I lie there, staring up at the ceiling. The room is different now, emptier, air charged with the aftershocks of what’s just happened.
My body aches in ways I don’t recognize; my skin is streaked with his marks, my throat sore from cries I tried and failed to smother. The sheets cling to my legs, damp with sweat and other things. I feel raw, open, changed.
Emotion storms through me—rage, shame, relief, something bright and terrifying that has no name. I think of Emil’s vow, of the strange reverence in his voice when he claimed me, and the confusion cuts deeper than any bruise.
I hate myself for responding, for the way I remember his weight, his heat, the shock of wanting it. I want to cry, but the tears won’t come. Anger and disgust twist in my gut, tangled up with a thrill I can’t deny.
I pull the covers to my chin, trying to disappear, but sleep won’t come. I replay everything: the silk, the bruising kiss, the moment fear turned to fire. I wonder what I am now, what I’m becoming, what future I’ve been locked into.
Dawn bleeds into the sky as I lie awake. I whisper a curse against Emil, and against myself, knowing nothing will ever be simple again.
Chapter Twenty - Emil
The office is quiet. Morning sunlight pools over polished wood and glass, the city stretching gray and endless beyond the windows.
I sit at my desk, the old chair creaking beneath my weight, but my thoughts refuse to settle. The world outside is orderly—my men patrolling the gates, a fortress as secure as money and blood can make it. But inside my own skin, nothing is quiet.
I can still taste her defiance, sharp as whiskey on my tongue. I can hear the catch in her breath, the way her voice trembled as she spat curses and hate at me even as her body burned beneath my hands.
I can feel the press of her hips, the bite of her nails, the way she arched into me in that gilded cage of a bedroom, fighting me and herself with equal ferocity. Every time I close my eyes, I see her: flushed, wild, dangerous in a way that should make me cautious.
Instead it just makes me hungry.
