“Come again,” I order. “Come on the cock you claim to hate.”
“I hate you,” she sobs, but her walls start fluttering. “I hate you so fucking much.”
She comes a second time, harder, screaming into the mattress, her cunt clamping down on me like a vise. I can’t hold back. I bury myself to the hilt and explode, flooding her with hot, thick pulses. My groan is raw and furious. I hate that she can pull this out of me. I hate how perfect she feels.
We collapse, both of us breathing like we ran a war. I stay inside her for a few more seconds, feeling her tremble around me. Then I pull out. Anna’s dress is torn, hair a mess, breathing like she just ran a marathon.
I button my pants and look down at her. There are scratches on my neck from her nails. Blood, probably. My shirt is ripped at the shoulder.
“You’re fighting a losing battle,” I tell her.
She looks up at me with pure hatred in her eyes. “Then I’ll lose. But I’ll never stop fighting you.”
I turn and walk out, closing the door behind me.
My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists and walk to my study.
Pavel is at his desk in the corner, reviewing something on his tablet. He looks up when I enter. “Everything alright?” he asks, taking in my appearance.
“Fine. Where’s Maxim?”
“Moscow. He’s overseeing the distribution network expansion. Should be back next week.”
“Call him. Tell him I want to speak with him.”
Pavel makes the call. Two minutes later, my phone rings.
“Father.” Maxim’s voice is professional. Distant.
“When are you coming back to the estate?”
“I’m not sure. The Moscow operations need attention. Yuri is having issues with?—”
“I don’t care about Yuri’s issues. I want you here. You haven’t been to the estate since the wedding.”
Silence on the other end. Then, “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to meet your stepmother properly? To spend time with her children who are living in our house?”
“They’re her children. Not mine.”
“They’re part of this household. You need to establish a relationship with them.”
“Why? They’re four years old. What relationship am I supposed to have with four-year-olds?”
“A familial one. Anna is my wife. Those children are under my protection. You avoiding them sends a message.”
“What message?”
“That you don’t accept them. That you see them as outsiders.”
“Don’t they qualify as outsiders? Anna married into this family three weeks ago. The twins aren’t blood. Why should I treat them like family?”
“Because I’m telling you to.”
More silence. I can hear voices in the background. Maxim is at a restaurant or club, somewhere public.
“I’ll come by when I have time,” he says finally.
