Page 26 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“Coincidently,” he says, “my side of the bed smells like you. Were you in here earlier, sweetheart, playing with yourself?”

“In your dreams.”

“No,” purrs Emil, the sheets crinkling as he shuffles closer. “In yours. Did the fingernail marks trigger a memory?” Emil places a hand on my back, a hot sweat breaking out across my skin. “You’re horny now. I can tell. I know you, sweetheart, even when you’re acting reserved.”

Another hot shiver passes through me. I clench my thighs together, praying to God the burning feeling between my legs magically disappears.

Attraction distorts the truth. How the fuck am I meant to shake off my arousal with a broken mind if I failed to walk away from him the first time, back when it was fully functioning?

Slowly, I slide a finger between my legs, pressing it clad against my wet pussy. I rub my clit, already feeling like I could cum. A sweet sensation passes through me, turning my blood to steam.

I’m in too deep. If I stop now, I’ll kill myself.

I decide to see my arousal to the end, rubbing myself subtly underneath the covers, moving my hips ever so slightly. This feels illegal with Emil beside me, and all the more exciting as I break his rules, touching myself when only he’s apparently allowed. I remember that memory like it happened yesterday,when he shoved me into the headboard and threatened to punish me if he caught me touching myself again.

I sigh, losing myself in the pleasure, on the verge of coming silently under the sheets when Emil tears my hand away.

I gasp, yanking my hand back, but Emil’s impossible strength wins every time.

“You think I’m going to let you come when you’re secretly rubbing your pussy under there, spitfire?” His voice wraps around me like the darkest shadow. “The funny thing is, you think you’re doing it secretively. I can smell when you’re wet from fucking miles away.” He takes my hand into his mouth, his hot tongue brushing against my palm, sucking each of my fingers dry. “There’s that raw, earthy scent of yours I love so much. Here.” He shoves my own hand into my face. “Smell yourself. This might help you recover some memories as you remember how wet you always were for me.”

I smell myself on my hand, feelings of shame and embarrassment passing through me. Men have no interest in my scent. They care about fucking me, chasing an orgasm and never speaking to me again. I’m a big advocate for the occasional one-night stand, as long as you forget about it after and get back to business.

The memories I have of Emil suggest I made him the center of my world, which goes against all my morals.

He’s interested on another level, taking my hand back so he can sniff me once again. “You’re always so ready for me, sweetheart. You never wore panties around the house if you were dressed, which you rarely ever were,” he moans, shuffling even closer. “Nothing has changed there. You’re still walking in on me killingpeople, completely in the nude. Thank fuck the men are already dead.”

“Still?” I say, hung up over that one word. “How many times have I walked in on you killing someone?” A better question surfaces. “How many times have youmurdered,Emil?”

“That’s my business.”

“It’s also mine, since we’re apparently married.”

“Hm,” he grunts. “You want to talk about sharing business?” His hand trails down my clad thigh, causing multiple shivers to rush down my spine. “Be my guest.” He nudges my thighs open with his flexed finger, his rough palms brushing my inner thighs. “You’ll always be the same smitten girl, wishing she never wanted me.”

My blood turns thick, my breath unable to contain. My pussy is burning, and he’s not even touching me there yet. Him smelling my scent and being totally invested in me, even if itison an unhealthy level, is good enough for me.

I allow myself to sink into his touch. He could be right—being close to him may help me recover some memories.

I’ll face consequences when I get my memory back. For now, I’m interested in slipping into bliss, in feeling things other than frustration and self-hatred as I inflict stress on myself by keeping away from a man my body evidently can’t be apart from.

The twins come first.I’m doing this for them, taking away stress that could stunt their growth. They’re counting on me to sleep with their father.

Emil parts my thighs wider, touching my outer folds, working his way in. He catches my clit, his rough fingertip bristling over the sensitive nub.

An embarrassing moan falls out of my mouth, but I’m flying too high to feel the embarrassment. White hot pleasure fills my entire body as he rubs my clit, pushing me straight to the edge.

“Don’t you dare come yet, spitfire,” he groans, inserting himself between my legs and spreading them wider.

I lower the sheets slightly, losing myself in the darkness, in the blinding pleasure that hits me harder than the storm. Emil strokes his tongue over my clit, increasing the rhythm.

My vision starts slipping away, replaced by swirling purple gradients as I lose myself in his touch.

“Yes,” I find myself moaning. “Just like that.” I frown, the arousal dimming for a moment. “How do you know how to…?”

“Like I said, sweetheart. We’ve had lots of practice.”

Some of the fog shifts from my mind, each tongue stroke bringing me closer to remembering.