Page 51 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“Yeah,” he says in a very unconvincing tone.

“Are you gonna tell me what Alexander said?”

“It’s nothing exciting,” Emil says, turning around. He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration written across his brow. “He knows things. The man has been hiding for an entire year and somehow knows you’re pregnant. This person sending information to him is playing a dangerous game, and the game will end with me slitting his throat, pouring his blood into a wine glass and drinking every single fucking drop.”

“Sounds a bit satanic,” I chuckle, somehow turned on by hearing that.

Emil’s determination to protect me never goes unnoticed, even though his motives are often questionable. But it’s the thought that counts, and nobody has ever put much thought into me as much as he has.

“If you want to fuck me, spitfire, all you need to do is say.”

“Excuse me?” I choke.

“Your cheeks,” he says, stepping in, ghosting a finger over my face. “They’re red. And your pheromones are strong enough to reach China. Not like I want others smelling you.” His dark eyes wander across my face, taking in every feature, every micro expression.

Shivers rush down my spine every time we’re this close. He puts me in a vulnerable position, my knees always wanting to buckle, like my initial reaction to this man is to bow down and worship.

He is indeed a god, one most people in this world would have no problem bowing down too. Emil has an indistinguishable quality about him. He’s one of a kind, those reflective eyes highlighting your own insecurities, making you feel less than.

But I enjoy the rush that comes with surrendering.

Holding eye contact, I bow down to a man who is definitely very bad for me and unbuckle his belt, taking him out of his pants.

Emil groans as I take his cock into my hands. Both are required. I’m not the kind of woman who falls in love with a man based on the size of his cock, but I definitely let myself get distracted in the bedroom by it.

Chances are, if I did marry Emil to get closer to the truth, I lost sight of my vision after spending most of my time on my knees.

My knees ache from how long I’ve been in this position, but pain equals pleasure, and we’re both getting a lot out of this.

I lick his shaft, holding eye contact the entire time. He towers over me like the trees outside, putting me into shade. His eyes cloud over with desire, turning an even darker shade of black as I take him into my throat, stifling a gag.

Teas stream down my face, my eyes watering as I take even more of him inside, surprising myself by how much of him I can fit in.

“No need to hold yourself back, spitfire,” he groans from above, keeping his beady eye on me. “I want to hear you choke on my cock.”

Only an asshole would say something like that, but I follow his order and let myself go, shoving more of him down my throat, gagging.

I coat him in a thick layer of saliva, taking him out of my mouth to see rock solid he is, begging for a fuck.

Of course, Emil doesn’t beg. He takes without asking, which is what I want right now. Talking is cheap and resolves nothing. We’re both stressed, me freaked out about the amnesia, Emil at war with his enemies. Sex makes everything feel better, so I lose my pants and hop up onto the counter, opening my legs.

“So fucking wet for me,” groans Emil, sinking his finger into my pussy. He plants a tender kiss to the area, his tongue striking my clit, causing a fire to ignite low in my belly. “You’re always begging for it.”

“I beg to differ,” I tease, gesturing to his hard cock. “You look like you’re in pain.”

“The pleasure makes everything worth it,” he says, teasing his cock over my entrance, gliding the tip across my pussy. “See how good we look when we come together, spitfire,” he groans, encouraging me to watch. “This is what happens when you learn to accept the truth. Your body rewards you for surrendering.”

“To the wrong man,” I highlight, catching Emil’s perfect face. “My body might know what feels right, but how can my mind?”

“It can’t,” says Emil, staring deep into my eyes. “Perhaps the amnesia was a blessing rather than a curse, a way for you to take a break from using your head and come into your body more.”

“Unfortunately, I disagree," I say, staring between my legs where Emil is still teasing my pussy with his cock, nudging the tip through my folds. “Facts are all I’ve ever had.”

“And look where it’s gotten you,” says Emil, arching his eyebrow. “You were almost killed.”

“By you.”

“Never by me, spitfire. You have given me the chance, but it’s the other way around.”