Page 85 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“Where are you going with this?”

“Sacrifices have to be made. The reason you kept running away from me is because your mother’s instinct always knew the truth.”

Nothing about this is fair. Emil is rejecting me and looks good doing it, jaw a perfect right angle, cheekbones sitting high on his face, giving him the symmetry of a model.

He argues some good points, but I see the loving sides of Emil. He has what it takes to be a father. He willingly sacrificed himself for me today, surrendering his life for the good of ourfamily. Evil takes different forms, and I have been exposed to both.

Emil may exude some of my father’s characteristics, but they are two very different people.

The fact that he wants to walk away is exactly why he should stay.

Now it is my turn to fight for this relationship, and I start by lifting the hem of my shirt above my breasts, over my head, tossing it out into the room.

Some of Luka’s blood seeped through the shirt, onto the bra. I smooth my palm over the cups, giving each breast a firm squeeze. The gasp that escapes my mouth is completely accidental. Sex is the last thing my body should crave. I murdered a human being today, stabbed him repeatedly in the chest, instinct taking full control of my body. And now desire wraps me in a warm fuzzy blanket, my bare skin prickling, my nipples begging to be kissed by fresh air.

I tease my bra clasp, locking eyes with Emil. “Help me out of this bra. I’m struggling to reach.”

“Fia,” he says in that dark, raspy tone, the one full of warning, and yet so inviting at the same time.

“I need to shower. Help me get undressed.”

“No, Fia.” Emil’s voice booms through the wall, hitting me right in the pussy.

He hears no, but all I hear is yes.

I tug on the bra clasp, loosening the straps, the bra falling to the floor.

My breasts bounce out, cold air brushing my sensitive nipples just as I expected. I groan, my knees buckling. Standing up requires too much effort. I want to lose myself in Emil’s arms. He can explore my body, weave his fingers through my pussy and make me feel Zen.

I squeeze my breasts, staring directly at Emil.

He can remain as still as he wants, but his cock will always rise for me. I sense it shifting in his pants, the air around us charged. A bulge forms in his pants, becoming more noticeable the more I play with myself, swirling my nipples, doing whatever feels natural.

My hands gravitate south on their own accord, undoing my pants. I pop the button, shoving my pants down, my panties too. Cold air bites my clit. I widen my legs, spreading my folds apart.

I find my clit, rubbing the nub, pinning Emil a glare, showing him what he could have if he loosened up a little.

He remains rigid, watching me, that bulge in his pants becoming more obvious.

A whimper escapes my lips as I continue rubbing myself, reaching the end much faster than I expected. White hot pleasure builds from the very pit in my stomach, expanding out, caressing every nerve in my body.

I stumble back into the wall, arching my back, flushed red as I continue strumming my clit, needing this orgasm, needing Emil, more than I need air in my lungs. He is the air in my lungs, the person who breathes life into my soul and makes it happy. Adrenaline is still surging through me after the events of today, needing somewhere to go, waiting to be released.

Emil is urging me to release myself. He won’t give himself permission to finish me off, but his eyes are urging me over the edge. They glint silver in the faded light, encouraging me to keep going. He wants me to cum under his gaze, for me to fold, for this to be over so he can stay true to his word.

I sigh, forcing my hand away from my pussy. As painful as this is, I refuse to let Emil win. He will touch me and surrender to his desires. I have caved countless times before. All I’m asking is for him to do the same.

I crumble into the wall, wetness leaking down my thighs, my clit throbbing with an impossible want.

“Don’t stop on my account, spitfire,” he says from the other side of the room.

“I’m not making myself come,” I say, sliding a finger between myself, teasing my pussy under his nose. “I’m not allowed to touch myself, remember? You know the rules.”

Emil clenches his jaw, swiping a black lock of hair away from his face.

Arousal wanders aimlessly though my body, searching for an anchor to tether itself to. My anchor is standing right in front of me, being fucking stubborn.

But I will get what I want.