Page 55 of Bought By the Ruthless Pakhan

The words landed like a brand. I opened my mouth to question him, to figure out if he was lying, but he didn't give me the chance. He pushed forward, slow and deep, and I cried out, nails digging into his shoulders. The stretch burned sweetly, my body remembering him even as it struggled to take every thick inch. He did not stop until he was seated fully, hips flush to mine, the base of him pressed tight against me. For a long moment neither of us moved. I could feel the throb of his pulse inside me, the way my walls fluttered and clenched around the sudden, overwhelming fullness.

"Christ, Anna." His voice broke, forehead dropping to mine. "You're so tight."

I couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Every shallow inhale made me feel him more, the heavy weight of him stretching me open, the heat of his body blanketing mine. Sweat already slicked the place where our chests met. His breath ghosted across my lips, uneven, and I tasted the salt of my own skin still on his mouth when he finally kissed me.

He groaned, pulling back slightly before sliding in again. The drag was exquisite—slow enough that I felt every ridge, every inch of him leaving and returning. "You've been waiting for me, haven't you?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't. But my body told him everything. My legs wrapped higher around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, urging him deeper. My hands slid from his shoulders to his nape, fingers threading into his hair again, holding on. When he rolled his hips on the next thrust, grinding against the place that made stars burst behind my eyes, a broken whimper escaped me.

He moved carefully at first, like he was afraid I'd shatter. Each stroke was measured, deep, the wet sound of our bodies meeting soft and rhythmic in the quiet room. But when I rolled my hips against him, something snapped. His control fractured,and he thrust harder, deeper. The change was sudden and electric. The careful rhythm vanished. His next thrust drove the air from my lungs. The one after that made the headboard knock softly against the wall. He braced one forearm beside my head, the other hand sliding under my lower back to tilt me higher, changing the angle until every stroke dragged perfectly over that swollen, desperate place inside me.

I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out too loud. The bed creaked beneath us, and I prayed Alex couldn't hear—prayed the thin walls and the closed door were enough, that the sound of the shower running earlier had masked enough. My nails scored down Ivan's back; I felt the faint catch of skin under them and could not make myself stop. He growled low in his throat at the sting and answered by snapping his hips harder, the slap of skin on skin now sharp and unmistakable.

A knock on the door.

"Mom?"

I froze, eyes going wide. Ivan's hand clamped over my mouth, his body going still inside me. The sudden silence was almost louder than the creaking bed had been. I could feel him pulsing deep, could feel how close I had already been, the climax hovering just out of reach and now locked in place by pure panic. His eyes met mine, dark and fierce, a silent command to stay quiet. His palm was warm and slightly rough against my lips; I tasted the salt of my own skin on his skin.

"Mom, what are you guys doing?"

I looked up at Ivan, pleading silently. His jaw tightened, the vein in his temple throbbing. The effort of holding perfectly still while buried to the hilt in me showed in the fine tremor of his arms, the way his abs flexed against my stomach.

"We're discussing your situation at home," Ivan called out, his voice remarkably steady. "Go finish your homework. I'll check it later."

A pause.

The seconds stretched. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears, could feel the slow, involuntary clench of my body around him that made his eyelids flicker.

"Okay!"

Footsteps padded away.

The second the sound faded, Ivan moved again—harder this time, no restraint left. His hand dropped from my mouth, fingers threading through mine and pinning them above my head. The sudden freedom of my lips lasted only long enough for a broken moan to escape before he claimed my mouth in a deep, messy kiss, swallowing the rest of the sounds. He drove into me with short, powerful thrusts that shook the mattress, the headboard, the whole frame of the bed. Every impact sent sparks racing up my spine. My free hand clutched at his shoulder, then his back, then the sheets, needing something solid to hold while the rest of me came apart.

"Ivan. Oh God—"

He didn't slow down. His hips snapped against mine, relentless, and I couldn't hold back anymore. My cries spilled out, muffled against his shoulder as he drove into me again and again. The pressure built too fast, too high, coiling tight in my belly until it had nowhere left to go. I came with a broken sob, walls clamping down hard around him, pleasure crashing through me in long, shuddering waves that left my thighs shaking and my vision white at the edges. He kept moving through it, chasing his own end, the wet glide of him almost too much against oversensitive flesh.

When I finally came apart, he wasn't far behind, his whole body going rigid before he collapsed against me. A low, guttural sound tore from his chest as he buried himself as deep as he could and pulsed hard inside me, flooding me with heat. His forehead pressed to the pillow beside my head, breath raggedand hot against my ear. For long seconds the only sound was the two of us trying to remember how to breathe, the occasional aftershock still fluttering through my core and drawing a quiet groan from him each time.

I was too exhausted to move. I managed to roll onto my side, turning my back to him. The sheets tangled around my calves, the air still heavy with heat.

He pulled me back against him, his palm settling over the red marks he'd left on my waist. Slowly, he tightened his hold, resting his chin in the curve of my shoulder.

"Anna," he rasped, "are you still angry with me?"

Angry?

Of course I was angry.

I turned my head and bit down on his jaw. My teeth sank in, tasting faint copper.

Five years, and those words still haunted me.

He grunted but didn't pull away. His hand rubbed slow circles on my back, like soothing a hissing cat.

I clenched my teeth. "You said I couldn't take care of myself. I did just fine without you these past five years."