Page 12 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

"I hate you," she says, her voice a ragged thread.

I move suddenly, spinning her around and forcing her toward the bed. She lets out a small, muffled shriek as her knees hit the mattress, and I follow her down, my body pressing her into the velvet duvet. I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, my other hand coming up to bridge her neck, my thumb resting right over her windpipe.

I don't squeeze. I want her to feel the absolute power I have over her breathing.

"You think your mouth is going to save you?" I rasp, my face inches from hers. "You think if you make enough jokes about my suit or my ego, I’ll forget that you’re a Denisov? I’ll forget that your father is currently planning my execution?"

"I'm not... I'm not my father," she gasps, her chest heaving against my suit jacket.

"No. You're mine."

The words feel right. They feel like a fact of nature. I shift my weight, my thigh sliding between hers, forcing her legs apart through the heavy lace of her dress. I can feel the heat of her, the softness that Mikhail never got to touch. The thought of that coward even looking at her makes my blood boil.

I release her neck and slide my hand down, my fingers tangling in the silk of her bodice. I pull the fabric taut until her breasts are pushed up, the hard peaks of her nipples visible through the lace.

She lets out a sob, a real one this time, and tries to twist away. "Please. Ilya, stop."

"I told you not to say no to me, Via." I lean down, my mouth grazing the shell of her ear. I can feel her heart hammering against my ribs. "You want to know what the punishment for disobedience is?"

I don't wait for an answer. I move my hand lower, bunching up the endless layers of her white skirt until I find the hem of her silk stockings. I slide my palm up her inner thigh, the skin there so soft it feels like flower petals.

She freezes, her breath hitching in her throat. "What are you doing?"

I find the edge of her silk panties, thin, white, and completely useless against me, and I slide two fingers inside her.

Instantly, Viallentinka erupts beneath me, her body turning into a violent storm of thrashing limbs and raw fury. She fights me with everything she has, hips twisting desperately to escape my hand, her fingernails digging violently into my shoulders.

"Get your filthy, godforsaken hands off me!" she spits, her voice cracking with rage and panic. "I swear to God, Ilya, I will tear your throat out while you sleep! You're a monster, a pathetic, miserable bastard!"

The venom pouring from her lips should infuriate me, but it does the exact opposite. Her fierce, breathless tirade is deeply entertaining. I actually have to suppress the urge to laugh out loud at how viciously she barks from beneath me, especially when her body completely undermines her words. Even as she curses my bloodline and fights to push me away, her hips betray her, unconsciously arching upward, pressing herself deeper against my fingers with every twist.

The contradiction is intoxicating. A dark, slow smile spreads across my face as I look down at her flushed, furious expression. She looks utterly magnificent when she’s unravelling.

She catches the look. Her eyes widen with hatred at the amusement dancing in my eyes. Before I can predict her movement, her hand flies up.

Crack.

The sound of her palm meeting my cheek rings loudly in the quiet room.

My head snaps to the side.

The entire room goes dead silent. Viallentinka freezes instantly, her hand hovering in the air. Her eyes are wide with sudden, gripping terror as she realizes exactly what she has just done to a man like me.

Slowly, I turn my face back to her. The sting on my cheek doesn't anger me. No, it fuels the fire roaring in my veins. The adrenaline is a sweet rush. I lean down lower, my frame completely swallowing her up.

"I like it when you fight back," I murmur, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "It makes breaking you so much sweeter."

My eyes lock onto hers, and I begin to move my fingers.

She lets out a cry, her back arching off the bed. She’s wet. Soaking wet. The discovery hits me hard to the gut. She’s terrified of me, she hates me, but her body is welcoming me like I’m the only thing it’s ever wanted.

The fight drains out of her all at once. Her hands lose their strength, dropping to the sheets as she surrenders to the sensation, completely unable to resist the pull.

"Look at me, Viallentinka," I command.

She’s shaking now, her eyes glazed and unfocused, her head thrashing against the pillow. I move my fingers, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves and putting just enough pressure on it to make her gasp my name.

"Ilya... please..."