Page 22 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

"I don't want a dutiful wife, little bird."

His hand shoots out, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of my head. He yanks my head back, forcing my mouth up to meet his.

He doesn't ask for permission. He takes, his mouth devouring mine with a raw, desperate hunger that knocks the breath straight out of my lungs. I let out a muffled whimper against his lips, my hands flying up to push against his chest, but his body is an immovable wall.

He presses me back against the edge of the desk. The mahogany bites into my lower back, but he doesn't care. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into my mouth, marking me, consuming me, leaving me no room to breathe.

My body, the traitorous, stupid thing, instantly responds.

A hot, electric shock waves through my gut. My knees go weak, my fingers clutching at the damp cotton of his open shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. I hate it. I hate how my heart is hammering, not from fear, but from a desperate, wild need.

He pulls back a fraction, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged gasps. His eyes are black, completely blown out, staring down at my swollen lips. "You talk too much, Via."

Before I can snap back, he grabs the bodice of my white lace dress. With a single, powerful jerk, he rips the fabric down the front.

The sound of tearing silk is loud in the quiet room. The cool air hits my bare skin, making my nipples immediately harden into tight peaks. I let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp, my hands flying up to cover myself, but he catches my wrists. He pins them to the mahogany desk on either side of my head, his grip like steel cuffs.

"Look at you," he rasps, his gaze sliding down my body.

He’s looking at me like he wants to eat me alive. There’s no tenderness in his eyes, no soft, romantic longing. It’s pure, predatory possession.

"You're beautiful when you're angry," he murmurs, his mouth dropping to my collarbone. He bites down on the sensitive skin near my neck, his teeth grazing the flesh just hard enough to make me arch off the desk with a sob.

"Ilya... please..." I don't even know what I’m begging for anymore. To stop. To continue.

He releases my wrists, but before I can move, he hooks his hands under my thighs and hoists me onto the edge of the desk. He slides his body between my legs, his hips pressing hard against mine. Even through his trousers, I can feel the thick, rigid length of his arousal, pressing directly into the center of my heat.

The white lace of my skirt is bunched up around my waist, a ruined heap of silk. He doesn't waste time with the stockings. He drags his large, rough palm up my inner thigh, his hand warm against my skin.

I close my eyes, my head tossing back against the desk as his fingers find the edge of my silk panties. He rips them away, the fabric tearing easily.

"Look at me, Via," he growls, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against my chest.

I open my eyes, my vision blurry with tears. He’s staring down at me, his hand sliding between my legs. When his fingers touch my wetness, a long, ragged shiver runs through my entire body. I’m soaking wet, completely ready for him despite the terror, despite the blood on his shirt.

"You’re so tight," he murmurs, sliding two fingers inside me.

I let out a loud, breathless cry, my fingers clawing at the mahogany desk behind me. He moves his fingers, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves and putting just enough pressure on it to make my hips tilt upward, seeking more.

"You hate me," he whispers, his thumb tracing my bottom lip until the skin is raw. "But your body knows who you belong to."

"Shut up," I gasp, my breath coming in short, panting hitches. "Just... shut up."

He lets out a dark chuckle, the sound vibrating against my bare breasts as he leans down to take one hardened nipple into his mouth. He sucks on it, his tongue swirling around the peak, while his fingers continue to drive me to the edge.

The pleasure is too much. It’s a sharp, burning wire that twists in my belly, pulling tighter and tighter until I’m whimpering, my head thrashing against the wood.

"Ilya... I'm going to..."

"I know," he growls.

He pulls his fingers out, and for a second, the sudden emptiness makes me want to scream. But then he unbuckles his belt. He slides his trousers down, his eyes never leaving mine as he positions himself at my entrance.

He’s massive. Thick, dark, and terrifyingly hot.

"This is going to hurt a little, little bird," he whispers, his hand coming up to cup my face, his thumb rubbing my cheekbone. "But you’re mine now. Every part of you."

Before I can process the warning, he drives himself inside me in a single, deep thrust.