Page 23 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

The pain is sharp, a sudden, burning stretch that makes me scream against his mouth as he seals his lips over mine. I can feel the barrier of my virginity tearing, the warm, wet rush of blood mixing with my arousal. I claw at his back, my nails digging into his skin, trying to push him out, but he stays still, buried deep inside me.

He groans, a low, guttural sound of pure agony and pleasure. He stays frozen, his forehead resting against mine, his chest heaving against my bare breasts.

"Via..." He breathes my name like it’s a confession. "You're so goddamn small."

"Don't... don't move," I sob, my eyes tightly shut as my body slowly adjusts to the thick fullness of him.

He waits. He’s surprisingly patient, his hands soothing the trembling in my thighs, his thumb tracing my jawline until my breathing starts to slow.

And then, he begins to move.

The pace is slow at first, a heavy, grinding rhythm that makes me gasp with every thrust. But with every slide of his body, the pain starts to recede, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache that builds in my core.

He increases the speed, his thrusts becoming hard, deep, and relentless. The desk creaks under our weight, the gold pen rolling off the mahogany and hitting the floor, but neither of us notices.

I’m lost in the sensation. I’m lost in him.

He’s a monster, a cold, brutal killer who just threatened my father, but right now, he is the only thing that’s keeping me anchored to the earth. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my cries echoing in the quiet study.

He’s marking me. He’s taking every single part of me, my body, my breath, my pride, and turning them into ash.

"Ilya!" I cry out as the tension in my belly suddenly snaps.

My body goes rigid, the waves of my climax washing over me in a violent, shaking rush. I squeeze around him, my internal muscles contracting in tight, desperate pulses.

The feeling of my release is the trigger. With a loud, animalistic roar, Ilya drives himself deep inside me one last time, his body shaking as he releases his seed inside my womb. He collapses against me, his heavy head burying into the crook of my neck, his ragged breaths hot against my collarbone.

We lie there for what feels like hours, the only sound the crackle of the fire and our synchronized breathing.

Slowly, the fog of pleasure starts to clear, leaving behind a cold, heavy reality.

I look past his shoulder, my eyes landing on the cream-colored paper on the desk. My signature is still there, fresh black ink next to his.

I’m not just a captive anymore. I’m not a princess in a gilded cage.

I look at the blood on my thighs, the torn lace of my dress, and the heavy hand resting on my hip.

I am Viallentinka Kovalevskii. And I have officially walked into hell.

8

ILYA

The heavy, musky scent of our joining still hangs heavy mixed with the faint smell of the woodsmoke from the fireplace.

This may just be my favorite scent.

I stand at the foot of the massive bed, my arms crossed over my chest, watching her sleep. The white sheet is tangled around her waist, leaving the smooth, pale curve of her back and the flare of her hips completely exposed to the dim light of the lamp. My gaze tracks the faint, blue-purple smudges my fingers left on her skin last night when I held her down on the desk.

My jaw tightens. A low, aching heat begins to pull in my gut.

I want her again.

I want to crawl back into that bed, rip the sheet away, and sink myself so deep inside her that she forgets her own name. My mind keeps dragging me back to the raw, unfiltered details of last night. The way she felt when I first pushed my way inside her. She was so goddamn tight, her body clamping down around me like a vise. I remember the wet, slippery heat of her coating me, the high, breathless gasp she let out against my mouth, and the way her hips started to twitch and rise to meet my thrusts even while she was crying.

I can still hear the wet, heavy friction of our bodies sliding together. I can still feel the clench of her internal muscles wrapping around me, squeezing me tighter and tighter until I lost my mind and spilled my seed deep inside her womb.

Fucking hell.