Page 29 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

Smack.

The sound is deafening in the tiled room, echoing off the marble walls. Via lets out a sharp, high-pitched gasp, her back arching, her fingers clawing at the smooth stone of the counter. The skin of her left cheek instantly turns a bright, angry pink.

"That’s for Vladimir," I growl, my hand swinging back again.

Smack.

"Ah! Stop! I hate you!"

Smack.

She sobs, her hips twitching as she tries to escape the bite of my palm, but my left hand is a vise on her hip, holding her firmly in place. I deliver three more heavy, rhythmic blows, the skin of her bottom warming under my hand, turning a beautiful, deep red that contrasts sharply with the pale skin of her thighs.

"You are a Kovalevskii now," I say, my breath hot against her bare shoulder as I lean down, my chest pressing her flat against the marble. "Your name is my name. Your mouth is my mouth. When you speak, you speak with my authority. If you forget that again, Via, the punishment won't be this gentle."

She’s panting, small, wet sobs escaping her throat as she stares at her own flushed face in the mirror. "You're... you're a beast."

"I am," I mutter, my hand sliding down her inner thigh.

I find the lace of her thong and rip it. The fabric tears easily, the black lace fluttering down to the wet tile floor. I slide my fingers between her thighs, my hand warm against her skin.

I expect her to be dry. I expect her body to be shut down from the anger and the humiliation of the spanking.

But when my fingers brush against her cleft, they slide into a thick, soaking wetness that makes my jaw clench. She is dripping. The hot, slippery syrup of her arousal is coating her inner thighs, her body completely betraying her anger.

I let out a low, rough growl, my fingers sliding inside her. "Look at you."

She lets out a loud, broken cry, her head thrashing against the glass of the mirror. She tries to close her legs, but my thigh is wedged between her knees, forcing them apart. I move my fingers, driving them deep into her tight, slippery channel, before pulling back to rub my thumb against her swollen nub.

"No, Ilya... please..." Her voice is a ragged, breathless wheeze. She’s staring at her own reflection, her eyes wide, glassy, and completely dark with a lust she can’t control. "I don't... I don't want this."

"Liar," I whisper, my teeth grazing the shell of her ear. I increase the pace of my fingers, my hand slick with her juices, the wet, squelching sound of the friction loud in the quiet bathroom. "Look at the mirror, Via. Look at how wet you are for the monster. You hate me, but your cunt is begging for my cock."

She lets out a long, ragged groan, her body shaking as the tension in her belly begins to wind tighter. Her internal muscles are clamping down around my fingers, squeezing them in tight, desperate pulses. She’s close. I can feel the heat of her climax rising, her skin turning flush and hot.

I pull my fingers out.

She lets out a sharp, angry cry of protest, her hips jerking backward, seeking the pressure that I just denied her. "Ilya! Please!"

"Beg for it, Via," I growl, my hand coming up to grip her hair, pulling her head back until she has to look at me in the reflection. My other hand goes to my belt, quickly unbuckling it and sliding my trousers down. My cock springs free, thick, purple-red, and throbbing with a heavy, painful pulse. "Tell me what you want."

"I want... I want you," she sobs, her head shaking, her tears smearing the makeup around her eyes. "Please, Ilya. It hurts. I need it."

"You want the monster?" I slide my hands down to her hips, positioning the head of my cock right against her wet, throbbing entrance. "Tell me who owns you, Viallentinka."

"You do," she gasps, her fingers digging into the marble until her nails look like they’re about to break. "Fuck you, you do, so just… please."

I drive myself inside her, thrusting deep, my entire length sliding into her tight, burning channel in a single, heavy stroke.

She screams, the sound bouncing off the tiles as she arches her back, her bare breasts pressing against the cold marble of the vanity. She’s so tight I can barely move, her internal walls wrapping around me like a hot glove, squeezing me so hard I have to freeze, my jaw clenching as I fight the urge to release immediately.

"Via..." I groan, my forehead resting against her shoulder blade. "You're going to break my control."

"Move," she gasps, her hips twitching against mine. "Please, Ilya. Move."

I begin to thrust.

The pace is hard, deep, and brutal. The wet, heavy slap of our bodies hitting is the only sound in the room, mixed with the ragged, breathless gasps escaping her throat. I slide my hand under her belly, my fingers finding her clit and rubbing it hard with every deep stroke of my hips.