Page 53 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

"You are so small," I murmur, my voice a low, gravelly rasp that sounds raw in the quiet room. "I’m always afraid I’m going to break you."

She reaches up, her small, warm fingers wrapping around my wrist, her thumb tracing the thick vein pulsing there. "I’m not made of glass, Ilya. You’ve tried to break me since the day you brought me here, and I’m still standing."

"I don't want to break you anymore, little bird," I say, leaning down until my chest is hovering inches from hers.

"Then what do you want?" Her voice is a breathless whisper, her hazel eyes locking onto my mouth with a raw, starving focus.

"I want to worship you," I rasp.

I drop my mouth to hers, and the kiss is entirely different, I part her lips with my tongue, tasting the sweet vanilla of her skin, my hand sliding up to cup her jaw, my thumb gently tracing her cheekbone. She lets out a long sigh against my mouth, her body completely relaxing beneath mine, her hands rising to tangle in my dark hair.

I pull back slowly, my mouth sliding down the line of her throat. I press my lips to the pulse point in her neck, feeling the frantic, rapid thud of her blood against my tongue. I move lower, my kisses tracing the curve of her collarbone, before dropping to her breasts. I take one tight, hardened peak into my mouth, sucking on it slowly, my tongue swirling around the dark pink bud until she arches off the sheets with a quiet, high-pitched gasp.

"Ilya... oh god..." Her fingers dig into my shoulders, her nails scratching the smooth skin over my shoulder blade.

"Do you like that, Via?" I look up, my chin resting on her chest, watching her face flush in the amber light.

"Yes," she pants, her head tossing back against the pillows. "Please... don't stop."

I don't stop. I move my mouth down the center of her belly, my tongue tracing the dip of her navel, my hands smoothing over her hips, tracing the bruises my own fingers had left there days ago. I kiss the purple marks, my lips soft against her skin, wanting to erase the pain, wanting to replace every single bad memory she has of this house with my touch.

I reach the junction of her thighs, my hands sliding under her knees to part her legs.

She is soaking wet. The hot, slippery syrup of her arousal is glistening on her inner thighs, her body completely ready for me despite the cold rain outside. I kneel between her knees, my eyes tracking the pale, smooth cleft of her sex.

I lean down, my hands gripping her hips to hold her steady. I press my tongue directly against her swollen, throbbing clit.

Via lets out a loud, breathless scream, her body bucking off the sheets as she tries to retreat from the sudden, intense heat of my mouth. But my hands on her hips are iron, keeping her firmly pinned to the bed. I lick her slowly, my tongue sweeping upward, drinking her wetness, before driving two fingers deep into her tight, slippery channel.

"Ilya! No, it’s too much!" She’s thrashing her head against the pillows, her fingers clawing at the dark silk sheets on either side of her head. "I'm going to... I’m close..."

"Let it happen, Via," I growl, my thumb putting a hard, relentless pressure on her nub while my fingers move inside her, matching the frantic, rolling rhythm of her hips. "Give it to me."

"Ilya!"

She shatters. Her body goes completely rigid, her back arching off the mattress as she screams my name into the quiet room. Her internal muscles clamp down around my fingers in a series of violent, shaking contractions, her release flowing over my hand in a hot, soaking wave. I drink her, my tongue devouring her climax, my mouth sealing over her wet skin until her sobs turn into soft, panting gasps.

I pull my hand back, my fingers slick with her juices, and crawl back up her body.

She looks wrecked. Her hair is sprawled across the pillows, her cheeks splotched with pink, her hazel eyes wide, glassy, and completely dark. She is completely open to me, her chest heaving as she stares up into my face.

"You're beautiful," I whisper, my hand coming up to stroke her damp forehead, my voice trembling with a feeling I can’t quite name.

"Ilya," she breathes, the word a soft, quiet prayer against my lips.

I walk to the closet, grabbing a thick, black silk tie from the rack. I return to the bed, my eyes never leaving her face as I sit on the edge of the mattress.

"Give me your hands, Via," I say, my voice dropping into a low, commanding register.

She looks at the silk tie, then at my face, a tiny, familiar spark of stubbornness flickering in her eyes before it is completely swallowed by the heat. She slowly lifts her wrists, pressing them together above her head.

"Are you going to keep me locked down?" she whispers, her breath coming in short, shallow hitches.

"Only so you can't run from how good this is going to feel," I say, wrapping the silk tie around her wrists. I tie them to the heavy, carved mahogany post of the headboard, keeping the knot secure but not tight enough to pinch her skin.

Once she is secured, her chest is completely arched, her bare body fully exposed to my gaze. I stand over her, my eyes tracking the line of her throat, her breasts, and the wet, glistening cleft between her thighs.

I raise my right hand, my palm flat and heavy.