Page 104 of Emperor of Wrath

“I do!!” he roars, making me gasp as he surges into me. “I fucking do. These things matter to me, Annika.”

I wince a little, backing up against the bike behind me.

“Okay, okay,” I mumble, suddenly feeling shitty about all but blowing off the event tonight to go joyriding.

This isn’t Kenzo being a jerk, or bossing me around. He’s right. It’s not just the Yakuza where it would be expected for someone to bring their new bride to an important event like tonight’s. It would be fully expected in the Bratva, too.

He’s not the asshole here.

I am.

“Look, I’m…” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I mean it.”

He grunts, still frowning.

“I really can get ready super fast.”

“Let’s find out.”

Kenzo all but drags me after him by the wrist as he storms out of the garage and across the grounds to the main house. I follow him upstairs to our room and into the huge, attached dressing room.

I stumble to a stop and stare at the wall of women’s clothes on one side of the room. I unpacked my two suitcases earlier. The contents took up an eighth of this space. Now, the rest of it is filled with gowns, dresses, skirts, tops, shoes, jackets, and more.

Kenzo walks over to the wall and plucks a garment bag off one of the racks. He turns and hangs it on a hook next to a full-length mirror and unzips it, revealing an extremely revealing but still elegant midnight blue gown with the faintest sparkle of sequins.

It’s floor length. But above the waist, it’s literally just two palm-width strips of fabric that cover the breasts and tie at the back of the neck.

“What is this?” I ask, my lips thin.

“This is what you should have had on an hour ago.”

I glance at him, raising a brow. “You’re joking.”

“I am not. Put it on. Time’s a-wasting.”

“No way!” I balk. “It’s…trashy.”

“It’s Versace,” he says through clenched teeth. “And you’re putting it on, or I’ll do it for you.”

“I’d like to see another option—hey!”

I shiver as he moves in on me, grabbing me firmly and spinning me around. I whimper when he pins me to the wall, one hand clutching a fistful of my hair as the other grabs the back of my leggings. In one yank, he tugs them and my panties down to my knees. My hoodie comes off next, my pulse thudding as he shoves it up over my back and pulls it off my head.

My bra follows. Then my core tightens and my breath catches as he drops to his knees behind me, yanking my leggings and underwear off first one foot and then the other.

He stands, and without warning, his palm spanks me with a sharp crack.

“That’s for being a pain in my ass.”

Fire spreads through my core as he spanks the other cheek.

“And that’s for making us late.”

My pulse jangles as he spins me back to him and cups my jaw. He lifts my chin and slowly lets his gaze rake down over my nudity, then back up to my eyes.

“Put on the fucking dress,” he growls.

Fucking hell. That tone…that accent…that velvety way he demands it… It’s not playing fair.

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