Page 59 of Emperor of Wrath

“Now,” Annika mutters, shooting me a dirty look. “If this interrogation is over?—”

My eyes widen. “You actually think this is the end of this?” I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“You don’t have to marry me, you know.”

“Unfortunately,” I grunt. “We both know I do. But make no mistake…”

I relish the way Annika gasps as I surge into her, grabbing her by the chin again and leering down into her face.

“Marrying you doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten this, or it just goes away.”

She rolls her eyes. “What are you going to do? Punish me?”

The second she says it, the room goes quiet. Because for some bizarre reason, that seemingly innocent little phrase “punish me” doesn’t feel quite so innocent when it’s hovering between us, alone in a room together, with our pulses racing.

Fuck me.

My cock twitches as soon as she says it. And within seconds, I’m tenting the front of my slacks.

I picture her on her knees, tits and tongue out, thighs spread. Maybe a plug in her ass and a collar around her throat as she looks up at me and begs for it.

Please punish me, sir?

I grit my teeth, willing my cock to calm the fuck down as I shake those intoxicating thoughts away.

“Get ready,” I mutter coldly. “We don’t have much time.”

“Well, you’re the one keeping me.”

Forty seconds later, I’m barging in on Hana in another little room just as she’s struggling to zip up the back of her dress.

“Hey, hi, have we heard of knocking?” she mutters. She shoots me a look in the mirror in front of her. “Actually, can you get this?”

I nod, storming over and yanking the zipper up the rest of the way.

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

Our eyes meet in the mirror. Outside may have been a rare moment of Hana looking disheveled. But it’s taken her no time at all to morph back into her customary utterly put together self. Her makeup is flawless. Her hair is combed out to its usual thick, glossy straightness, the blonde streaks perfect and neatly in place.

“What the fuck, Hana,” I growl at my sister.

“I’m not really in the mood, Kenzo,” she sighs, futzing with her hair in the mirror as I glare at her.

“That fucking woman,” I snarl, jabbing a finger at nowhere in particular, “is?—”

“About to be your wife, brother,” Hana says dryly.

I roll my eyes. “Well, she’s trouble.”

My sister snorts. “Sure is.” She laughs to herself as she reapplies lipstick. “But, I gotta say, she kept up.”

My brow furrows. “With?”

“With me,” Hana shrugs. “She’s cool. I like her.”

“Because she took you to fucking Canada?”

She frowns. “No. Because she wouldn’t back down no matter how far I pushed things. And she didn’t ‘take me to Canada’,” she shrugs. “That was my idea. Fuck, I never thought she’d actually do it.”

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