Page 29 of Unleashed

My heart skips at the words—low and intimate. I close my eyes as his praise washes over me, threading through me, bringing life to my tired body and awakening a primal need as he traces the outline of my jaw. His gaze darkens. “Ty prinadlezhish mnyeh.”

You belong to me.

His fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to hold his gaze. “And that means no one gets a piece of you. Not your heart. Not your loyalty.”

I can barely breathe, caught in the intensity of his stare and the raw promise of his words.

I nod, the barest hint of agreeing, but it’s enough. His thumb brushes my cheek, and I see the satisfaction flicker in his eyes as he repeats, softer this time, “Moya kharoshaya dyevochka.”

I watch, almost hypnotized, as he removes his shirt. His arms lift, the fabric sliding up to reveal his bare back, every bit aspowerful as I’d imagined. My first impression was spot on. He’s built like a warrior, with silver scars crisscrossing dark ink on his shoulders, back, and torso—his past etched onto his skin. My heart aches.

Those marks. I know them. Every muscle, every scar, tells a story of battles fought and won, of violence barely kept in check. And I realize with brutal, heart-stopping clarity—thatI’mhis next challenge.

The sign of Bratva… like mine.

He’s honed his body to perfection, unsurprisingly. He’s a man who values firm authority—over his environment, and over those under his care. It shouldn’t surprise me, then, that he exercises rigid control over his own body.

I am not complaining. If I have to share a bed and take vows with a man I hardly know, it might as well be a man who looks likethat. Vavoom.

He tosses his shirt toward the bathroom, and it lands in the wicker hamper.

I swallow and lick my lips. I had the distinct impression under those clothes of his, he hid a powerful, sexy body, and I amnotdisappointed.

Next, he unfastens his jeans. The moment feels too intimate, too private for two strangers. Yes, on paper, we’re married. At least that gold ring on my finger says so, and so does he, but it feels like just today, I learned his name.

We need weeks, maybe months, before we can even begin to understand what it means to get to know each other, but mythoughts quickly jumble together like soup when he steps out of his faded jeans.

Oh.My.

I stare, unashamed, at how his broad shoulders taper into defined abs, accentuated with a smattering of coarse, dark hair and powerful hips that—okay,alright.

Phew.I swallow and lick my lips again. His legs are thick, muscular, solid, and so utterly masculine my breath catches. I glance down at my own body—trim and pale in comparison. Fit, yes, but much smaller. Daintier. We couldn’t be more different physically.

My body reacts instinctively, drawn to the sight of him. I wait for him to pull on pajamas, but instead, he walks over to me, nearly naked, except for that tiny strip of fabric he calls boxers. It seems wildly inappropriate, but logic tells me it really isn't.

"You don’t need to wear anything to bed.” Is it my imagination, or has his voice gotten deeper? Huskier? More masculine?

Oh god. There is no damn way I'm letting this stranger undress me. "I'm fine," I say, panicking. "I'll just sleep in this." We both look down at my running shorts and rumpled tee.

His scowl sends a jolt through me, hardening my nipples under his intense gaze.

So maybe wedon’tneed weeks or months. My body already knows what to do.

"The hell you are. I'm your husband, Anissa. You’ll do what I say. And I’ve explained disobedience will earn consequences.”

I open my mouth to protest, but no words come out.

"I'm losing patience," he says in a low growl. A small part of me is curious what happens when he loses his patience, but the logical part of me realizes that wouldn't be very fun. “You don’t want that to happen.”

Or would I?

"I don't remember you. I don't even rememberme. I feel strange being undressed by you."

His voice is low, raspy, commanding. "I don't give a fuck if it's strange. I gave you an order, and I expect to be obeyed."

Again, my jaw drops in shock, unable to respond. What the hell am I going to do about it?

My libido gives me a hint of false bravado. "What if I don't want to obey you?" I can tell by the sharp set of his jaw and the cut of his eyes that he doesn’t like my response. He opens his mouth as if to snap at me and then thinks twice about it.

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