Page 31 of Unleashed

I look down at my body and swallow hard. “Um. Thanks?”

I can't help the way I shrink when he sits beside me and drags me onto his lap. "You fought me, but your body knows what it really wants, doesn’t it, little swan?"

My body thrums with a rush of heat fused with desire.

Mygod. My breath catches, and my heart stutters when he dips his head, warm breath pebbling my skin. He nuzzles the damp square of fabric between my legs, breathing in the scent at the top of my thighs. My body throbs with need, my senses electrified.

I tremble against the raw heat of his body, flush against mine. The way he inhales me, the way he stares at me as if I am the most beautiful woman in the world. He says we hated each other, but the way he touches me tells me otherwise.

His hands, still grazing my skin, brand me with the heat of his touch. My breath catches on instinct, betraying me. I can't resist him—I know I can't—this dominant stranger who calls himself my husband is the one in charge here, the one with power. I'm not even sure why Ishouldresist him, as primal need surpasses logic.

And as my body hums with need, craving what I fear and what I want, any protestation I may have begins to dwindle. His eyes darken as he watches me, slowly anchoring his hands on my hips, his thumbs pressing into my hip bones, firm enough to brand them. His fingers feel like hot pokers as they trace across my skin. He holds me in place, his gaze on me ravenous. When he brushes the bare skin of my thighs, I flinch, my mind screaming at me to run, to pull away, even as my body arches into him.

My limbs feel heavy, my consent blurred.

"Stop fighting me," he says in a rasp, his lips close to my skin. He bends and kisses the top of my thigh, and my body reacts. "You say you don't know who you are… ButIdo."

I swallow hard and lick my lips, trembling. The difference in power between the two of us is harrowing, terrifying, but somehow… exhilarating. I know I’m at the edge of that precipice, ready to tumble to my certain death, and yet… I don’t care. His words linger in the air, somehow tightening the invisible shackle he has around my heart. My heart pounds, and I open my mouth to protest, but everything I was going to say dies on my lips. Idon't remember who I am, and I have no choice but to accept this.

I could push him away.

Maybe?

But the way he looks at me, he's a wolf with ravenous eyes, and I'm nothing but his prey.

Who am I? Why does it feel like everything in me is tethered to a stranger?

He tilts my chin, his rough hand branding my skin as he forces my gaze to his. "You need to trust me. I know that's a hard thing to ask when you don't know me, but it's the only choice forward, Anissa." His grip tightens just a bit, enough to remind me of the power he holds over me.

Trust him? On the one hand, it feels almost logical to trust a man who has such power and control, but what if he's manipulating me? What if he's lying? Yet something stirs in the primal and wicked response to his command. It isn't trust or submission or anything logical but a raw, visceral attraction that needs no explanation, as if my body has already accepted what my mind refuses to.

"You want me to trust you, and I don't even know you," I say in protest.

Something that resembles a smile tugs at his lips. "You will, in time. We don’t get a lot of firsts. We’ll enjoy this one."

He pulls me to my feet, and it's the first time I'm standing in front of him. The last time, he picked me up and carried me, and we didn't stand together. This time, he braces me so I don't have to put weight on my cast, but there is no getting over the fact thathe towers over me. The warmth of his touch burns through the thin fabric of my clothes, and his hands slide down my waist. I shiver when he grips my ass and cups it possessively.

"I'll give you a little time to adjust," he says as if he's granting me a favor, a boon, his voice deceptively soft, but the underlying edge of control remains. With two fingers on my chin, he lifts my face to his and presses his lips to mine. Every protest dies, and my body leans into him. My mind grows fuzzy, and my body heats with electric waves. He smells like clean mountain air and raw alpha male, and the way he touches me leaves no doubt about what he plans to do with me.

This is a man who has control, power, and knows his way around my body. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, and I want to scream for more. I want him to lay me down and ravish me. I don't need to have even the slightest bit of memory to know what I want him to do because I crave primal, visceral need. There needs to be nothing between us. I’m starting to resent that I’m still wearing panties and practically grinding myself on him when he kisses me. He squeezes my ass, lifts me, and on instinct, I wrap my good leg around his torso. He's holding my weight so it doesn't hurt, bends, and kisses me as if he owns me.

Maybe he does. No, not maybe… Hedefinitelyowns me. My mouth opens. His tongue licks mine, and my pussy throbs. A rush of heat blooms between my legs. I’m aching for him. Is my response to him because I have some muscle memory of pleasure, or is it just that I know this is a man who knows what to do with me? I keen with pleasure as his lips continue, his tongue pressed to mine, and I moan when he pulls away.

"I'll give you time to adjust," he murmurs in my ear, his voice deceptively soft but the underlying edge of control undeniable. “My good, beautiful girl.”

I swallow hard as he eases me to the corner of the room, where a large, overstuffed ottoman sits beside the couch.

"Sit," he commands, his voice hard. I am vulnerable, exposed, and incapable of defying him.

So I sit. His eyes sweep hungrily over me one last time before turning toward the bathroom.

The sound of running water soon fills the air, but I stay frozen, my mind a haze of desire, confusion, and fear. A part of me wants to run, to escape the suffocating presence, to find out who I am without being colored by his touch and his need for me. To find a place that's safe. Because he is anything, fuckinganythingbut safe.

A sudden wave of nausea hits me, and I clutch my stomach. I don't remember who I am, but I know this—when he touches me, I awaken. It's both scary and exciting.

I sit in silence, weighing my options. He's drawing a bath for me, that much is clear, but do I trust him enough to go to it? I glance at the doorway, then back at my reflection in the mirror across the room. I look down at my skin, pale, naked, save for the scrap of panties, bra, and my blonde hair that falls in waves down my face and shoulders. My icy-blue eyes are wide with uncertainty. And while my reflection is somewhat familiar, it's scary that I don't even recognize the person in the mirror.

Though I have no idea who I am, I do have the certainty of one definite detail—Rafail Kopolov is a man I cannot afford to disobey or cross.

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