Page 37 of Unveiled

I nod, unable to speak, my body betraying every ounce of resistance I thought I had.

Chuckling softly, his fingers press harder, drawing a low moan from my throat before he pulls away entirely.

“Then maybe this will be your punishment, Anya,” he says, straightening to his full height. “To want but not have. To feel what I can do to you and know it’s mine to give—or take away.”

I don’t know how I feel about this. Part of me wants to tell him to stop, that I don’t want his touch. But I couldn’t do that right now if I tried. Because Idowant his touch. Because I’ve wanted more than this, more from him, for so long—even back when it was wrong.

And now I’m his wife.

I try to bring myself back to the present, to tell myself that this isn’t what I need, that it isn’t what I want. But it isn’t working. My body is desperate for relief. Desperate forhim.

Why do I feel this storm of emotions—anger, confusion, and need colliding inside me?

“This is for storming into my office and disrespecting me in front of my men,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, before his hand comes down sharply against the full curve of my ass. I inhale at the sting but stay in place, unmoving.

“That’s right. Just like that.” His voice softens, almost approving. “My handprint on your ass pleases me so much, beautiful.”

I swallow hard, unable to stop the shiver that runs throughme before his fingers slide through my wet heat, brushing where I crave him most.

My back arches instinctively, my body surrendering to the pleasure he offers.

It feels so fucking good—sodamn good—that all my thoughts, my anger, and my pride dissolve into nothingness. Everything I’ve ever known or wanted could fit on the head of a needle.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, his voice low and probing, as though he genuinely wants to know and is cataloging this moment like he catalogs everything else.

“Yes,” I breathe out in a hushed whisper, my voice trembling.

He speeds up his movements, circling my clit with precision, smearing my wetness over every inch of me. My body bucks against his hand, craving more.

“And this?” he asks, his tone almost clinical as he shifts the rhythm.

“It’s… too much,” I gasp, the sensitivity overwhelming me.

He slows, adjusting his pace to something deliberate and steady, coaxing moans from my lips that I can’t suppress. The pleasure courses through me, taking over every rational thought I might have had.

“And then there’s the matter of you running out,” he says, his tone darkening as he slows his movements. “Leaving my home when you knew I wouldn’t allow it.”

Before I can respond, his hand presses firmly on the center of my back, pinning me in place. Then his palm slaps hardagainst my ass—once, twice, three times in rapid succession, never in the same spot. The sting is sharp, radiating heat through my skin. It hurts like fuck, but the pain only intensifies the ache between my legs.

What is wrong with me?

“Spread your legs,” he growls, tapping the inside of each thigh with the back of his hand.

I obey, opening myself to him without hesitation. His fingers slide into me, thick and deliberate, stroking my most sensitive place. Ohfuck, yes, please.

“How does that feel, Anya?” he asks, his voice low and rough in my ear.

“So good.” I breathe, my voice a barely audible whisper.

“Tell me you’re going to obey me,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yes,” I gasp, switching to Russian instinctively. “I’ll obey you.”

He rewards me with another perfect stroke of his fingers.

“Tell me you will never leave this house without my permission again,” he growls, plunging more fingers inside me now, his movements unrelenting and precise. My breath hitches, my muscles tightening as pleasure coils within me, ready to snap.

“I won’t,” I cry out. “I won’t leave again without your permission!”

---