Page 17 of His Order

“You care.” The words hang between us before he follows them with a sip of his coffee. He slants against the wall with enough ease to let me know who he thinks is in control of this situation. The bastard wouldn’t be wrong. “That is a problem.”

Mikhail’s eyes narrow. He knows I’m lying, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just nods and walks away.

I watch him go. I hate that he’s right. Anya is more than just a tool to me. But I can’t afford to let that show. I can’t afford to let my emotions get in the way.

I take a deep breath and turn back towards Anya’s room. I need to focus. I need to finish what I started.

I need to destroy Dmitri. In the meantime, I will go back to Anya’s room to see how she is doing. I hate what this woman is doing to me.

Chapter 10

Anya

He enters my room abruptly, and then we stand there staring at each other. I can already feel my pussy pulsing from the heat that radiates in his eyes.

His eyes are fucking feral.He draws his lips tantalizingly close, just a few centimeters from mine, creating an almost unbearable tension in the air. When his lips finally brush against mine, a spark ignites, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through me, a sensation so powerful and consuming that it seems to extend endlessly through every fiber of my being.

Then, like the tease he is, he pulls back, but only enough for him to begin to peel away the layers of clothes off his body.

His jacket slips from his shoulders, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Next, his belt is discarded, the metallic clink echoing in the room. His fingers deftly work at the buttons of his shirt, his face drawing closer to mine. He pauses, a teasing smile playing on his lips, his breath mingling with mine.

“Got something to say, zayka?” he growls.

I smile, raise my chin, and I whisper, “Fuck you, asshole.”

He smirks and starts laughing.“You will.”

And then he grabs me. Fist tangled in my hair, the other hand on my throat. He shoves me gently back against the nearest wall.

I dig my nails into his shirt, dragging them over the exposed skin of his chest with a defiant smirk.He laughs. A low, rough sound that vibrates in my bones.

His mouth crashes onto mine with a ferocious, dominating force—teeth clashing, tongues battling, an electric surge of raw,fuck-you energy. There's not a whisper of softness, not an ounce of care.

Just claiming.

He bites my lip hard enough, and I moan into his mouth.

“You’re such a little rabbit,” he hisses, dragging my shirt off my shoulders.

He whirls me around with his hand and tears down my underwear in a savage yank, leaving my skin exposed to the biting chill of the air that assaults me just as his fingers do, igniting a fiery shock through my body.

He doesn’t start slow.

Two thick fingers shove inside me, rough and deep, and I gasp—my hands splayed against the plaster, my body arching.

“Dripping,” he growls in my ear.

I bite back a moan and glare over my shoulder. “You talk too much.”

He pulls his fingers away and slides them inside my mouth and back into me again.

“Oh fuck.” I moan. “More.”

Then he smacks my ass again. Then again. And again.

Each strike sends fire under my skin, making my thighs tremble with the mix of pain and want.

Then I feel him—pressing against me. Hard. Hot. Bare.

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