Page 14 of The Pakhan's Forced Bride
But when I climb into bed, even with the blinds down and the light blocked out, I can’t sleep.
I’m thinking about her.
Right now, I’m not worried about her being a spy, or her strange mannerisms—I’m thinking abouther.Her body in that dress. Her softness. The way the smooth fabric clung to her ass when she crawled into the car. The way her breasts bounce when she walks, and those lips—fuck me, those lips.
But of all the things about her that turn me on, her eyes are most dangerous. When I stand over her, looking down, and she raises those gorgeous dark lashes to look at me, my soul pauses. Her eyes are so blue they seem unreal.
I toss and turn. Frustration grows as I keep trying to block these thoughts of her. Just because she’s my wife doesn’t mean I need to think about her in this way.
But even as I finally fall asleep, exhausted, I still dream of her.
She stands up in the plane, looking down at me where I sit, her hands bound, but her eyes burning into me with a fierceness that tells me she wants me. Her smile teases me as she pulls the edges of her dress up, creeping higher over her thick, creamy thighs.
“I’ve been dreaming of you,” she whispers.
“But you didn’t even know who I was.”
“I knew. I always knew.”
I reach forward and brush my hand over the softness of her inner thigh, up into the sweet warmth between her legs.
I jolt awake and lie in bed with my heart racing and a raging boner lifting the blankets.
“Fuck,” I mutter, angry to be dreaming about her. She needs to get out of my head. This is going too far now.
I shove the blankets off, grabbing my cock and squeezing it, trying to ease the aching need.
If I keep letting myself be distracted by her like this, I’m going to slip up along the way. I have to stay focused on the plan. I’ve worked too hard for this.
I get up, get dressed in my usual black attire. Black pants. Black shirt. Black suspenders snapped over my shoulders. I have a lot to do today.
Leaving my room, I head straight to hers to check on my prisoner. Without knocking, I push the door open; somewhere inside me, I hope to catch her in an intimate position, but again, that’s just my mind taunting me.
To my surprise, the door is unlocked.
To my horror, her room is empty.
“Tamia,” I scream, furious that the housekeeper didn’t check it after delivering her food. I storm downstairs, screaming her name again. Tamia comes running towards me. “Sir?”
“You didn’t lock the door,” I shout.
“I did. I double checked it, sir. I was very careful.”
“Then where the fuck is she? Search the fucking house, get everyone to help you.”
I don’t wait for an answer from Tamia. I head straight to the security office. The man stationed in there is asleep in his chair. I slap the back of his head, and he snaps awake, panic bolting through him when he sees me.
“Show me the cameras for the perimeter. And where the fuck are the guards who are supposed to be watching the fucking back gate?” I growl.
His hands rush over the keyboard, typing furiously to bring up the feed I’ve asked for.
There’s no point searching the house. Belle is there, clear as day, sneaking out the back gate almost two hours ago. Jeans, sneakers, and a white t-shirt. Not exactly dressed to hide, yet no one saw her.
“You’re fucking fired. All of you. I want a new team in here within the hour,” I snarl, grabbing the security guy by his collar and pulling his face close to mine. “Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes, sir,” he stammers, falling over himself when I release him.
In a rage, I run to my car, muttering the whole time about incompetence and how you can’t rely on other people to do what you expect of them.
