Page 55 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
“You wore this dress,” he murmurs against my neck, lips barely brushing skin, “knowing I’d take it off.”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.
“You want me to ruin you again?” he growls, and I nod, helpless.
The gown slips from my shoulders with a whisper. I’m naked beneath it.
He catches my reflection in the mirror. Holds my gaze.
“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, hand sliding between my thighs from behind. “This is what I wanted. You. Just like this.”
I whimper as he drags his fingers through the wetness he finds there. His other hand cups my throat—not choking, just holding. Possessive. Unyielding.
“I told myself I’d be patient,” he says. “But you’ve been in my bed. In my mouth. And now you’ll dream about me for the rest of your life.”
He pushes into me from behind—slow and deep and deliberate. I cry out, bracing against the mirror. His name falls from my lips like a prayer.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let me look away.
“Seventeen years younger, and you still think you have the upper hand,” he grits out. “But tell me this, Doctor—why are you the one begging in your sleep?”
He rams his cock into me.
My body clenches. Everything tightens.
I come hard, eyes locked on his in the mirror, moaning like I’ve never moaned in real life. It’s raw and wild and feral.
And then—
I wake up gasping.
The library is quiet. My heart isn’t.
I sit bolt upright, pulse hammering, sweater clinging to damp skin. My thighs are clenched tight. My breathing is ragged. There’s no mistaking what just happened.
I just had a full-body orgasm in my sleep.
Because ofhim.
Trifon Yuri.
What the actual hell is wrong with me?
I sit up, straightening my clothes, checking the clock. It’s been over an hour. The house is still quiet, the library empty save for me and my humiliation.
I need to do something—anything—to get my mind off Trifon and what happened last night. What I apparently want to happen again, if my subconscious is any indication.
Maybe watching some TV will help.
I leave the library and am about to make my way downstairs to the living room when I hear voices coming from behind the partially open doors to Trifon’s office.
I should keep walking. I really should.
But I don’t.
Instead, I find myself inching closer, drawn to the sound of his voice like a moth to flame. I press myself against the wall beside the door, out of sight but within earshot.
When I take a peek in, I see Trifon seated at the head of a table. His brothers are spread out around him: Valentin, Leonid, Iosif, and Miron.
