Page 19 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
“Do not leave the house without me,” I snap.
Her lips purse as she furrows her brows, scrunching her nose in defiance. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she snaps back.
My hand is itching to sting across her ass cheeks.
My mind is racing, telling me to throw her over my knee and remind her of who was in charge back then—and who is in charge now.
I have to leave. My cock has a mind of its own, and I can’t let her see what she’s done to me.
I am not meant to still be attracted to her.
This is all wrong.
Chapter 6 - Anya
He storms away in a rage, and I can’t move.
My back is pressed against the wall, and my lips are burning with the expectation of a kiss. The way his eyes flared with need, focused on my mouth, the way he leaned closer—I swear he was going to kiss me.
That can’t be, though.
He wasn’t going to kiss me. I was reading that wrong.
He was furious. He hates me. He said the nastiest things about me the other day. Obviously, he wasn’t going to kiss me.
But my entire body is on fire, as though someone stuck a match inside me and poured gasoline down my throat. My heart is racing, and my skin is burning with desire for him. A thousand images are racing through my memory. How he used to dominate me in the most erotic ways. How I would bend and arch and tease him. How I would purposefully defy his requests, and then when I saw that smile on his face, the darkest smile that set my heart racing, I knew I had to run.
And every time I ran, screaming and laughing, he caught me.
He did the most beautiful things to my body.
No, stop this, it was only anger. He’s angry, and you’re angry, and you’re mixing up your feelings.
I push away from the wall, angry at myself that I’d somehow ended up thinking about these things. Angry at my body for being so turned on.
Angry that I would definitely have kissed him back.
Emmanuil hates me. It will do me no good to dwell on the past.
But he was about to kiss me. I felt his body stir. I felt the surge of desire pulsing between us.
No.
Absolutely not.
Frustrated and annoyed, I march up to my bedroom.
Maybe I’m a little tipsy from the cocktails this afternoon. I don’t feel tipsy, but that would explain my poor judgment in that moment.
I flop face-down onto my bed and grab the pillow, mashing it over my face as I scream into it. He hadno right to talk to me like that.Just like he had no right to be so horribly nasty the other day.
I hate him for what he said about me. I hate the fact that he thinks so little of me. I hate him for how cruel he was to me with his biting words.
I hate him for making me think he was going to kiss me.
I’m so embarrassed.
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