Page 33 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
I can’t sit still and do nothing, but I also can’t go out without several bodyguards tagging along. What I envision as a peaceful sunset stroll on the beach becomes me walking ahead, followed by an entourage of men dressed in black suits, and I’m not going to lie—it kills the vibes a bit.
So, I’ve been walking the garden path, taking my time, stopping to look at each flower, or listen to the birds, or squint into the bushes when I think I see a little creature hiding. But now that I’ve done this loop a hundred times, I’ve seen all the flowers, and I’m tired of the birds, and I desperately need to get out.
I’ve really enjoyed reading. I’ve been devouring the books in his library, but every day has been filled with sunshine, beautiful and inviting. I should be lying on the hot sand, dipping my toes in the ocean, shopping, hiking, eating lunch with a view—anything but being stuck in here day after day.
Emmanuil has to let me out, just for a bit, with maybeoneguard. Not seven. It’s such overkill, and honestly, I think I should tell him, I think it attracts more attention to me than doing any good.
In fact, with my patience this thin, I can’t wait another second.
I’ll tell him now. I caught a glimpse of him moving about in his bedroom when I walked past the window earlier, so I know he’s in there. With my attitude in full effect, prepared to argue with him if I need to, I storm into the house, march up the stairs, and burst through his open bedroom door. I walk straight into his bedroom, already blurting out my demands.
“Emmanuil, I’m going out. Literally anywhere. It can be safe. It can be away from crowds. I don’t care. But I’m definitely going out and I’m being nice enough to tell you about it, but I amnottaking ten guards with me, I am taking one of the cars and you will not stop me from—"
He steps out of his bathroom wearing nothing but a dark gray towel wrapped around his waist, sitting low on his hips. His hair is pitch-black and dripping wet, water running in small rivulets down his body. My eyes dance over him.
The damn towel is low enough that the arch of his Adonis belt has caught my full attention as it dips below the towel. And the trail of dark hair leading down reminds me of how he looks completely and utterly naked. My heart starts beating faster. I bite my lip. I shake my head.
I clear my throat, standing dead still, trying desperately to remember what I wanted to say to him.
My eyes travel up from the towel over each perfectly shaped muscle of his abdomen. Oh my word, he’s gorgeous. He’s like a sculpture of perfection. Chiseled from marble, each muscle carved out with the utmost attention to detail.
He’s been working out. I mean properly. Like he must have spent every day for the past five years since we were together working out. He always had a naturally toned body, butdammit. This is—this isridiculous.
My eyes keep moving up his body, over his pecs, noticing the magnificent bulge of his biceps, his thick neck muscles, his solid jaw. That delicious smirk etched across his lips. Those beautiful dark green eyes framed by pitch-black lashes.
Oh my word, he’s staring at me.
Oh fuck,I’mthe one who’s staring.Say something, Anya.
“Uh, I wanted, I mean, I was—" I stammer.
I squeeze my eyes shut because I’mstillstaring. “I’ll talk to you later,” I blurt out and spin away from him, practically running back towards the open door.
I have no idea how Emmanuil moved so fast, but in a flash, he’s blocking the doorway, and I run headfirst into his chest. It’s like hitting a solid wall, and it knocks my breath away. I lift my hand and press it against his chest to steady myself. His hand is resting against the doorframe above our heads as he stares down at me with intense eyes.
“Hey,” I mutter indignantly, already embarrassed that I was caught perving him. “Why did you block me?”
“Where are you running off to in such a hurry? Going to steal a car and leave? Or call your brother and feed him information about what’s really going on? Are you bored playing nice now, ready to switch things up?” he says, his voice low, rumbling through me, my blood pulsing faster as my fingers brush unconsciously over his skin, still hot from the shower.
“I—I’ve kept my end of the deal,” I whisper, hardly paying attention to what I’m saying.
“How can I be so sure of that, Anya?” he asks, leaning closer to me.
I bite my lower lip.
I remember this.
I remember feeling the heat of his body soak into mine.
I remember him, hot from a shower, dripping wet, as he pinned me to the bed. I remember his grunts as he thrust into me, his body trapping me beneath him, my legs spread around him.
I remember how he would say my name and whisper in my ear, “Spread your legs wider for me, kitten, I want to be deeper inside you.”
My pussy throbs and my legs grow weak as images flash through my mind.
It’s been so long. It’s been far too long since I felt his hands on my skin, the thrust of his massive cock as he pushes himself into me.
I groan softly, a desperate need slipping from my lips.
