Page 43 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
“Um, you know which part,” I stammer, backing up against the kitchen counter.
He leans over me, and my heart races, but he reaches up to get a coffee mug from the cabinet above my head, and I give myself a stern lecture about reading into things.
Why is he in such a good mood, though?
“The thing is,” he says, without stepping away from me, “you said some pretty shocking things last night, so I want to be really specific about what is and isn’t the thing you are referring to.”
He’s toying with me. He knows I don’t remember thespecifics.
I huff and scrunch my nose. “Come on, Emmanuil, give me a break. I was clearly very tipsy and—"
“Tipsy? Kitten, you were drunk as a skunk.” He chuckles, the heat of his body soaking into me. I’m dying inside. I was clinging onto some semblance of hope that maybe he hadn’t noticed exactly how drunk I was.
“Did you, um, put me in bed?” I ask, not able to look into his eyes.
“I did, after you tried to strip down and go swimming,” he says playfully. “It was quite the show, I have to admit.”
“You perv. And you were the perfect gentleman, I suppose? Didn’t look at all?” I laugh, feeling lighter. Maybe I didn’t say anything stupid. Maybe that was the worst of it.
“Honestly, I might have stolen a glance, or three.” He winks. “But the best part was when you confessed that it’s been a while since you had sex and how badly you wanted it last night.” The words hang in the air between us. His eyes are glittering with dark mischief.
His body shifts against mine, and electricity sparks, desire flooding through me when I understand the look in his eyes.
My heart is racing, and I’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.
Ididsay something stupid. Something so, horribly, embarrassingly stupid that now he knows the truth, and I’m never going to live this down.
“I, um,” I stammer.
“Do you want to fix that little problem of yours, kitten?”
“Problem?” I whisper, his lips hovering above mine as he leans closer.
“You must be struggling. Not finding relief in such a long time. Your body must be craving attention. I can help you with that,” he says in a growl against my lips.
“Emmanuil,” I whisper, my heart beating too fast and my body screaming for his touch.
“Anya,” he whispers my name too, enjoying my tension. “Tell me exactly how long it’s been, a few months? A year? Howgentle would I have to be with you if I were to give you what you wanted?”
He rocks his hip forward, and I feel how hard his cock is.
My mind is racing too fast, too many thoughts, too many words spinning through my mind, and him, so close to me, offering me exactly what I want from him. The attention, the adoration—
“It’s been five years,” I blurt out. Instantly, I realize what I’ve said.
He leans back, his eyes wide. “Five years?” he asks, knitting his brows.
I let out a frustrated huff of air. “Yes, okay, whatever. I wasn’t with anyone after we broke up. It doesn’t mean anything,” I blurt out again. Why am I still talking? Why am I digging this hole deeper? Why is talking about sex with Emmanuil driving me completely and utterly insane with lust?
“No one?” A low growl rumbles through him as his hand slips around my waist, pulling me harder against him. “You weren’t with anyone else since we broke up? Why?” His voice is low, menacing, deep, and dangerous.
It’s making my heart beat wildly, and heat is building between my legs. The way he’s looking at me as though he wants to tear me apart with his cock. Like he wants to fuck me harder than he ever has in the past.
“There isn’t a reason. It just happened that way,” I say, wanting to talk about anything else.
“There’s always a reason, kitten,” he says, refusing to let this go.
His cock is throbbing against me.
