Page 71 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
But now she wants to leave, and I’m questioning everything.
Was this all another game? Was Kristopher controlling her from the beginning? Was she ever on my side, honoring the deal we made shortly after she got here, or was she constantly feeding her brother information the entire time she’s been living with me?
Anger spikes, blinding me, making me dig my fingers harder into her arms. I’m a dangerous man when I don’t get what I want—and there is nothing I want more in this world than her.
I won’t let her do this again. I won’t go through that pain again.
“You’re hurting me,” she squeals, trying to break free of my grip.
“You’re not leaving,” I growl, desperation spiking the edge of each word.
She glares up at me, her eyes burning with defiance.
Her cheeks are flushed red, and her breath is heavy, her chest heaving.
I push her harder against the closet door, my blood spiking, desire rushing through me at the sight of her trapped beneath me, helpless, but fierce.
Without thinking, in rage and frustration and fear of losing her again, I kiss her.
As soon as our lips touch, I expect her to slap me, or kick me, or fight harder to escape my force—but she doesn’t.
She grabs the back of my neck and pulls me closer to her lips. She moves against me, her body writhing and rubbing over mine. My heart rate spikes, my blood boils with feverish passion as we start tearing each other’s clothes off. She rips the buttons of my shirt as she tugs it open, running her hands over my torso. I roughly pull her top over her head and throw it aside, her hair falling loose and messy over her shoulders, tears still streaking her face. Layer by layer, I undress her, revealing more of her perfect form until she’s completely naked, her skin against my skin, and my cock aching to be inside her.
I forget everything else. It all falls silent. All I see and feel and hear is her, right in front of me, right with me in this moment.
I pick her up and carry her to the bed.I won’t let her leave. She belongs with me, and to me, and I refuse to let the same thing happen again.
The next few hours are a blur of perfect skin, perspiration, her teeth grazing over my flesh, her breath against my ear, her sweet, beautiful moans, and her scent, all over me, every inch of me connected with her.
It’s a release, a catharsis of anger and fear. An acceptance of my love for her. And an acknowledgment, in passion, that she belongs to me.
Afterwards, we lie together, breathing heavily. My heart is beating against her breasts as she lies on my chest, her head resting on my left side, listening to my heartbeat. She says nothing, but her fingers trace small shapes on my skin, sending soft shivers through me.
As we lie there in silence, I know one thing for certain. No matter what else is in doubt, no matter the confusion of what has been going on with her and her brother and whether or not she has been truthful this entire time—I don’t care. I want her here with me, and I will fight for her.
The anger has faded, spent in the throes of passion.
My mind is clearer, my heart is hurting, but my thoughts are clear.
Reaching around her body, I wrap my arms tightly around her, holding her close, determined to make this work.
I lie awake for an hour, listening to her soft breathing as she falls asleep and her body relaxes against mine. I roll onto my side, with her held against me still. I refuse to let her go.
Closing my eyes, I eventually drift to sleep as well.
I’ll fix this.
When we wake up, I’ll explain how I feel, we can talk through, and we can make this work.
***
As soon as I wake up, my thoughts instantly go to Anya.
I reach across the bed to pull her close to me, but she isn’t there.
Sitting up quickly, the bright light of morning makes me squint into the room, searching for her.
“Anya?” I call out, my voice rough from sleep.
