Page 24 of His Stolen Bride

My heart slams against my ribs, but I don’t back down. I can’t. The anger is the only thing keeping me from collapsing, and I’ll be damned if I let him win this. “I’m not afraid of you,” I spit, even though my voice shakes with something that isn’t quite fear.

His lips curve into a dark, dangerous smirk. “Good.”

He picks me up then, carrying me to the bedroom and stopping only to shove me back toward the bed. I don’t notice any other men on the way, or perhaps I’m too far gone to see anything beyond the storm-gray of his eyes and the silver streaks in his hair. I stumble, my calves hitting the edge, and I fall onto the mattress with a soft thud. I prop myself up on my elbows, glaring at him as he looms over me, his shirt half-open, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He looks like a predator, and I’m the prey, but I’m too pissed to care. I want this fight, this heat, this distraction from the void inside me.

“Take it off,” he orders, nodding at my top, his tone leaving no room for argument.

For a second, I consider refusing just to spite him. But the way his eyes burn into me, the way my skin is already buzzing with need, makes me comply. I sit up enough to tug the top over my head, tossing it aside without breaking eye contact. My bra is plain, black, nothing special, but the way his gaze drops to my chest makes me feel exposed in a way that’s both thrilling and infuriating.

He steps closer, one knee pressing into the mattress between my legs as he leans down, his hands bracing on either side of me. His mouth hovers over mine, not kissing, just close enough that I can feel his breath. “You’re mine,” he says, each word thick with possessiveness. “Even when you hate me.”

My stomach twists at the words, a mix of rage and something darker, hotter. I reach up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to kiss me again, biting at his lower lip harder than I mean to. He groans, the sound vibrating through me, and then his hands are on me again, sliding down to my hips, gripping tightly as he drags me closer to the edge of the bed.

I’m breathing too fast, every nerve in my body lit up as his fingers work at the button of my jeans. He doesn’t ask permission, doesn’t hesitate, and I don’t stop him. I lift my hips to help him slide them down, the fabric scraping against my thighs before they’re off completely, leaving me in just my underwear. His eyes rake over me, and I feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch, making my skin prickle.

“You’re shaking again,” he mutters, almost to himself, as his hand trails up my thigh, slow and deliberate.

I am, but I don’t want to admit it. “Don’t talk,” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend. I don’t want words. I don’t want to think. I just want to feel something other than grief.

His lips press together, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and pulls them down in one swift motion, leaving me bare under him. My breath catches, a mix of vulnerability and raw need twisting inside me, but I don’t look away from him. I won’t give him that satisfaction.

He straightens up for a moment, shedding his shirt completely, and I can’t help but stare at the hard lines of his body, the way his muscles shift as he moves. He’s not showing off—he doesn’t need to. It’s just who he is, dangerous and powerful, and it infuriates me how much it draws me in. When he leans over me again, his hand slides between my thighs, parting them with a roughness that makes me gasp.

“Don’t hold back,” he says, his voice a low growl as his fingers brush against me, teasing but not giving me what I want. “I want to hear you.”

I bite my lip, trying to stifle the sound that threatens to escape, but he’s relentless, his touch precise and demanding. My hips buck against his hand, and a moan slips out before I can stop it. I hate how easily he unravels me, how my body responds to him even when my mind is screaming to push him away.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his mouth at my ear now, lips brushing the sensitive skin there. His fingers press harder, circling, driving me closer to an edge I’m not ready to fall over. My hands grab at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, and I’m torn between wanting to shove him off and pulling him closer.

“Stop teasing,” I hiss through gritted teeth, my voice raw with frustration and need. I’m not in control here, and I despise it, but I’m too far gone to pretend otherwise.

His chuckle is dark, almost cruel, as he pulls his hand away just when I’m on the brink. I let out a frustrated groan, glaring at him, but he’s already moving, grabbing my hips with both hands. “Not yet,” he says, his tone laced with a dark, teasing edge that makes my pulse race even faster.

He flips me over onto my stomach in one fluid motion, the sudden change in position catching me off guard. My breath hitches as I feel the weight of him behind me, his hands gripping my hips to pull them up slightly. I brace myself on my forearms, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. His touch is firm, unapologetic, as he adjusts me, and I can feel the heat of him pressing close, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. I don’t know what comes next, but I’m not sure I care, not when every part of me is wound tightly, waiting for him to make the next move.

7

MIKHAIL

I’ve got Alina beneath me, her body trembling as I grip her hips, pulling them up just enough to angle her the way I want. Her skin is flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening along her spine, and the sight of her like this—vulnerable, angry, and so damn responsive—stirs something primal in me. I’m not a good man, never have been, and I don’t pretend otherwise. My hands, rough from years of violence, hold her with a possessiveness I can’t temper. Not now, not with her. In this moment, everything, every event that’s brought her to me, is insignificant to the reality of her in my arms, needing me to fuck her.

She’s mine, whether she admits it or not, and I’m going to make sure she feels it in every inch of her body.

Her breath hitches as I lean over her, my chest pressing against her back for a moment, the heat of her skin searing into me. I can feel the tension in her, the way she’s fighting herself even now, caught between rage and need. It fuels me, that fire in her. I want to break through it, to make her forget everything but me. My lips graze the nape of her neck, and I feel her shudder beneath me. “You’re gonna take everything I give you,” I mutter against her skin, my voice low and rough. I mean it. I’m not holding back, not tonight.

She twists her head slightly, just enough to shoot me a glare over her shoulder. “Don’t talk. Just do it.”

Her defiance, even now, makes my blood burn hotter. I let out a dark chuckle, my hands tightening on her hips until I’m sure I’ll leave marks. Good. I want her to see them later, to remember who made her feel this way. I pull back just enough to reach for the nightstand drawer, yanking it open with one hand while the other keeps her in place. I grab a condom, rip the packet with my teeth, and roll it on quickly, my movements practical and efficient. No time for games. I need to be inside her, to feel her unravel around me.

I position myself behind her again, one hand sliding down her spine as I line up. She’s trembling, but not from fear—never from fear with her, from what I’ve learned in this short time-span. It’s anticipation, raw and desperate, and it drives me fucking wild. I push in slowly at first, just enough to feel her tighten around me, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. My jaw clenches as I fight the urge to thrust hard right then and there. I want to draw this out, to make her feel every second of it.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice shaky, her hands gripping the sheets as her body adjusts to me.

I lean down close, my mouth near her ear. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

I start moving, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, feeling the way she arches into me despite herself. Her moans are stifled at first, like she’s still trying to hold onto some shred of control, but I’m not having it. I pick up the pace, my hips slamming against hers harder, deeper, until those sounds spill out of her unguarded. They’re raw, needy, and they push me closer to the edge than I want to admit.

I slide one hand under her, finding her clit with my fingers, and start working her there while I thrust. Her whole body jerks at the added sensation, a sharp cry breaking free as she bucks against me. I can feel her getting close, the way her muscles tense and flutter around me, and I don’t let up. I want her to shatter, to lose herself completely.