Page 21 of Hers to Command

Dmitri gestures toward the door with a mocking flourish. “By all means, take her. For now.”

When Riccardo’s hand wraps around my lower arm, I let him pull me along. He keeps his eyes on Dmitri as we move toward the door. I hate feeling like I’m being passed between two men like a prize, but at least with Riccardo, I know I have some leverage.

“Get out of our way,” Riccardo growls at the men, and they part for us.

Once we’re in the hallway, Riccardo turns to me, his voice tight with barely controlled anger. “Why the fuck did you leave your father’s house alone?”

“I didn’t exactly invite myself to a kidnapping,” I snap back, not in the mood for a lecture. “But thanks for the rescue, I guess.”

His eyes flash with something I can’t quite read, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he motions for us to keep moving, and we walk quickly toward the elevator.

“We’re going to my place.”

“No, we’re not.” I still need to get to a quiet place to think. And to grieve. Not that I tell Riccardo that.

“Yes, we are.”

I’m about to give him hell for being a controlling ass, but then I notice the way he’s looking at me. Possessive. And for whatever fucked up reason that I’d need a therapist for to figure out, I let him guide me through the lobby of the hotel and to his car when the elevator doors open.

Chapter Ten

Riccardo

Dragging Anya into the bedroom takes little effort. She isn’t herself, but fuck, I need to claim her right now. Seeing Dmitri touching her was almost enough to make me kill him on the spot. I don’t know how I managed not to lose my shit in that hotel room, but I know one thing. If I don’t get to fuck her right now, there is a good chance I’ll turn around and burn that asshole alive.

I rip her blouse open, buttons popping off and scattering across the carpeted floor. My mouth is on her breasts and I pull her bra down so it’s out of my way. Anya makes a sound, but the rushing in my ears is too loud for me to really pay attention to it.

I suck her nipple into my mouth, hard.

The fucking bra isn’t so easy to rip off and I’m reminded of my teenage years when I fumble at her back to open the clasp.

It’s taking too damn long and I bite the side of her breast to let out some of my annoyance.

Finally, the bra is open and I pull on her blouse and bra to tug them off of her.

Anya just stands there, which is so different from the last time we did this, when she was all fire and push-back, that it pisses me off and I push her onto the bed. She’s mine and I don’t like that she isn’t herself.

But there is only one thing I can do right now to take her mind off of all the shit that’s going on, and thank fuck that’s perfectly aligned with what my dick needs right now because I’m not all that sure I’ve got enough self-control to stop.

I climb over her, caging her in with my body. Her hair fans out on the bedspread, a dark halo against the cream sheets. Her eyes meet mine, wide and vulnerable, and for a split second, something twists in my chest.

“Anya,” I rasp, my voice low and raw. I cup her jaw, tilting her face up to me. Her lips part, but no words come out. She’s here, but not really. The fire I usually see in her is dim, like the fight has been sucked out of her.

It makes me furious. Not at her—never at her—but at him. At what that bastard did to her. What he wanted to do to her. The memory of Dmitri’s hands on her is a fucking insult.

But then I remember that being kidnapped isn’t all that happened to her today. Her father died. And while I’d happily dance on the grave of my old man, Anya might feel different, despite the way old Tsepov wanted to sell her off like one of the whores in his stable.

I brush my thumb over her cheek, softer than I thought I could given my mental state, and lean down. My lips skim hers, light,waiting. She doesn’t move, just stares at me like she’s trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

“You’re mine,” I whisper against her mouth. It’s not a question, and it’s not up for debate.

Her breathing hitches, her chest rising against mine, and that small reaction ignites something in me. I deepen the kiss, slow but demanding. It’s not just about needing her—it’s about reminding her who the hell she is. She’s not some pawn for men like Dmitri. She’s Anya, fierce and brave, and fuck if I’m going to let her forget it.

I can’t, because if she’s vulnerable, I can’t have her.

I’d ruin her.

Kill her.

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