Page 22 of Hers to Command

Her hands finally come up, clutching at my shirt, pulling me closer. There’s heat in her touch now, a spark.

Better.

“You’re with me,” I say when I pull back for air, locking eyes with her. “No one else gets to decide what happens to you. Not him, not anyone. Just you and me.”

Her gaze flickers, something shifting in those dark eyes of hers. I don’t know what it is, but what matters is that she’s looking at me again, really looking at me.

I grip her hair and pull so she has to crane her head back against the mattress and then I start to kiss her neck. Sucking, I mark her as best as I can. Maybe later, I’ll get my name tattooed on her.

Yeah, I’d like that.

My dick presses against my pants, reminding me that while marking her neck is nice and all, there is something much better I can do to release my frustration. To properly claim her after that asshole tried to take her.

I move down her body, kissing and licking, not because I’m in the mood to be gentle with her, but because I need her headto stick with me while she lies there, not even fighting me for control.

She fought him, though.

My fingers grab her pants and pull hard, not bothering to open the button or zipper. They come down, though it’s with a bit of effort. I don’t give a shit. My tongue is already dipping between her thighs and I don’t bother pulling the pants down all the way anyway, liking the way her legs are tangled up in them. Bound.

Anya gasps, a sharp intake of breath that sends a jolt of satisfaction straight to my gut. She’s focused on me now. Her body tenses, then softens beneath my hands, and I press harder, my tongue tracing patterns designed to make her forget.

Forget him. Forget what happened. Forget everything but me.

I want to consume her.

Her thighs tremble, and I grip them tightly, spreading her wider. The fabric of her tangled pants digs into her skin, but she doesn’t seem to care, her hands fisting in the sheets above her head. The sound she makes—a soft, desperate moan—nearly undoes me.

“Anya,” I murmur against her skin, my voice a growl that vibrates through her.

Her fingers leave the sheets and tangle in my hair instead, tugging hard enough to sting. I groan against her, the pain sharp but grounding. She’s still here, still fighting, and it only spurs me on.

She’s not weak.

Her breaths come quicker now, uneven and ragged. I lift my head just enough to look at her, my lips brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes dark with something I can’t quite name, but it hits me hard.

She needs this as much as I do. The reminder that she’s alive, that she’s still herself, and that no one—not Dmitri, not anyone—can take that away from her.

“Mine,” I whisper again, the word a vow, and I dive back in, determined to prove it to her in every way I can.

When I push two fingers into her, she’s already wet and ready for me. But I want more. Need her addicted to me the way I’m starting to feel about her.

Not once has a woman made me feel this feral.

I pump my fingers into her as I suck on her clit. My other hand moves up her body and twists her nipples. First one, then the other.

I lick and suck until finally, her pussy begins to spasm and her back arches off the mattress.

And then I do what I’ve wanted to do all along.

I get up and open my pants. My cock is hard with pre-cum already leaking from it, ready to do exactly what I’ve been meaning to do this entire time.

“Protection, Riccardo,” Anya pushes out through panted breaths. “We need to remember protection this time.”

I smirk. “Not going to happen.” And then I pull off her pants and take hold of her knees. I push them apart and position myself at her entrance.

“What the fuck, Riccardo?”

“Yeah, let’s fuck.” And I plunge into her. Wet heat surrounds me and I grit my teeth. This is so damn good I want to keep doing it, over and over again, and since I’m not a man prone to accept that I can’t have something that I want, it’s exactly what I do. I thrust into Anya again and again, as her wide eyes stare up at me.

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