Page 41 of Cruel Russian King
“I could give you everything your brothers did, and more, Printsessa!”
“Then give me my family! Every night Vera and Katya still crawl into bed with their husbands! They may be worried, but kidnapping me, forcing me to marry you isn't going to tear them apart! I’m the one paying for their sins! Send me home!”
His eyes darkened. “This is your home, Printsessa!”
“Stop calling me that! I’m not your printsessa!”
“You are whatever I say you are.”
“I’m not your fucking toy, to bend to your will!”
His eyes softened slightly. “You’re already bending, Printsessa. Don’t you see?”
His finger traced the choker at my throat before grabbing my chin roughly. Before I could pull away, his lips crushed against mine. I moaned, caving to the hunger I’d been trying to deny throughout the day.
He devoured me, hard and fast. Effortlessly, he lifted me onto the desk, spreading my thighs, pressing his cock flush against my already wet panties. His hands gripped my ass, mine clawed at his hair, pulling him closer. He growled deep in his throat, and my fingers tightened more.
Time froze around us.
The harder he kissed, the more I wanted him…
The man who kidnapped me…
Who forced me to marry him…
Who lied to me…
Who hated my family…
Who…hated me.
My fingers moved from his hair and pressed against his chest desperate to resist, but he didn’t budge. I turned my head, pleading.
“Artyom…stop…please…”
He paused, his lust filled eyes pulling me in once more. He stepped back, and I slid off the desk, breathless, furious with myself.
Quickly, I exited the office and headed back to the bedroom.
This couldn’t happen again. Ever.
My mind knew the truth. He was the enemy.
But, my body?
It still needed time to figure it out.
Chapter 13 - Artyom
I tapped my pen against the papers in front of me, my mind shot to hell. The past few days had been a blur of distraction. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt her lips on mine, her hands tugging at my hair, her hips pressing against me.
Instead of closing deals, I found myself wandering through art galleries, buying pieces and leaving them in our bedroom for Ninel. She hadn’t left the bed since discovering I’d lied about the negotiations, about her family knowing about our marriage.
Seeing her curled up, refusing to eat, refusing to talk, drained me. I wanted the woman whose laugh filled the space, whose smile lit up the room, not this shadow of herself.
Why did I care so much about her happiness? It shouldn’t matter. But, it did.
I sighed, as I pressed two fingers on my temple and massaged it in small circles.
