Page 75 of The Pakhan’s Unwanted Bride

When we arrive at the estate, I walk her upstairs to the private wing. I'm still unable to shake how she felt in my arms on that dance floor, how natural it was to hold her, and how right it felt to have her close. The control I pride myself on is slipping further with every passing second.

"Join me for a shower." The invitation comes out quietly, but there's no mistaking my intent behind it.

37

ANA

The invitation hangs in the air between us, and I feel my pulse quicken at the heat in his eyes. There is no hesitation in my response, no pretense of playing coy or making him wait. I want this. I want him. He wants this, and he wants me. So why the hell would I even consider denying us his pleasure? I wouldn't, of course.

The bathroom is massive, all dark marble and polished chrome, with a walk-in shower large enough for several people. Samuil turns on the water and adjusts the temperature while I slip out of my dress and heels. When I look up, he is watching me with such heat in his eyes that it transfer to my skin and stains my cheeks dark red. Not from embarrassment or shyness, but from eagerness and desire. He has already removed his shirt, and the tattoos covering his chest and forearms are stark against his skin in the dim lighting. Dark ink swirls across his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms, each design telling a story from some experience in his life.

He steps into the shower first and extends his hand to help me in. The warm water cascades over us immediately, soaking my hair and running in rivulets down my body. Samuil pulls me close, his hands settling on my waist as he positions me under the spray. For several long moments, we just stand there together, the water washing away the tension of the evening.

"Turn around." His voice is low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

I obey without question, turning so my back is to him. His hands settle on my shoulders, strong fingers beginning to work at the knots of tension that have built up over the past weeks. He massages slowly and deliberately, finding every tight spot and applying just enough pressure to make me sigh with relief. His thumbs work their way down my spine, tracing the line of my back with careful attention. The touch is both soothing and arousing, making me hyperaware of every point of contact between us.

"You carry too much stress here." He presses his thumbs into the muscles at the base of my neck, and I let my head fall forward with a soft moan. "You need to learn to relax, Princess."

"Maybe I just need the right motivation." My voice is breathy, and I feel him smile against my shoulder.

His hands slide lower, no longer focused on massage but on exploration. He traces the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips, the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. Every touch is deliberate and controlled, designed to build anticipation rather than provide immediate satisfaction. I lean back against his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle and the steady beat of his heart.

"Samuil." His name is a plea, and he knows exactly what I am asking for.

He turns me to face him, and the look in his eyes makes my breath catch. There is desire there, raw and undisguised, but also something deeper. Something that looks almost like tenderness. His hand cups my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone as he studies me with an expression I cannot quite read.

"You are so fucking beautiful." The words are rough, almost angry, as though my beauty is somehow an inconvenience to him. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Before I can answer, he grasps my hand and moves it down his body until my knuckles come in contact with his hard dick. I smile and wrap my fingers around it, then slowly start stroking it. With each pass, I squeeze a little harder, go a little faster.

Samuil groans then captures my mouth in a demanding and hard kiss. His tongue swipes inside my mouth and mine immediately meets his, stroking the hot, velvety flesh as I wrap my arms around his neck and press closer, needing to feel every inch of him against me. His hands grip my hips, lifting me effortlessly until my legs wrap around his waist. The strength in his body is intoxicating, all hard muscle and controlled power as he pins me against the cool tile wall.

The contrast between the cold marble at my back, the heat of his body against my front, and the hot water cascading down on us makes me gasp. He takes advantage of my parted lips to deepen the kiss, one hand tangling in my wet hair while the other supports my weight with ease. I can feel him hard and ready against me, and the knowledge that I affect him this way sends a thrill of satisfaction through my entire body.

"God, but I want you," he growls against my ear, then nips at my sensitive earlobe.

"I want you, too." The admission comes easily, without shame or hesitation. "I have wanted you since the moment you dismissed me at that gala. I've never had a man do that to me before, so I was intrigued by you."

He pulls back enough to look down at me. "And now?"

I smile, squeezing my legs tighter around his waist. "And now, I want you inside me."

The grin he gives me reminds me of a wolf, all sly and predatory. "Your wish is my command, Princess."

He positions himself and enters me in one smooth thrust that makes us both groan. The angle is perfect, hitting depths that make my vision blur and my nails dig into his shoulders. He sets a rhythm that is both controlled and desperate, each movement deliberate but increasingly urgent. The tattoos on his chest flex and shift with every thrust, the dark ink mesmerizing as I watch the play of muscle beneath his skin.

The pleasure builds with each thrust, coiling tighter and tighter in my core until I am trembling with the need for release. His mouth finds my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, sending jolts of electricity coursing through my body. One of his hands slides between us, finding my clit. He starts rubbing in circles, growing harder and faster until I'm squirming and panting.

"Come for me, Princess." The command is delivered with absolute authority, and my body obeys without question.

The orgasm crashes over me in wave after wave, my inner muscles clenching and pulsing, draining every ounce of tension from my body with the best pleasure of my life. He follows moments later, his grip on my hips tightening as he buries himself deep and finds his own release. We stay locked together for several long moments, letting the water cascade over us, washing away the evidence of our passion and leaving us clean and sated.

Eventually, he lowers me back to my feet, keeping one arm around my waist to steady me. My legs feel weak, and I am grateful for his support as I try to catch my breath. He reaches for the soap and begins washing me with surprising gentleness, his hands moving over my body with care rather than urgency. I return the favor, running my soapy hands over the broad expanse of his chest and tracing the lines of his tattoos with curious fingers.

We finish the shower in comfortable silence. He wraps me in a towel and dries my hair with patient attention, his movements careful and almost reverent. When we finally climb into bed, I curl against his side and feel his arm come around me automatically. Sleep claims me quickly, my body exhausted and my mind finally quiet.

The next morning, I wake to find Samuil already gone. Disappointment flickers through me, but I get out of bed and dress quickly, then make my way to the guest wing where my father is recovering. When I enter his room, I am relieved to see him sitting up in bed looking significantly stronger than he did yesterday. Color has returned to his face, and his eyes are sharp and alert.