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"You're going to have to get used to it, Anya. This is the life he was born to, one he won't escape. He will grow up and take my place one day." I don't loosen my grip on her wrist for a single second, not even when she glares at the union and tries to pull away.

"You don’t get to make that decision alone," she says. Her voice doesn’t rise, but it sharpens to a point that needles away at my patience. "You want him to grow up here? Then this changes. Starting now."

"You think you can order me around?" I ask, stepping forward. It forces her to take a step back as my body presses in on hers. I lower my voice, but the edge stays there. "You want to be heard? Then watch your tone and stop pretending you're owed a voice in this. You kept my son from me for five fucking years."

She opens her mouth again, but I’m already on her. My hand comes up—not in a strike, but to wrap around her throat. I back her into the wall, forcing her spine against the cold plaster. My grip isn’t tight enough to hurt, but it’s enough to make her understand that she’s not in control.

Her breathing changes. Her fists stay balled at her sides, but the fight in her eyes never dims. She stares at me like she’s daring me to take it further.

“I should teach you a lesson,” I say, my face close to hers.

Her lips part, but I don’t give her time to speak. I tilt my head slightly, dragging my gaze down the line of her jaw until it lands on the dip in her shirt where her tits peek out. I let my stubble graze her cheek as I whisper into her ear.

“You want power?” I murmur. “Then earn it. But you won’t get it by screaming at me in my own house.”

Anya's body grows rigid as I tighten my hand on her throat.

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move—only stares at me like she still thinks she can win. I drag her gaze back to mine and hold it there.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You come in here, angry, throwing punches, trying to stake your claim—but there’s a reason you didn’t walk away after that first night at the track,” I say, my thumb tracing the edge of her jaw.

Her lips part, and this time, she doesn’t try to argue. Her pulse beats against my fingers.

I shift my hand, loosening my grip on her throat just enough to let her breathe freely, but I don’t step back. My thumb slides across the curve of her neck, following the line to her collarbone. She’s still staring at me like she wants to win, but she’s not pulling away.

I lower my mouth until it hovers just above hers, not touching. I want her to feel my control—a reminder that nothing about this is mutual. My hand shifts lower, anchoring her in place by the hip as I press her harder into the wall.

Her breath hitches. She doesn’t try to stop me. I take her mouth in the same way I take everything. Violently. She stiffens, but I don’t pull back. My grip tightens at her waist, and my other hand stays firm on her throat.

Anya's body trembles against mine, and her hands finally unclench from her sides. Slowly, she lifts them, fisting the fabric of my shirt as if she's the one holding on now. Her tongue dances against mine, a hesitant invitation I accept eagerly. I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers as I swallow her moans.

My grip on her hip tightens, lifting her up off the floor until her legs wrap around my waist and the soft cotton of her day dress hikes up around her waist. She's wet through her panties, and I can smell the desire on her. It fuels my arousal further, reminding me just how desperate she is for this—for me.

I press her harder against the wall, grinding my cock tight against her core. Her nails dig into my back as she arches into me. I break the kiss, my breath ragged as I drag a hand down her thigh, lifting her dress higher. Her skin is hot and damp against my fingertips as I slide my hand up her inner thigh, teasingly close to where she needs me most. Anya bites down on her lower lip, her eyes half-lidded with desire as she rocks her hips into my touch.

I smirk at the hunger in her eyes, knowing I have her right where I want her. "You like it when I'm in control, don't you?" I growl against her ear, my breath hot and heavy. Anya's only response is a low moan as she tilts her head back, granting me access to the sensitive column of her neck. I take advantage, nipping and sucking along her pulse point as my fingers continue their torturous exploration.

"Say it," I demand, my voice a low growl. "Tell me you want it."

"Yes," she pants out, her voice shaking with desire. "I… I want it."

A wave of satisfaction washes over me as I slide two fingers beneath the lace of her panties, teasing her entrance before delving inside. Anya's breath hitches as my fingers penetrate her, her body arching into mine. Her nails dig even deeper into my back, her need for me clear in every tortured moan that escapes her lips. I relish in her submission, in the knowledge that despite her defiance, she still craves me as much as I do her.

And when I feel her core tightening around my digits, I pull them back, halting the climb to orgasm.

“What? No…” she whines. “Please.”

“I will teach you to never defy me again,” I growl into her ear. Her elbows push hard into my shoulders as she holds herself up, and I reach beneath her body, loosing my cock from its restraints.

"You will learn your place, Anya," I say through gritted teeth. "And you will learn to beg for it."

Her breath comes in panting gasps as I begin to push inside her, filling her with excruciating slowness.

The anticipation is driving Anya wild. Her breathing grows ragged as I tease her, inch by agonizing inch. She tries to rock her hips against me, but I hold her firmly in place, refusing to let her take control. I want her to feel every last millisecond of this. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, as I finally sheathe myself completely inside her.

"R–Rolan," she pants out, her eyes clouded with lust and defiance.

I grip her hips tighter and start to move—slowly at first, dragging out each thrust until she's mewling my name. Her legs tighten around my waist, her heels digging into my ass as she tries to urge me on faster.