Page 101 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

Something inside me snaps.

I surge forward and crash my mouth onto his like it’s the only way to survive the ache inside me. There’s no hesitance, no soft beginning—just heat and hunger and the desperate crush of two people who almost lost their chance.

His hands slide into my hair, anchoring me like he’s terrified I’ll vanish again. I press closer, straddling his thighs, careful of his healing shoulder but greedy for the feel of him. I need his skin under mine. I need himeverywhere.

And this time, I’m not holding back.

“I need you,” I breathe against his mouth. “Now.”

He groans, the sound vibrating through me. “Are you sure? The baby—”

“Is fine,” I assure him. “We’re both fine. And I need this. Need you.”

I step back just enough to pull my dress over my head, stripping it off within seconds. His eyes darken as they roam over my body, taking in the changes—my fuller breasts, the slight curve of my stomach.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching for me.

But I shake my head, dropping to my knees in front of him. “Let me.”

My hands go to his belt, unbuckling it slowly, deliberately. I watch his face as I unzip his pants, as I pull them down along with his boxers. His breath hitches when I take his cock in my hand, hard and heavy against my palm.

“Yulia,” he warns, voice strained. “You don’t have to—”

I silence him by taking him slow into my mouth, tasting the heat of him, the salt on his skin. The groan that rips from his throat is raw—almost shocked—and it thrills something deep in me.

He’s big, and I take my time adjusting, letting instinct take over. I swirl my tongue along the underside, then hollow my cheeks and suck, watching the way his hands fist in the sheets, the muscles in his thighs tensing like he’s holding himself back from bucking.

I’ve never done this before—but Iwantto. Iwantto unravel him.

He lets out a strangled curse, hips twitching as I take him deeper, letting the rhythm settle into something steady andintentional. I draw back with a teasing lick, then do it again—watching him tremble under my control.

Power hums through me like a live wire.

This man could break anyone with a flick of his wrist. And right now? He’s breaking forme.

His hand tangles in my hair, not forcing, justanchoring. There’s a reverence in the way he touches me, like he can’t believe I’m real. Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

I press my tongue flat and glide it along his length, then take him deep enough that I feel him twitch against the back ofmy throat. He lets out a strangled gasp, and I feel fucking proud. I’m doing this to him.

He lets out a broken sound, hips lifting slightly. “Yulia—fuck—I’m gonna—”

That’s when he tugs me up with a growl, his grip urgent but gentle, dragging me off his cock before he loses control completely.

But I’m not done.

I push him back onto the bed, breathless and smiling, sliding my dress up over my thighs.

“You’re not the only one who’s starving,” I murmur, voice thick with want, already climbing on top of him.

His hands grip my hips, steadying me as I position myself above him. Our eyes lock as I lower myself slowly, taking him inch by inch until he fills me completely. The stretch? It’s not enough.

I want him to burn.

“God,” he groans, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel like heaven.”

“I love you,” I whisper against his lips, the words feeling more natural with each repetition. “I love you so much.”

I shift forward on his lap, letting his cock slide deeper inside me, inch by inch, until I’m seated fully—stretched, filled, utterly wrecked in the best possible way. My breath catches as I adjust, my hands braced against his chest, his heart thudding wildly beneath my palms.