Chapter 16

“ANISSA”

I wake, feel for the warm reassurance of my husband, and snuggle closer. He's asleep, but does he ever really sleep?

Even when he sleeps, there’s tension in his shoulders and the lines of his handsome, rugged features.

As weeks pass, I hate that I still have no more idea of who I was than before. Only bits and fragments poke through. So I’ve done what the doctor said, even though it’s hard to do—gave my mind a rest.

I’ve resigned myself to what I do know: I belong here. I’m Anissa Kopolov. I’m the wife of the Kopolov Pakhan and sister-turned-mother figure to his band of siblings because now that I’m here, the missing link of a mother figure has become woefully apparent.

We have dinner every night, like clockwork, but instead of “business as usual,” or the few quiet nights where no one talks, it’s a little more lighthearted now. At least, that’s what they tell me. I might not have much to offer, but it seems that bringing a touch of humanity to Rafail’s rigid, uncompromising ways isn’t entirely unwelcome.

His family grew up with a sense of duty and toughness and, honestly, a healthy dose of fear for their older brother. But all of them were children when they lost their parents, and one of them is a child still. They lacked a soft touch in their daily lives, and I aim to bring that to them now in my own way.

I wish he could relax, but he still carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even though it still bothers me to know that I ran away from him because I didn't know who I was, I’m making peace with it.

I mean. I think I am.

When I'm alone, and it's quiet like this after a dream, I remember… a little.

I know I have— had ?—brothers. What troubles me is that my husband says I don't, and there's no indication he's lying when he talks to me. Sometimes, he seems evasive, but my instincts say he’s telling the truth when it comes to my past. And yet… it doesn’t ring true. He swears I only have a father, so why do I remember people calling me their sister?

And that woman in my dream, she was my mother. At one point, anyway. I know that now. I’ve seen her more than once.

That’s one thing that doesn't make sense to me at all.

I don’t believe he's completely lying to me. He seems confident in what he’s telling me, but occasionally… just every once in a while… there’s a tiny blip. Whether it's in his expression or the way I feel, I start to fear that something is wrong. And I need to know why.

Why am I here? Who am I? How do I get back to knowing who I am?

"Are you all right, baby?" His hand comes to the small of my back. I love the way he touches me like this, as if he and I are the only two people in this whole world.

My heart beats faster at the sleepy-husky sexiness of his voice when he wakes. I roll over and let myself bask in the heat that radiates off him like a furnace, the heaviness of his arm on my back, the comfort of knowing that he’s my knight, willing to defend my castle.

How can it be that my past is shrouded in mystery, yet it feels like I’ve been his forever? Because there’s a sureness between us, an honesty, that makes me cleave to him.

"Yeah, you know how it is," I say softly. "When I wake up like this, everything's all muddled. You should sleep, Rafail. I swear you're like a cat."

He shrugs his big shoulder but doesn’t deny it.

It’s familiar to me now, the way he’s so protective. When we were attacked, and he pushed me beneath him, shielding me with his very own body, I knew then that he would take a bullet for me.

And that's not the only thing he protects me from.

In the quiet of night, when I wake trembling, fragmented dreams still lingering, he holds me until my breathing slows, and I can go back to sleep. When we make love, I crave the weight of his body pressing into mine, my wrists wrapped in his grip. There’s freedom in the surrender. Quiet. And in the still, waking hours before sunrise, when my dreams leave me doubtful and confused, the sturdy feel of his strong arms around me brings me calm.

"I just wish I could remember."

He threads his fingers through mine. "Remember what?"

There's a note of edginess in his voice. Have I exhausted his patience?

"Who I am," I say softly. He should know that by now.

Rafail turns to me, bracing himself on his elbow as his eyes roam lazily over my body. "I told you," he says in a low growl. "You're my wife. Do you need me to help you remember that?”

"Rafail," I try, but once he sets his mind on something, there is no turning him away. Laser-focused on me, I know what’s coming: a reminder of who I am.

The next thing I know, I’m pinned underneath him. His lips ghost my cheek, my jaw, my collarbone, trailing lower still to my breasts. My nipples furl. He licks one, then the other, as his thick, rough fingers lazily push my thighs apart. He grips one of my thighs in his strong palm and squeezes.

"I’m sleepy," I lie in protest, which earns me a sharp slap of his palm on my thigh.

"Allow me to wake you up, Mrs. Kopolov."

I sigh as he flicks one nipple with his finger and slaps the underside of my breast. Hard to believe he was just asleep, and now he’s on fire. Morning sex has become a ritual.

"Rafail." I squirm because when I protest a little, he bears down harder, and I love that. This man is not tame. He may play nice for me on occasion—very rarely—but then the savage in him’s unleashed.

Here, though, in the privacy of our bedroom, where we make love, he lets his guard down.

Whatever I wrestle with comes to a raging halt as his lips claim mine and his fingers spread me wide.

He’s mine . Mine—every damn inch of his masculine, bossy, grumpy self.

I playfully roll him over on his back, which I honestly wouldn’t be able to do if he didn’t allow it. He smirks as he arranges me on top of him, giving me the momentary delusion that I was the one who pushed him over. He’s much bigger than I am, stronger. I couldn’t push him over if I tried. And believe me, I’ve tried.

Sadly, cowgirl style is a bit out of the realm of possibility with this cast, though I’m healing and hardly need crutches anymore. Still, I can awkwardly hold my leg at an angle and appreciate him, submissive for the flash of a second beneath me.

With a gentle nudge, he arranges my leg so that it’s comfortable. Ooh. I like. My fingers splay across the expanse of his warm, bare chest, heat warming my palms as I trace the hard planes of muscle. His chest rises and falls in a steady beat beneath my hands, his thick cock at my slick entrance. His body pulses with restrained power.

“I like this view,” he says in a husky whisper, his voice rough and sexy, the way his eyes rove over my body a testament to sincerity. He does like this view. He likes what he sees. My smaller, pale body is in such sharp contrast to his it’s almost comical.

“Will our babies look like you? It’s a crapshoot. I do think your genes are more… dominant,” I say with a wink.

I bend and brush my lips to his. For the first time, the thought of having his children doesn’t scare me. It seems… natural. He’s already the father figure of the Kopolov family. The patriarch. I’ve already assumed the role of big sister-mother. Having children now seems only natural.

“I would love it if our children looked like you,” he says earnestly, reaching forward to grasp my hips tightly in his strong, powerful hands. I don’t wear much of anything to bed, so he easily finds my bare entrance.

My breathing hitches. “Would you, now?”

“Of course,” he says, his own breath catching at the first thrust. I’m so full; my head falls back, his hot cock throbbing in my center. He glides almost fully out before sliding in me again with a brutal, delicious thrust. My eyes flutter closed as bliss floods me. “A chance to remind me of you? Yes. Every day. A reminder of my beautiful wife? I’d like nothing better.” His gaze bores into mine with such fire and possession, my heart turns over in my chest. “Ty—moya, navsyegda, Nikto i nikogda ne smo-zhet otnyat tebya u menya.”

You are mine forever. No one can ever take you away from me.

Another thrust sends pleasure coursing down my spine. I love riding him, the feeling of connection. Power. I love the feel of his hands anchored on my hips as I grind against him, fuller than ever before, damn near fused to my husband.

“Come here,” he says, his hand sliding the length of my back to pull me closer. I bend toward him, and his mouth finds my breast, capturing a nipple between his teeth. I gasp when he laves my nipples one at a time, a touch of teeth and wet heat pushing me to the brink of climax, pulling me closer to the edge of control.

“Turn around,” he says, pulling out of me. “I’ll help you. Face forward. I need to taste you. I want you to come on my mouth before I take you completely.”

I whine a little in protest because maybe I’m a bit spoiled and needy, and I wish I could sit on his face and have him in me at the same time, but Rafail doesn’t suffer disobedience. When I don’t immediately comply, his gaze darkens.

“Are you disobeying me, my little swan?” he asks, his gaze on me, half daring me to defy him, to give him a chance to punish me. He lives for this.

Fuck it, so do I.

“Maybe,” I say with a pout and a whisper. Eager to hear what he’ll do about that but scared to outright defy him. Rafail can be terrifying.

“On my face,” he says with a low growl, his fingers on my side branding me. “You’re in trouble already. Here’s your one chance to be a good girl.”

Oh god.

I can’t exactly rush to obey with my clumsy cast, but with practiced ease, he arranges me in front of him. His thick cock in front of me, I bend and drag my tongue along the veined length. Wet heat floods me at the sound of his moan just before his hand, as thick and heavy as a paddle, slams against my ass.

I hiss in a breath, but that doesn’t stop him. He spanks my ass again and again, punishing, sharp smacks before he spreads my legs wide and buries his face in my pussy. I’m still panting from the brief but painful spanking before that first stroke of his tongue on my clit.

He pulls off long enough to whisper hotly against my thigh, “I want to eat you out, then fuck you hard. You put your mouth anywhere near me, I’ll fucking come in your mouth, and I want to own your pussy this morning.”

Another sharp slap has me nearly climbing out of my skin, a swift reminder of who he is and what he expects, before he grabs my hips and pulls me closer to him. I’m lost to sensation, my hips undulating as the pleasure courses through me. He reaches for my nipples hanging in front of him and pinches and kneads them between his rough, hot fingers before he suckles my clit again and strokes my wet heat with his tongue.

His hot breath warms my inner thighs as he growls, “Good girls know how to listen, love. Are you a good girl?”

Over and over again, he licks me until it feels like his branding touch is on every inch of my skin—rough fingers in my core, pulsing, spreading my wetness over my ass and pussy, his tongue on my clit, tasting and easing me to climax, the fiery skin of my spanked ass turning me on until I feel like I’m going to scream.

“Beg me,” he growls against my thigh. I bite my lip and don’t respond because I fucking love when he gets just on the edge of growly with me. I scream when his teeth sink into my inner thigh. “ Beg me , or I’ll tie you to this bed and take that pussy all day long without letting you come.”

Oh god. That sounds… torturous?

What will happen if I push him?

I’m on the cusp of begging, on the cusp of asking, when a sharp knock sounds at the door.

“Unless someone’s about to bomb our house or die, get the fuck out of here,” he bellows. Footsteps run away.

“Rafail,” I plead. “You should be nicer. Really.”

He stills beneath me. Uh-oh. Now I’ve done it. My heartbeat races, and my pussy throbs in need.

“Nicer?” he says in a dark whisper. “You want me to be nicer, do you?” Shaking his head, he reaches for my pussy and gives me one—just one—tiny, little press of his tongue. I move my hips closer to him, but he pulls his mouth away. “You’re a naughty little girl, Anissa. You think you can tell me what to do?”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” I begin, even as I know it’s too little too late. I can’t ever forget that while I might be Belle, trapped in a home with a monster, my husband is still the beast who will never fully transform back into a man. And he loves it when I give him an opportunity to punish me.

“You want me to be nicer,” he says, almost thoughtfully. Warningly. He buries his face in my pussy as if savoring the musky scent of my arousal before he pushes me aside.

Nooo.

“Rafail,” I beg. “Please, please, please, don’t do it.” I hardly know what I’m begging for.

“Do what?” he asks, his eyes as dark as coal, his erection hard as steel between us. “Teach my wife to obey me?”

Without jostling my cast, he somehow miraculously manages to place me face down on the bed, not on my knees but propped up on pillows. What is he doing ?

“Come here,” he says, sliding down the edge of the bed and bringing me with him. He drags me down beneath him, his hand fisted in my hair. “You really want to push me, don’t you? You were the one who decided to tell me what to do.”

I open my mouth to beg him—to plead with him to let me come and I’ll behave—when the little vixen who loves being dominated by her growly beast of a husband comes squeaking out of my mouth. I’m shaking.

“You’re not the boss of me.”

What?

His stillness is terrifying. I went too far. I said too much. I shouldn’t push him like this, not when I know?—

His punishing palm meets my ass with a force that makes my skin ignite and my clit throb.

Oh god.

Another sharp smack of his palm on the exact same spot makes me beg for mercy. “Ow! Oh god, please! I’ll be good!” I beg, even as my pussy clenches, half begging for more.

“You’re damn right you’ll be good,” he grates in my ear. “We have a lot of work to do today. You know that. Maybe a good reminder of who you belong to is in order.” Holding me against the bed, his flank pressed up against mine, I feel him fumbling in the drawer beside me. “You’re practically begging for me to punish you, to teach you a lesson.”

Oh no. I know the shit he keeps in that drawer, all the instruments of torture he likes to surprise me with. My mouth is open in a silent gasp when he takes something out I can’t see, but a second later, wetness trickles down my ass.

“Rafail!”

His only response is to spread lubricant down between my cheeks.

“I can’t do this.” I breathe, my heart pounding so hard I’m a little faint. “Wait! I’ve never done this before.”

“You can,” he says with certainty. “And you will. You don’t tell your husband no, little swan, not when he’s punishing you. Do you need a reminder of what happens when you misbehave?” Leaning in, he bites my shoulder. I scream and push, but I can’t get away. Heat thrums in my veins, my body taut, arousal licking at every sensitive part of me with such intensity I can’t breathe.

“Thank you.”

I gasp. “For… what?”

“I’m going to enjoy every second of making you behave.”

I know this is a game we play, a dance that we love, but a part of me wonders where he ends and I begin. If I begged him to stop, would he?

But my body’s telling him a different story. My arousal trickles down my leg, my clit painfully hard and throbbing. I’m so turned on that even the teasing touch of his tongue would send me flying into orgasm right now.

My eyes squeeze shut as warmth and heat flood my senses. I want this. I do. I love walking the line of fear and arousal, terror and excitement, never knowing what he’s going to do next. There’s something about the unabashed way he claims my body with his that makes me feel like I’m the center of his whole world .

Bending so that his mouth is to my ear and his warm, hot body fully encompasses mine, he whispers, “Breathe, baby. Breathe. ”

On instinct, I obey, and with the next breath, he glides into me. Slowly. Easing. It isn’t painful like I expect, but it feels so wrong, and my cheeks flame. “You kinky son of a bitch.” I gasp around a wicked grin. His rare, deep chuckle makes me smile as he thrusts inside me.

“Are you going to come?” he asks.

Am I? I feel so full, so aroused, but on edge. “I need a minute.”

“Good,” he says with dark approval. “Because you’re not allowed to until I tell you. If you do, you’ll regret it, Anissa.”

He glides into me again, and my clit throbs. Again, and my mouth falls open. I start to beg him to let me come when he pulls out. I mewl at the loss of him and slam the bed in frustration.

“Rafail!”

“You know the rule,” he says with a grunt, stroking himself behind me. “Bend over. Take me. I want to mark you before we leave this room.”

I throw myself over the edge of the bed, half-blind with arousal, when he grunts and moans. His hot seed spills on my back and glides over my ass as he comes hard and fast.

“That’s it, angel,” he says as he strokes himself again. “That’s what I want to remember when you sit by me today. You, wearing my mark.”

“Rafail,” I moan. “Oh my god. ”

I’m still on the edge of coming, so aroused I can hardly think of anything else.

“I’ll let you come after you show me what a good girl you are.” He bends and kisses my cheek. “And I promise you, it’ll be worth the wait.” He leaves me on the bed, and I contemplate what he will do if I make myself come.

Yeah. Not worth it.

Fuck.

When he comes back, he has a folded towel in his hand. I scowl at him.

“No pouting, baby,” he says with a self-satisfied smile. It’s so rare for him to smile that when he does, it feels like the sun shining down after a long winter. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He wipes me off before he presses his hand to my lower back. “I’ll dress you. Stay right here.” He bends down and whispers in my ear. “And if you touch yourself without permission, you’ve broken a cardinal rule. Don’t test me, Anissa.”

“What rule is that?” I yell at his retreating back when he goes to fetch my clothes.

And all of it, damn near all of it, is almost worth the torture when he turns back to stare at me, his fiery gaze sparking. “No one touches what’s mine.”

I stare at him. I think I love him. I’ve fallen for this veritable beast of a man, every grumpy, growly inch of him. I’ve fallen, and I’ve fallen hard.

And I’m not the only one.

My mind whirs with this realization while he gets clothes from the closet and dresses me. I hardly even notice until I look down to see I’m wearing a dress.

“A dress?” I ask.

“I love seeing you wear a dress.” His rough lips graze my cheek. “Better access. Now. We’re heading downstairs. Rodion and Zoya need help with a few things, and then you and I are heading into town.”

My jaw drops. He’s letting me out of the house again?

Still wearing his cum ?

“Rafail,” I whisper. “Are you serious?”

“Of course.”

“ Why ?” I whine.

“I have a business meeting, and it’s in my family’s best interest if you join me.” He gives me a wicked smile. Tipping his head to the side, he clucks his tongue. “Surely, you don’t have any plans on disobeying your husband in public, do you?”

I blink and shake my head wordlessly.

“Good,” he says, satisfied. “Because I’m very much looking forward to your reward.”