Chapter Thirteen - Hannah
The grand bedroom looms ahead as one of Makar’s men opens the heavy double doors. My steps falter at the threshold, my gaze sweeping over the opulent space inside.
It’s massive, the vaulted ceiling stretching high above, the walls adorned with dark wood paneling and understated gold accents. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the plush furniture and the massive bed draped in satin sheets.
It’s beautiful, and suffocating.
I step inside slowly, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders. This isn’t just a room—it’s a cage. One I’ll be sharing with him.
Makar follows, his presence behind me as steady and unrelenting as the sound of his boots against the polished floor. The doors close with a soft thud, sealing us inside.
I take a deep breath, my hands curling into fists at my sides as I try to center myself. “So this is it,” I say, my voice tight.
“Yes,” he replies simply.
I turn to face him, and my breath catches at the way his piercing blue eyes are already fixed on me. His gaze is intense, unreadable, and it lingers for a moment too long. I glance away, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.
“You’ll be staying here,” he continues, his tone calm, almost casual. “With me.”
“Indefinitely,” I mutter, the word like a bitter pill on my tongue.
He inclines his head slightly. “You’ll be safe here.”
I laugh humorlessly, shaking my head. “Safe? Yeah, okay.”
His expression hardens, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing his features. “This is what it means to be my wife, Hannah.”
“I didn’t choose this,” I snap, my voice rising. “You forced me into this. Into you.”
His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer. “You think I had a choice?” he asks sharply. “This wasn’t about you, or me. This is about the child. About honor.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” I fire back, my chest heaving as my anger rises. “You don’t get to control me, no matter what name I carry now.”
“You’re my wife,” he growls, stepping closer again, his height and presence overshadowing me.
“I hate you for it,” I spit, though my voice trembles.
The tension snaps like a taut string. His hands move before I can react, gripping my arms firmly but not painfully as he pulls me closer.
“Careful,” he says lowly, his voice laced with warning. “I can tolerate many things, but not disrespect in my own home.”
I glare up at him, refusing to be cowed despite the way his presence invades every inch of my space. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have married someone you didn’t respect either,” I shoot back, the words tumbling out before I can think them through.
His eyes darken, the line of his jaw tightening, and for a moment, I think he’ll step away. But instead, he moves closer, his grip shifting to my waist, firm but unyielding.
“Disrespect,” he murmurs, his tone quieter now but no less intense. “You think I don’t see you, Hannah? That I don’t know exactly what you are?”
The heat in his gaze sends a shiver down my spine, but I lift my chin defiantly. “What am I, then?”
His lips curve into the faintest smirk, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re fire,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Reckless. Defiant. Exactly what I need.”
The air between us shifts, charged with something electric and undeniable. I should push him away, fight against the way his words sink under my skin, but I can’t.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I say, though the words come out weaker than I intend.
His hand moves, brushing a strand of hair from my face, the touch unexpectedly gentle. “Don’t I?” he murmurs, his gaze locking on to mine.
The tension crackles like a live wire, and before I can second-guess it, he leans in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that’s nothing like the cold obligation of the ceremony. It’s fierce, demanding, and all-consuming, his hands tightening on my waist as he pulls me flush against him.
I freeze for a moment, torn between resistance and the way my body betrays me, heat pooling low in my stomach as I return the kiss, gasping against his lips.
Our frustrations, our anger, it all boils over into something raw and consuming. His hand moves to the small of my back, his grip possessive but not rough as he deepens the kiss. My fingers curl into the fabric of his suit jacket, the closeness suffocating and intoxicating all at once.
When we finally break apart, my breath comes in short, ragged gasps, my heart hammering against my rib cage. His forehead rests lightly against mine, his own breathing uneven.
His breath is hot against my lips, and before I can say anything—before I can catch my breath—his mouth is on mine again. This kiss is rougher, more commanding, like he’s laying claim to every part of me I’ve tried to keep hidden. His hands slide up my back, firm and possessive, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us, no room to breathe.
I want to tell him no, to push him away, but the words don’t come. Instead, a traitorous heat pools in my stomach, spreading through me like fire. My body betrays me, responding to him despite the chaos swirling in my mind.
His hands move to my veil, fingers deftly unpinning it and tossing it aside. My hair tumbles down, and his hands immediately dive into the strands, tilting my head back as his lips trail down the line of my jaw, searing every inch of skin they touch.
I should stop this. I should push him away, scream at him, something. Instead, my hands clutch at the fabric of his suit jacket, holding on to him as though he’s the only solid thing in the room.
I can feel something hard prod against my thigh, and a shiver of arousal runs through me. His cock twitches, and my mouth goes dry.
“Makar,” I whisper, my voice trembling, though I don’t know if it’s from anger or something far more dangerous.
He pulls back slightly, his blue eyes burning as they meet mine. “Say it again,” he commands, his voice low and rough.
I swallow hard, my breathing uneven. “Makar,” I repeat, and the way his name leaves my lips feels like surrender.
A faint smile curves his lips before he captures my mouth again, his kiss more demanding this time. He doesn’t ask; he takes, and I let him.
His hands move to the delicate buttons of my wedding dress, unfastening them with a precision that makes my heart race. The fabric loosens, and I feel the cool air against my skin as he slides the dress down my shoulders.
“Lift your arms,” he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble that sends a shiver down my spine.
I do as he says, the gown slipping further until it pools at my feet. He steps back for a moment, his gaze raking over me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, the words so quiet I almost don’t hear them.
I don’t know how to respond. My hands move to cover myself instinctively, but he catches my wrists, gently pulling them away.
“Don’t hide from me,” he says firmly, his eyes locking with mine. “Not tonight.”
I nod faintly, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as he guides me backward toward the bed.
The backs of my knees hit the edge, and I stumble slightly, landing on the mattress. He follows, his movements deliberate as he climbs over me, his weight pressing me into the soft surface. His knees bracket my hips, his hands planting firmly on either side of my head, caging me in.
The sheer power of him, the dominance in his posture, sends a thrill through me that I don’t want to acknowledge. His gaze holds mine, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us, the tension between us crackling like a live wire.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice softer now, though still laced with authority.
“No,” I admit, the word trembling on my lips.
He smirks faintly, leaning down until his lips brush against my ear. “Do you want this?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
He shimmies out of his suit pants—and then he’s looming over me, his cock parting my wet folds. He’s thick and long, filling me effortlessly as he begins to thrust. It’s enough to leave me gasping, back arching as a moan leaves my lips.
Makar stretches me so wide without even having to try. He’s everything I remember, and more.
His touch is everywhere—my waist, my hips, skimming over my pert nipples—each movement igniting sparks beneath my skin. He leans down, his lips trailing down my neck and over my collarbone, his stubble scraping against my sensitive skin. He takes one breast between his teeth, and it has me reeling.
I arch into him, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I let go of the resistance I’ve been holding on to so tightly. For the first time in days, I stop thinking, stop fighting, and just feel.
The sensation of his teeth, his fingers, against my bare skin sends a shiver through me, and I clutch at his shoulders, grounding myself against the overwhelming rush of sensation.
He ruts into me, ruthless, fast, leaving my hips aching from being stretched so wide. I can feel every inch of him inside me, the pressure building until I can’t seem to feel anything else.
“Makar,” I whisper again, the sound a plea I don’t fully understand.
He pulls back slightly, his gaze burning as it locks on to mine. “Tell me to slow down,” he says, his voice rough but steady.
I shake my head, my lips parting but no words coming.
For a fleeting moment, there’s no resentment, no anger, no fear. Just the fire between us, burning too hot from the wedding, the baby, or the impossible situation I’m in. There’s only this, only him, only the way he touches me like I’m something precious and fragile and entirely his.
He takes his time, pace slowing as I suck in deep, steadying breaths. My walls clench around his cock as he fondles my breasts, and I reach my peak.
I come with a cry, hands gripping at his arms, at anything I can reach, as the orgasm consumes me. I’ve never come so hard in my life, eyes scrunched shut as I try to muffle my gasps.
It’s overwhelming, consuming, and I give myself over to it completely, letting him guide me through a storm I couldn’t possibly have anticipated.
When it’s over, we’re both breathless, tangled together on the bed. His weight pins me down for a moment longer, grounding me, before he pulls out and rolls to the side, his arm still wrapped around me.
He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that my chest tightens, an unfamiliar ache blooming there.
“There will be a lot more of this,” he says softly, his voice roughened from exertion, “if you want it.”
I don’t answer, the words stuck in my throat, but I nod faintly, the tension in my body easing as his fingers linger against my skin.
I close my eyes as sleep begins to pull me under, my thoughts swirling with images of him, of the fire in his gaze, of the baby growing inside me.
For the first time, I wonder—not with dread, but with cautious curiosity—what the future might hold.