Page 35 of Fierce Pursuit

I ignored the way my hands shook as I untangled the electrical cords and tied him up. The same way he had tied up my roommates.

His wrists and ankles bound tightly behind his back, his body forced into a position he wouldn’t easily get out of.

It wasn’t perfect, but it would buy me time.

I grabbed the mirror again, holding it under his nose, waiting until the glass fogged.

He was still alive.

I sucked in a breath.

And another.

And another.

I backed up against the same wall he had pinned me against, the phantom heat of his body still imprinted on the space. My legs gave out beneath me, and I slid to the floor, dropping my head between my knees.

I just needed to breathe.

Every part of me was screaming to move.

Get up. Get out. Go!

But I couldn’t.

Because my mind wouldn’t stop replaying that kiss.

Over and over, like a fever I couldn’t shake.

If his closeness had turned me on, that kiss had brought me back to life.

I shouldn’t feel this way. Not about him. Not about my sister’s husband.

It had been bad enough when it was just a stupid crush—something I could ignore, something I could outgrow.

But this?

How the fuck was I supposed to get over a kiss like that?

I could still feel him.

The way his hands had moved over my body, possessive, as if he owned me.

And my God—I wanted that to be true.

He hadn’t kissed me as a show of affection.

It had been a claim. A demand.

His lips had tasted like expensive vodka, tobacco, and home, like something sinful wrapped in something inevitable. And I had melted into it. Worse. I had wanted to give him more.

When he asked if I was going to be his good girl, my body had fractured with need.

Fuck.

Those words—just his words—should not have done to me what they did.

I had wanted to drop to my knees and show him just how good I could be.

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