Page 67 of Fierce Pursuit

But I had to try something.

I turned in his arms so we were chest to chest, my body pressing into his. His eyes opened at the contact.

I swallowed down my hesitation and purred, “Kostya, please.”

His brow twitched slightly.

I slid my hands beneath his shirt, my fingers trailing along the warmth of his skin, brushing over the firm ridges of his side, his chest. His body was hard where I was soft, built for strength, for control.

It wasn’t fair for him to be this dangerous and this tempting.

I traced his abs with my fingertips, letting instinct guide me because I had nothing else left to rely on. “I know what happens to bad girls,” I whispered. “You taught me well. Let me prove I learned my lesson.”

His breath came out in a low growl, deep and vibrating against my fingertips.

It worked.

“You have two minutes,” he finally said, voice thick and edged with warning. “If you take longer than that, I’ll break down the fucking door.”

Relief bloomed inside me, and before I could think better of it, I pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. His jawclenched. My body hummed at the small victory as I pulled away, reaching for my leather jacket and shawl.

Another low, animalistic sound rumbled from his throat as I tugged my hair out from under the collar.

“The hall is cold,” I reasoned, knowing better than to test his patience. I’d never get away with grabbing my bag, too. “I’ll be right back.”

“Two minutes,” he reminded me, his tone a leash tightening around my throat.

I stepped out into the corridor, shivering the moment I left the cocoon of warmth. Whether it was the room’s heating or Kostya’s body that had kept me so warm, I wasn’t sure.

The train was quiet, the soft rumble of wheels against the tracks filling the silence. Dimmed runner lights guided my way as I moved quickly down the aisle, reaching the cramped bathroom.

Once inside, I took care of what I needed to, then braced my hands against the cold metal basin, staring into the mirror in front of me.

I didn’t recognize the woman staring back.

My skin wasn’t pale and ghostly as usual. There was color in my cheeks, a fresh glow that didn’t belong to me. My lips were swollen, kiss-bruised. The tops of my breasts were flushed, peeking through the disheveled neckline of my sweater. My hair was a tangled mess, wild curls framing my face. My eyes almost too bright.

I swallowed hard and looked away, unable to meet my own reflection.

The guilt was a slow, creeping thing, curling aroundmy ribs, sinking its teeth into my chest. It would devour me if I let it.

But right now, guilt didn’t matter.

Survival did.

Kostya had given me two minutes. And I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t hesitate to come storming in after me, tearing down the door, dragging me back to that tiny room so he could hold me against him again, pin me down with his warmth while I drowned in my own shame.

I took a breath. One more second.

Then I straightened, turned, and reached for the door.

He said he didn’t hurt Veronika.

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him.

But could I even trust my own thoughts when it came to him?

We had just done things I never should have allowed to happen. Things I should have been disgusted by, things that should have filled me with shame. But instead, all I could think about was the way his body had felt over mine, the way he had made me feel—raw, consumed, alive.

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