Page 86 of Fierce Pursuit

Her body obeyed before her mind did. Her fingers curled against the tile, her spine bowing as she came for me again while her pussy milked me, slick and tight, and this time I didn’t hold back.

I slammed into her, deep, hard, and spilled inside of her with a shuddering groan.

My vision flickered black at the edges, my entire body tightening as I pumped my seed into her, emptying every last drop inside her. Completely unprotected.

Not an accident. Not a slip.

Deliberate.

A better man would have pulled out. Would have given her a choice.

Fuck that.

She didn’t get a choice.

Not anymore.

An image seared into my mind of Marina, belly swollen with my child. My heir.

It struck something deep, something primal.

I could almost see it, her soft, curvy body changing, growing round with the evidence of what I had done to her. My seed taking root inside her, making her mine in a way no one could ever undo.

Marina had been made for this. For me.

She could fight me, run from me, lie to herself all she wanted.

But if I put a baby inside her…

She wouldn’t be able to run.

She would never escape me.

She would have no choice but to stay by my side, to belong to me in the most permanent, inescapable way possible.

There would be no more guilt, no more hesitation, no more denial.

Just thinking about Marina carrying my child made my heart ache. It was going to happen. I was going to keep this girl by my side, in my bed. She was going to be the wife I wanted, not the one I was forced to accept. And she would never, ever leave me.

I would make sure of it.

My Marina.

My wife.

All I had to do was keep her alive long enough to make sure her sister’s mistakes didn’t destroy her.

CHAPTER 23

KOSTYA

Marina looked content curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a plush Ritz-Carlton robe, with a large plate of French fries on her lap.

It was a stark contrast to the shabby townhouse where I had found her. And yet, she fit in both settings just as easily.

After seeing her in that hole-in-the-wall restaurant, then in her cluttered townhouse, surrounded by secondhand furniture and worn clothes, then crammed into an economy seat on the train, it was easy to forget that this—wealth, comfort, luxury—was the life she had been born into.

I tried not to compare Marina to her sister too much, but the thought of Veronika working in a restaurant or living without staff was laughable.

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